My eyes closed. The heartbreak. The memory. The agony. The wound. Inflicted upon me by the intruder with a knife. Stabbed. The threats of violence and wild gesticulation. The door slamming the wall as it breaks open. Heaving kicking at the door. The pleading and crying after being denied entrance. Talking reconciliation, the sensible voice at the door.

The quiet time. More crying. The self-recriminations. Crying. Slamming the door. He leaves after striking me. The argument escalating, shouting. The acceptance then slimy denial of infidelity. The conversation. He comes home. Sat crying over the letter. Letter arrives through the door.


From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories