(100-word flash fiction)
Her father had come home drunk. Again.
There are muffled thuds coming from her parents’ bedroom. Again.
Tomorrow there will be bruises on her mother’s body and her nose will be bleeding. Again.
She counts the pills. Again.
26. She decides she has enough.
Tomorrow she will put him to sleep. Forever.
Later that night, a sound whiplashes through her skull and cracks open her sleep.
By the time she gathers her senses, her door opens and her mother stands framed in the passageway light. Wraithlike, in her pale, sheer nightgown.
When she speaks, she sounds spectral.
“I killed him.”
Oh well, here’s the fix for my Friday Fictioneers weekly craving. Rochelle, our able hostess, is to be blamed (for the craving) 🙂
Fiction based on photo prompt below –
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young