A PATTERN OF SIX
Six years I had been imprisoned – I
was only a child when they forced me into marriage.
It took me six days to find
the key – by then I was starving and he was stinking.
The open door terrified me. I counted
those water pipes many times before I took the six steps to the tunnel with its
sheltering roof, dashed over the cross-alley to the safety of tall walls, and bought
enough food for six in a dark little shop.
Only then did I return home to clean
up the blood.
Six knife wounds make a dreadful mess.
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Rochelle took this photograph and posted it on her blog https://rochellewisoff.com/ to prompt Friday Fictioneers to write stories in one hundred words each.
If you go to page 81 on http://visualverse.org/ you will be able to read another of my flash fiction stories.
