|April 7, 2011||Posted by Kelly K @ Writing w/ Chaos under Fiction, Writing Prompt|
Someone has stolen something from you (or your character). Something of tremendous value. What will you do to get it back? Or will you give up?
Write a post – fiction or non – and tell us about it. Word limit is 600.
For those who wanted to “turn the page”.
Stale air surrounded me, as if I was a toy packed in an attic box.
My eyes fluttered open, flashing the unfamiliar room as if viewing a slide show.
Yellowed afghan covering my body. It itched.
Iron bed frame with a clean white dress draped over it.
Wooden cross on the wall with crucified Jesus.
Ancient wall clock ticking loud enough I winced.
Moth eaten white curtains framing the tiny window.
My new husband watching me from a chair in the corner.
Fear raced up my spine, as the nightmare flooded back to me.
The hot farm water smelling of sulfur, rinsing away the outdoor grime.
The curtain rod ripped away, clattering to the ground.
The white hot needles as my wet hair pulled me out of the tiny tub, my shin banging against the edge.
The fury in his eyes as the hands I loved wrapped around my throat, his strength branding my naked body with the cold towel rack behind me.
The words spat at me.
Dirty. Ungrateful. Whore. Ruined.
The fight to breathe as the outer rim of my world dimmed before a black curtain fell.
It had to be dream.
“Lily, you’re awake. Good. I was worried about you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a croak emerged.
It hurt to swallow.
“Here.” He stood, walking next to my bed.
My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to flee even though his body blocked the door.
He delicately picked up a glass of water on the nightstand. “Lily, drink this.”
The water soothed the dryness even as my throat struggled to gulp it down.
The cold water dribbled down the corner of my mouth, over my neck, and onto the towel beneath my still wet hair.
It had to be a dream.
Prepared with a small towel in hand, he wiped away the liquid trail. “Lily, I let my anger get the best of me.” He caressed the top of my head and frowned at me, as if I was an ill child. “You were careless.”
Nausea danced in my stomach.
Not a dream.
“You are my angel. My Lily. You will be the mother of my children. I cannot tolerate filth or dirt, especially on my perfect flower. You promised me.”
Guilt. This I knew, witnessing his temper once before, after tracking mud into his apartment. The anger. My promise never to do it again.
My excitement over the space, the land, and the garden cloaking the memory from view.
“You ruined the dress. You destroyed my gift to you.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice a whisper. I shouted with my eyes, trying to say what my words couldn’t.
His face softened. “There are rules, Lily. Follow those rules, and we can be happy. Break them, and there are consequences.”
I managed a weak nod. I wouldn’t forget.
He smiled, his face transforming into the man I loved again. “Excellent. Dinner is in thirty minutes. Do you need help getting ready?”
I shook my head.
He hovered over me, planting a soft kiss on my forehead before backing away. “Very well. Do not be late, Lily. Grandmother will not tolerate it.”
The door clicked behind him.
I fought to rise, the splitting headache and the tucked in sheets holding me prisoner.
Finally, I swung my feet to the bare wood floor, clad only in a foreign flannel nightgown, the hazy nightmare dissipating after his smile.
He was my life. I’d sworn to be his. Forever. To love, honor, cherish, and obey.
He promised me babies to hold.
I’d given up everything for this wish.
He could steal my garden too.
Constructive criticism wanted and greatly appreciated.