Bottles always bottles.
Suzy always spent her mornings cleaning. The formica table was sticky from his spilled beer.
From the master bedroom she could hear his snores. If only …
‘We will build our home with a garden for our children’. Rob seemed honest once.
Before he broke her spirit (and her nose).
Repentance came later, tears and promises. Lies.
She believed. Again and again.
He would lie again when he woke. Then the fits of fists.
If he woke again.
She felt hope rising as his snoring paraxismed.
Maybe it would work.
Maybe hemlocked beer would make his lying cease.
To me this picture screamed abuse, and I expect to write more such stories. Many apologies for last week, I might have missed returning comments. I’m terribly busy at work at the moment, and weekends have wonderful ice for skating.
Rochelle selects a picture every week for Friday Fictioneers, and we all gather to write stories in 100 words.. this is addictive is fun.
February 15, 2016