| just a short story i wrote. feedback?
The air stank of cigars and whiskey. Thick and heavy, it hung over her head and left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was alone now, but was still aware of his presence and the hate which inevitably had left another bruise on her fragile body. His hand was breaking her - training her, he said. For in his eyes, she was imperfect. A flawed being, nowhere near complete. He would continue to mold and shape her until her form and personality matched the angel of which he dreamed.
The nightmare had begun before she even was aware she could form memories. As a child, he would come home late - reeking of the alcohol that she knew even then, he consumed too much of. One mistake, one false step and her happy world of childhood dreams would come crashing down upon her head, only to be replaced by an anger so great it would linger for days.
Slowly, her happiness was ripped from her and he kept it far from reach. But the night the house burned down to the ground, she gave up hope. A careless mistake caused by a still lit cigar or the now obvious neglect of a man she’d long ago learned to despise? She collapsed in the ashes and wished for death...if only she could be that lucky.
As the years continued, her pain grew, taking up a permanent residence in her heart and mind. It was hidden, invisible from those who never bothered to find it. On the outside she seemed bright and loving, but each night her pillow would carry the burden and muffle her sobs. She dreaded her home, with its liquor stained carpets and broken down condition.
And now here she was. He walked through the door again and she winced. This time not from the stench of the air, but from the look on his face. He was evil - malicious, most would say. He sauntered towards her, and as he opened his mouth to speak, she was overwhelmed with the urge to gag. She never could stand the smell of whiskey, but here it was - clear as day. He took a long look at her, and lifted his hand into position. She flinched, as she knew what was coming. The slap was quick, but hard.
It stung, even as she lifted the gun, relishing in the look of shock on his face . It stung as she pulled the trigger, egging her on. It finally let up as he fell to the floor, blood pouring on the carpet, doing nothing to improve it’s appearance. She kicked him and he rolled over, face down, soaking in his red bath. Good riddance, she thought, as she gave him one last look over her shoulder and began to run far away at last. |
