Not Beaten

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: The Imaginarium


A short story inspired by the Imaginarium House Picture Prompt 27.

Submitted: October 05, 2017

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Submitted: October 05, 2017

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Not Beaten

"Get out,” she said, from where she cowered on the floor. It might hurt but she would get herself up on to her feet and face him down. Enough was enough and the line had been crossed.

He stood there, rubbing at his hand. It had hurt him too, then. Good, she thought. Every word he was about to say she knew by heart. She could have spoken the words along with him, even copied his intonation. The apology that sounded so sincere that too many times now she had accepted. But not this time. Not once he’d used his fists.

"Don’t bother with your lies. Just.....get.....OUT!” She shouted the last word, beginning to lose control as she felt the bruise starting to form.

"Hang on, now,” he said, a change to the script. “This house is as much my home as yours.”

"And I’ve got my phone. Right here!” She waved it towards him. “One call and you’ll be escorted from here. I’d rather not do that to you, but, you make me, I will.

"Oh, come on, Mom. You know I didn’t mean it. But you just don’t let up....”

"Please, just go!” She turned away, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes.

She opened the door, held it, waited as the cooler air made its way inside. “Get your keys, take your car and go. We’ll talk in a few days.”

"No, don’t you dare throw me out,” he was angry again, hands scrunched up in to fists. “You’ll regret it, I’m telling you....”

She’d moved, positioned herself. She shoved him hard when he wasn’t expecting it, slammed the door behind him. For a few minutes she pressed her back against it, waiting for the hammering but it did not come.

She needed a drink to calm her nerves. She thought of whisky, brandy, wine, but instead turned on the kettle, made herself a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table, her hands around the mug, and tried to stop the trembling.

She was alone. She didn’t need to hide her hurt any more but could let the tears flow, let the sobs make there way out from inside her shattered heart. What should she do? She’d not think about it, forget it, put it right out of her mind. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that.

Slowly her hands began to shake that bit less. The sobbing became less harsh, less raw. She sniffed, dried her eyes....and then she noticed the door opening, the door from the garden. How could she have forgotten to lock that?

She stared at it, the opening, then shut her eyes.

"Mom! I’m home,” he said, and this time he had a bat.


© Copyright 2017 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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