In response to PJ’s photo prompted Flash Fiction challenge (75 – 175 words). Special thanks to Dawn M. Miller for the photo.
Beaten, battered, scrambled, torn. My life is worn by a stranger with my face. A stranger who accepts peace in installments. Dammit, he’s home again.
Emboldened by fallacies, my beloved strikes me from night to morn. Wait it out. Wait for the front door to slam, for the picture frames to cease their shaking, before I sneak away.
Hank tosses over a racket; I catch it by hand. He teaches me to be strong, teaches me to stand. The tennis court contradicts my life in the sand. Reshaping, I somehow rise in the ranks.
Taste of life, taste of power. I’m weary of the war, the box, his seed. The sores for all to see and feed. Launch and smack the ball; grow weak, for a reason. Oh, if you only knew how the ball sails far beyond where my worries sink.
Empowered and enraged, I slam the front door. For once, this floor becomes my stage. I throw my bag down, grip my racket, and refuse my sweet beloved’s cage. And in court, I make sure to give Hank my thanks.
(186 words, eek! 😳)