TABLO PROMPT: “Try getting into character and writing stream-of-consciousness as that character to recreate the mental wanderings of their mind.”
I crumpled on the floor in a heap, knees buckling beneath me. It is strange that I took a punch to the head but my knees were what gave out. I could see the ground coming toward my face but my arms didn’t seem to be working. Hmm… Looks like my legs weren’t cooperating either. My cheek met the linoleum with a smack, jarring my head. The bloody gash on my hairline widened upon contact. I’d have to go with bangs to hide the injury while it healed. I hoped that it wouldn’t scar. I’d hate to be stuck with bangs the rest of my life. I already had a cigar burn on my rib cage that made me uncomfortable in a bikini. I’d never actually worn a bikini but the fact that I no longer had a choice in the matter bothered me.
Bothered? Hmm… I should be more bothered that my husband had plowed his fist into my temple. I must be starting to accept that this was my reality. To escape poverty I had to get knocked around every now and again. My sister had suffered to keep me safe. Now it was my turn to do the same for her. I hoped my arms started working soon. The floor smelled like the pine-scented cleaner my husband insisted I use when I scrubbed it. The odor was burning my nostrils. Did real pine trees smell like this? I wouldn’t know since I’d never been around any before. I spent my life surrounded by cacti and tumbleweeds.
I guess Cacti
Knives. I had a knife. I was good with it too. Throwing, stabbing, chopping – I had skills. Perhaps the next time my husband decided to use me as a punching bag or an ashtray I’d return the favor. I’d use him as a pincushion. A quick slice across the belly wouldn’t kill him but it might make him think twice before putting his hands on me again.
***THIS CONTENT HAS NOT BEEN EDITED***