A short story about the terrors of domestic abuse. Won an honorable mention in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards (2014)
The house was bitterly quiet when I arrived. Molly had left her teddy bear on the windowsill. Thoughts of returning it were flooding my mind, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to go back to that house and see the children that thought I abandoned them. Like I was a little girl again, I clutched the teddy bear to my chest and rocked back and forth, sending a ripple of creaking sounds across the wood floor. Whenever my husband was in a rage, I would tell Molly and Tim to try to imagine their way out. They would imagine that they were on a beach, knee deep in soft sand, with the tropical breeze sending their hair in a flurry or sometimes, they would imagine that they were in a castle where the floors were donned with red carpet that was soft to the touch. The walls were encrusted with rubies and emeralds and we could eat delicious chocolate cake every single day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a place where monsters couldn’t reach because knights in blindingly bright metal armor stood outside, ready to defend the castle in our honor. My eyes were shut tight, trying to imagine myself out. I could hear laughter echo in my ears, as I stood back at my sister’s house. This time, however, I was inside, wrapped up in the excitement. All the children surrounded me in front of a roaring fire as I told bed time stories about dragons and prince charmings ready to save the princesses.
The bang of a door forced my eyes to flutter open. The loud sounds of stomping could be heard, getting louder every second. Then, he stormed in, his face red with rage and fury. A bottle of potent liquor shook in his hands as he spoke.
“Where are the children?” He demanded. I tried not to move.
“I asked you a question, where are the children, woman?” The house quivered with his words. I tried not to breathe. Standing before me was the dragon and my prince charming all wrapped up into one and the princess inside me had crumbled away.
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself out. I was in a village that overlooked the mountains. It was noisy with just the right kind of sound. People hurried along their way, shouting “have a nice day”s as they ran. Strong hands gripping on my arms made me stumble from the imagination.
“Are you listening to me, woman?” His face was right up against mine, waiting for an answer. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were expectant.
“The children are gone. They are not coming back.” I said, calmly. The screaming did not subside, but my expression did not change. I had made up my mind, it was time to escape.
That night, I slipped away into the darkness that camouflaged me well. With great force, I managed to tug our old canoe into the water. Clambering inside, I decided to let it take me wherever it decided I needed to go.
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