Thought I’d give this 100-word thing a whirl on a peaceful, rainy Sunday. For some reason the thought of a person confronting a childhood abuser has been knocking around in my brain. I don’t think I would want to stay in that world long enough to write a more detailed story about it.
She didn’t recognize me, clearly. A thin smile, blank eyes as she passed. Memories flashed. A crowded stale-smelling bed, hunger pangs, shouting. A door slam as she left for the night.
I grabbed her arm. Angry eyes met mine. Fearful recognition.
Voice shaky, she swore how much she’d changed. All lies.
A car sped by. I imagined flinging her into its path. Relief, knowing we didn’t breathe the same air any longer.
Another flash. My daughter, happy, thriving, waiting with the sitter. I dropped her arm. It hung limply at her side as she watched me pass, free of regrets.