Tears stream down my face, as I hold an unwashed plate from last night's dinner. Only one was used last night. Water pours down, slowly removing some of the leftover grime stuck on it. After taking a sponge, I start cleaning the plate. Once it is shining clean, I grab a towel and start drying it off. Memories of the previous night flow through my mind.
The images of a man sitting alone at a table, eating his dinner as if everything is content in his life. As I walk farther into the room, the air suddenly turns cold. The man shifts in his seat to gain a view of me. His eyes fill with hatred. Suddenly, he jumps out of his chair towards me. I stumble backwards, attempting to get out of his reach. He grabs ahold of my hair and harshly pulls it towards him. It yanks me close to him, as I keep struggling to get away. The man raises his free arm, slamming his hand into my face. The force knocks me onto the floor. My vision blurs, but a shine catches my eye. Upon the man's finger rests an old ring. The ring I picked out for him four years ago.
Dazed, I snap out of the memories. I drop the sponge and subconsciously start rubbing my bruise-covered arm. My eyes wander around the old kitchen, taking in the sights. After glancing around to make sure everything was in place, my eyes land on a picture frame resting on the counter. I stumble over to that counter and gently pick up the frame. Inside it is a photo of a small girl around age four. A sudden saltiness invades my mouth. Wiping my cheeks with my hands, I brush off the wetness. Two days ago is when it happened. The day that man took her life. Gritting my teeth, I throw the frame across the room. My heart still aches at the loss of the most precious thing in my life.
Placing my hand against the side of my head, I make way out of the room. As I enter the living room, I see the results of what I'd done. His body lies upon the floor. Cold blood surrounds it, staining the carpet. Once I reach the corpse, I collapse to my knees. The tears flow faster now, and I gaze at the knife sticking out of his neck. It isn't my fault. I'm not to blame. He got what he deserved. If he had just left her alone, he would be alive right now. But he hadn't, so he's no longer here.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Deserving of
Ficción GeneralA quick scene I had to write for my creative writing class. We were given 2 prompts. The prompt I chose was "A woman is in the kitchen doing dishes. She's been abused by her husband. She just murdered him" and had to write the scene that follows it...
