Flash Fiction ~~ A Picture Prompt

Here is a flash fiction piece I wrote using this picture. I must warn you though, that for some reason my mind went to a dark place. It is something I usually don’t write…dark things…but it is what it is. So I’m going to post a….

***trigger alert for domestic violence***

http://imageafter.com
http://imageafter.com

 

 

A soft wind billowed the sails and pulled the boat slowly towards the far off horizon. The day was calm after last night’s ferocious storm. Inside the small cabin lay an exhausted figure sprawled out face down on the small bed. The body moved and rolled over. Two brown eyes opened and stared at the ceiling. They blinked a few times and one lone tear slid from the corner of one of them and slowly trickled down a pale face.

A slight, fragile looking hand wiped the tear away. No time for feeling sorry for herself. She had to get moving and take a tally of the damages to the boat from last night’s storm. As she was about to get up she felt a small furry body rub against her.

“We managed to live through the storm last night, Mr. Whiskers.”

A soft purr was her only answer. She shifted her body and sat up. Her eyes took a look around the cabin and saw a few things askew but otherwise much the same as before the storm. She walked toward the tiny bathroom and spotted her face in the mirror. A gasp escaped her as she saw her reflection. Her left eye was black and blue and there was a small bruise on her chin. Her shaking hands combed through her short black  hair. She looked a mess…but she was alive.

Her mind went back in time to the reason she was on the boat in the first place. Angry words, violent hands and pain was felt and heard once again. When the door slammed and her husband walked out, she made her plans. No more was she taking the abuse. No more was she going to lay helpless while he hit her. No more was she going to be a victim.

She packed a quick suitcase, grabbed the cash she had been hoarding, put Mr. Whiskers in his pet carrier and left. She never looked back. She was just thankful that her father had left her his boat when he died last year. It was his pride and joy. Now it was her sanctuary. Her get away vehicle. Her passage to safety.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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