Saturday, August 6, 2016


An intense and irresistible desire for freedom.

It struck her during yet another round of accusations and insinuations, after the baby woke and began screaming. His voice, once a balm to her ears, filled with rage and contempt as it battered at her down-turned head and dripped acid over her soul. 

Two wishes then, equally strong: either she and baby Jonah free or the ability to turn to stone, the both of them, so their hearts could remain unbroken. Unfortunately, no human heart ever remains unbroken.

Hearing his heavy boots veer toward the door to the baby's room, she jumped to her feet and ran to block the door; the heavy skillet hidden behind her. "Get the hell outta my way, you fat cow, it's time your brat shut up" he hissed just as he grabbed her milk-sore chest and twisted; something he'd done dozens of times in the six months since Jonah had been born. This time, however, she was prepared, knowing he always returned in a rage after seeing his friend ... swinging as hard as she could with the frying pan, she sent both he and the skillet sailing into the wall. Turning toward her, trying to grab her throat, he staggered as Demetria panicked, flailing at him. Her unloving husband, Carl, drew his fist back, preparing to take her down, as Demetria pictured her right hand as a stony fist and threw her punch first. This time he stayed down and she shook her hand a moment before grabbing his wallet and dressing wee Jonah.

Back in her room with the baby; hurriedly changing clothes, then slipped the sling on in front and placed him in it. Stuffing supplies into the backpack and pocketing the $57.00 she'd found in his billfold, along with his debit card, she planned to get more money from an atm and do it again after midnight; hoping against hope she'd make it before he thought to cancel the card. The bus depot was across town but it wouldn't do her any good, Carl had destroyed her driver's license and they wouldn't sell her a ticket without i.d.; she knew this for a fact, she'd tried once before.

Slipping outside and drawing a deep breath, she set off down the pavement at a steady pace; it was less than a mile to the nearer edge of town, where they could escape into the woods. There was a convenience store halfway between and she could get more money from the store's atm. Jonah, bless him, was sound asleep already and his tiny snores set the pace for her...


  1. As always.
    More please.
    And I am sorry she didn't use the skillet to give herself a bit more time.

    1. Oh, there was a reason it switched from the skillet to the 'stony' (think earth) fist. =D

  2. Yes please, more. I do hope she is able to get far far away.

  3. Good for her to get out of there and take the money and run.

  4. All too often it happens...all too often...

  5. Very powerful. Now I want to know what happens next.

  6. Compelling. I'm with EC; I expected more from the skillet.

  7. I hope she got far, far away from that ass! Good for her to grab all she could.

  8. Taking the steps to something better I hope.

  9. This is so real, so powerful and gripping. Wonderful writing. The dripping of acid on the soul, yes, what a perfect wording for domestic abuse. I think you have a book (or two) in you.


C'mon, be cranky and let 'er rip!