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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


A girl is traveling on a bus to get away from an abusive father.

Submitted: April 30, 2018

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Submitted: April 30, 2018

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The rain was drizzling on the window of the bus. My body shook as we hit a pothole. There was a faint handprint on the window that was outlined with condensation. It was tiny and looked like a child’s. Probably about seven years old. There was a steady sound of the a/c whispering through the vents, trying to keep the driver awake. It was quiet otherwise. Everyone was sleeping or staring out their windows like me. The moonlight was barely coming through the window. My body jumped in the seat, my bag next to me jiggled. I heard a small thud and glanced at the floor next to me. A wooden picture frame was laying face down on the dirty bus floor. I could see the wood was starting to splinter off and a name was carved into the back. Bending over I carefully picked up the frame.
I traced my fingers around the letters, spelling out Sara Cade. The wood was definitely old and tattered up. I could imagine the life that the wood had watched. All the pain and sorrow. Sara Cade. It's a pretty name. I guess you could say I was biased. I was always told I looked just like her. The same long ebony hair with the same chocolate eyes. I turned the frame over and stared at the photo. Sara Cade smiled back at me through the broken glass. She had crinkled eyes and a big toothy grin. It was one of those smiles that just made you happy staring at it. In the background was a park and Sara was walking down a pathway with a little girl holding her hand. The girl looked just like her, just like me. I was a happy kid and was pulling my mother towards the person taking the photo. We looked like one of those perfect family photos you get when you buy a new picture frame. It looked so fake but it wasn’t. It was a real picture of me. 
I followed the cracks in the glass with my fingers, barely brushing against it. There was one piece that was just slightly sticking out and it caught my finger. A tiny drop of blood pooled on the glass. I stared at it, thinking about how easy it is for someone to bleed. Just a tiny piece of glass was able to cut me. The cut was stinging, so I wiped the blood off of the glass and held the frame closer to my body. I glanced out the window but could only see my reflection in the glass. My skin was fair and there was a bruise just under my left eye. It was done forming but I could still feel the impact of the fist. The knuckles colliding with my cheekbone. His face staring me down as I laid on the floor. Blood flowing out of my nose and onto the carpet. It almost seemed like an eternity since it had happened, not a few hours ago. That’s why I was sitting on this cold dreary bus, staring out the window with my mother’s picture held to my chest. I needed to get away from the person that took my life away. He took my dreams and sanity. He took my mother.  I needed something new for a change. Something that made me want to get up in the morning. I had snuck into his room while he was passed out and took all of his money. It wasn’t much but hopefully it would get me somewhere. Just anywhere away from him. This was the first time in my life since my mother died that I actually felt happy. I hope that that changes and I do find my life back but at least I was one step in the right direction.

 


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