she was flung against the wall again. her head slammed onto the brick. black dots appeared in her vision. they shook whenever she closed her eyes. there was a ringing in her head. the light was flickering. she was bleeding. it felt hot against her skin. it was trailing down her face.
there was a glass. it shattered on her arm. her skin screamed. she cried out; it hurt. the redness wouldn't stop flowing. she hated the color red.
it was the fifth time that week.
he was a large silhouette standing in front of her. he was tall. she was not. she was scared.
he was not.
his laugh sounded like her scream.
she thought fathers were supposed to care for you. she thought mothers were supposed to stay. she remembered reading road dhal when she was a child. matilda was her favorite. she remembered the book telling her:
"it's a funny thing about mothers and fathers. even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful."
she believed matilda. and road dhal. why wouldn't she?
road dhal lied.
YOU ARE READING
Nemiah
Mystery / ThrillerA Short Story Nemiah. Nemiah. Nemiah. The name echoed in her head. Nemiah, the prey. She, the hunter. TW: Abuse, Death, Blood, Murder
