Tag Archives: abuse

The Fishing Trip


PHOTO PROMPT – © Dale Rogerson

“Careful, boy. There’s a snake down there.”

Gavin peered over the edge of the dock. “That ain’t a snake, Pa.”

“You callin’ me stupid? Think I don’t know no snake when I see one?”

Gavin shook his head. “No, sir.”

“If it ain’t no snake what is it, Mr. Smarty-pants?”

Gavin shrugged. “Piece of a car–exhaust, maybe?”

“I’m so dumb I don’t know a snake from a piece of scrap metal? That it?”

Gavin looked down.  “No, sir.”

His father’s palm connected with his cheek–hard enough to split his lip.

Gavin didn’t dare look up. He knew better.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to read stories from the rest of the writers.

A Heart Made of Flowers

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright Janet Webb

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright Janet Webb

She sat on the floor looking up at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She’d pushed him too far again. A few more petals fell from the flowers in her heart. They were beautiful once, before him. He saw to it that they’d never be beautiful again. Only a handful of the flowers still cling to life. Most of them have long since died beneath his heavy hand. For years she struggled to protect their beauty. Now she just waits anxiously for the last petal to drop, wondering what she will become when the beauty in her heart is gone.

I skipped last week due to the holiday, but I’m back now with an offering to the Friday Fictioneers gods that is more tragedy than horror, at least until the last petal drops. I have a feeling that that is when the true horror will begin.

Also, in case you missed the announcement, WICKED LITTLE THINGS (100 Tiny Tales of Terror, volume 2) is available on Amazon, Smashwords, and in Print (B&N coming soon). Pick up a copy and let me know what you think. Thanks in advance and you have my condolences for the sleep you’ll be losing.

Not So Perfect Life

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

Photo Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

On the surface her life appeared perfect, but the veil of a neat and tidy existence was just for show. Behind the facade she was a mess. She downed a handful of meds every morning just to be able to cope with her emotionally abusive husband. The bruises he left were never visible, but the scars ran deep.

After he left for work she strung a rope from the chandelier in the foyer–not knowing for sure whether or not it would hold her weight. With noose around her neck, she choked down her pills and stepped off the chair.