I'm so used to the hits it feels like rose pedals on my skin. Leaving red and purple bruises behind. His words hit me like the wind of spring, the time I was born, the time the roses were born. Well now I was as red as a rose. All these bruised roses in the spring, I'm surprised anyone would want to keep them.
Sabina finished the last sentence just as her first tear hit the paper, smudging the ink. She meant every word.
"Sabina get your ass in here and finish these dishes! You had enough time to pout!" screamed Charles, her father.
Sabina jumped as he started screaming. He had just finished whooping her for breaking a plate. Going on and on about how they couldn't afford her clumsiness. He smacked her across the face so hard she fell onto the floor. Now with a hand print covering the left side of her face.
Sabina wiped her tears and tore up the poem she had written. Not wanting to risk him seeing it.
"Sabina! Don't make me call you again little girl."
She scurried out of her room and down the small hallway.
"Yes sir?" she said in almost a whisper.
"These dishes ain't gonna wash themselves." He looked at her with such anger then turned with a huff.
YOU ARE READING
Bruised Roses
Teen Fiction"I'm so used to the hits it feels like rose pedals on my skin. Leaving red and purple bruises behind. His words hit me like the wind of spring, the time I was born, the time the roses were born. Well now I was as red as a rose. All these bruised ros...
