Red… All she could see was red. Anita turned her eyes away from the pool of blood that seemed to flow without end. The blood that seemed to flow away with her years of pain and brokenness. It was over… She was too scared to believe it but it was over. No more would she feel berated. No more would his voice thunder with threats of death for her and her aged mother. No more would his hand strike her. No more would the heel of his foot stomp out her unborn children.
The sound of crushing ceramic snapped her back to reality. She looked down at the broken piece of the flower pot that once stood proud at the side of the living room. The flower pot that would no doubt be prime evidence in the prosecutor’s case.
She didn’t care much about prison. She didn’t care much about anything. All she wanted was to go to sleep. That first sleep of freedom. That first sleep with no worry was all she could think of. She was never a violent person. Softness and meekness best described her. But not today, not four minutes ago when she could bear Richmond’s brutality no more.
All she had done was hug an old friend. That surely was not worth being beaten up for. Which was a point of view Richmond didn’t share. In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of the standing mirror on the right side of the now-upturned room. She turned and stared at her reflection. Her robust build looked haphazard in the flowing gown ripped from the fight that had ensued. For the first time, she could see her brokenness in a different light. She could see the tear in her lip from where blood flowed. She could see the swelling around her left eye and the bleeding cut on her head. These sights were not new to her but she could feel something was different.
She drew closer to the mirror as her mind raced, trying to find what was new. Suddenly, she could feel it. She could almost see it. Her heart… That vital organ that had solidified to help her survive the seven-plus years of Richmond’s violent love. That organ wasn’t solid anymore. She clutched her chest, wishing deeply she could hug it. “Her beautiful heart”. It was beating, it was breathing. It was alive. A sense of relief washed through her and tears fell freely from her eyes as she realized, after all this time, it works…..
Joy Beauty
Joy Beauty is professional scriptwriter, story creator and artistic director.
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