fff#68

finish writing/editing@noon-on-the-nose so i suppose this post technically late, but we reach still, imperfect, but i think the idea there; flash fiction friday #68: write of vengeance.

fingers flying over keys, blood thundering in her ears, brain rushing same way, she wasn’t debating anymore. the avalanche of memories, everything she had been holding back, pushing down, squeezing, compressing between the folds of her mind, forcibly forgetting, the weight of all of it made further debate impossible. the evidence was undeniable and something had to happen.
memory: schoolyard, late, almost dark…she, young, alone, waiting…she waited like that too much, in dark, lonely places. nobody else in her class would get leave back so late, so often. she wondered if her mother loved her. she knew her father didn’t.
Looove working out those daddy issues…
memory: sweating in the car, waiting outside the bar, wondering what went on inside that was so great it was worth her wait. later, years later, still waiting, now reluctant designated driver, nearly resigned to her fate as a captive enabler, barely holding onto an idea of escape…
BDSM fetish…
memory: her own words she thought safe in their leather binding, brandished like the rod of correction breaking the glass over her emergency extinguisher, her flight plans shattered like the childhood piggybank plundered to stop her executing them.
Rape fantasy, don’t ask, just come+take and if I resist, force me…
starting all over, saving from scratch again was going to take many months and she couldn’t do it like this, this vex, this resentful. she couldn’t live waking up feeling this way every day, that would send her mad. she needed to release the frustration that was steadily building and seemingly boundless…releasing that pressure would give her room to breathe…
glad she was smart enough not to hide all the secrets she was saving in her invaded journal, she uploaded the carefully selected photo of her mother, added her mother’s digits, social media handles, email addresses, every item of contact information she had, to the fake profile she created. And only when she had shared @fuckmeMILF across multiple platforms and knew the barbarians would soon be storming her mother’s gate, ensuring she would be left alone to make her eventual escape, could she think clearly again.

walk good