Stand still.
I still don't understand what I've done wrong, but I do as I'm told.
The older woman gets the cloth from the cupboard and ties it around the small girl's head, much like a blindfold.
Bend over, hold your ankles.
Eight years old. I was eight years old. I was terrified. But I did as I was told. Bereft of my sight, all I could do was listen to my surroundings. But I heard nothing but a small tinkle of metal clanging. It came out of nowhere.
The metal studs lining the leather belt stung. The small girl falls over in shock. The older woman proceeds to lift her by the hair and slam her against the wall. The small girl does not cry.
YOU ARE READING
Academy Of American Bullshit
PoetryCollection of poetry, parts of short stories, and the occasional rant written by an artist who is angrier than she'd like to admit.
