She strikes back

CATEGORY

life

Views: 385

As she waits for him to arrive, the clock indicates it's 33 minutes past five; now begins the time to survive, for her kids...she has to make it out alive.

The clanging of chains from his pick-up truck indicate his presence; tears fall as she unknowingly begins to remenice, of yesterday...and the day before..she's had enough, she can't take this.

Slamming through the door comes the boss; in leather atire he is accustomed to toss, in her hands to be placed; gotta move fast as he is short-tempered and nobody likes it when he is cross.

Dinners already set; ironically he is the one that says grace; "get some make up to cover those bruises on your face"; a di-polar personality you would think as he has make her look worse in the past few days.

Kids scared of their own father; a man they don't recognise, only used to the sight of their tearing mother; after schoool, straight home, taking shortcuts, its a monday afternoon and no-one wants to show up to school with a bloody collar.

Silence on the dinner table enough to make your skin crawl; interupted only by the clatter of cutlery, the atmoshpere thick with agony like maple syrup, as thats how the kids sleep, with codeine to get them drowzy, can't sleep with shouting from across the wall.

Midnight and you hear bed-lamps crashing; as a neighbour it's that and the soul-wrenching sounds of kids crying; futile to outside help as friends have been trying and trying; to help, but she denied, every day was another episode of her not living but dying.

As they head to sleep, side by side; he forces her to get on top and begin to ride; cold piece of stake on her eye; tears on the other as she's staring to the sky; she can't bear to look at him as he kills her indirectly from the inside.

Before long her agony is over, on her side she stares at the window; ruminative look in her eye as she thinks things through.

Under her pillow lies a blade from the kitchen; hand picked carefully to cause little to no friction.

As she moves slowly onto her knees; moving carefully not to disturb the bed sheets.

With one last look to his face, she sets her eyes on his heart.

A bulls eye, the key to her freedom, as she aims for precision far exceeding that of needle of a dart.

With both hands to the sky, tightly graping the blade, her tears vanish, this is where the pain ends.