Fight for it

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Young Writers Foundations


a girl that learned to fight for herself instead of fighting to keep others.

Submitted: November 10, 2017

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Submitted: November 10, 2017

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Fight for It

 

Thump, one fist against flesh; thump, second fist against flesh. She pounds against his ribcage, trying to fight her way in. With every graze of her skin against his, pain laces its way through her heart. His sweet worst thrown at her like hot bullets searing her to the core, painful because she desperately wants them to be true. His hands against her jaw lovingly, but his eyes are masked, a wall to keep her out. She is always fighting for him to love her, fighting what others say about him “it’s never going to happen, you’re just going to get burned,” they say. Her heart always fighting what her brain says is rational. But she loved him, she loved him enough to fight him, to fight for him. She used her hands, she used her words; but nothing ever made it past his walls. Her words not strong enough to break through concrete, and her muscles never strong enough to bring them down. He would come and go as he pleased, never making her any promises for the future, but she wanted those promises. She wanted to wake up every day with him by her side. But she put that aside, because then, it was just enough to have him any way she could, even though it hurt her to not really have him. She wasn’t the only one fighting though, her pain was also fighting, fighting to overtake her. Then one lovely day, those three words left his lips, “I love you Cory,” her heart expanded in joy, but then exploded in rage when she looked in his eyes. His eyes always gave him away, and in them now was not love, what I saw in his eyes was lies, desperation. Her heart no longer in the equation, she thought clearly, violently, and sweetly. Up from the ashes of her heart came an anger so bright it burned in her blood, an anger so great words were no longer a weapon. Her legs started moving on their own, bringing her straight to his door, hand on handle ready to walk out. His strong hand lands on her shoulder in an attempt stop her “where are you going,” he asks perplexed by her sudden change in mood. She tried to speak around the rock forming in her throat, “I’m leaving, no more fighting, not from me anyway.” Her anger so hot that the heat evaporated any tears that might have sprung up. She fought for him, but now she was going to fight for herself.

 

 


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