She had endured her uncle’s treatment for as long as she could recall. When he beat her as a child, she hid her face in her arms, reciting the names of all the fairy tale princesses her mother taught her. As she got older, she accepted the brush of his fingers against her waist in the tiny cottage, and even his groping hands on her breasts when he was drunk.
But when he pressed her down face first on the kitchen table, tearing her skirt and taking her until she was wet with blood, biting her shoulder and calling her a witch’s spawn, she had to escape in the only way she knew
She waited until he went to bed. Then, she slipped the knife from his belt. Continue Reading
George dropped his briefcase by the front door and was both moving and digging his keys out of his pocket before the expensive leather case flopped over on its side. He was in such a hurry that he had to stop and turn around to shut the front door to his house.
Today had been just hell at work. Mrs. Jameson was on him from the start, that skinny, shrieking bitch. All day long she’d been peering over his shoulder and pestering him. She had asked for the Layton file no less than five times today, as if pestering him would get it done any faster.
Then there was Katie, his secretary, who had not only did not bring him his morning coffee promptly at nine-thirty, as was his custom, but also claimed she had told him of the eleven-o’clock Schlossberg meeting today when George knew perfectly well she hadn’t, the lying bitch.
“Bitches, all of ‘em,” George muttered to himself as he unlocked the basement door and threw it open to bang loudly off of the hallway wall. Taking the stairs down two at a time, he loosened his tie and ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair.
He desperately needed some air.
How much longer can I sustain this charade?
She is eleven years old and full of questions but still young enough to trust me implicitly.
“Are we there yet?” she asks as we walk through the seemingly endless wilderness.
“There” is the magical place at the end of this wandering I have evoked within her to keep her focused. When I got that bright idea, I assumed we would be dead long before any doubt entered her mind.
Our mutual love of the outdoors made the first lie easy enough, passing this journey off as a backpacking trip, a chance for a summertime adventure together. Common sense told me those familiar with higher altitudes and the wilderness had a better shot at survival so taking her into the mountains seemed right.
We still encounter plenty of “them” up here but in small enough numbers I have easily avoided them or survived the occasional brief firefight. I am armed and capable of protecting both of us. My husband would be proud. Continue Reading