Polly knelt in her single circular window sill, trying to
think of an appropriate prayer. A pillow was tucked under her swollen left
knee. He’d be home tomorrow and she still hadn’t recovered. Everything she knew
was about honoring thy parents, so how did you ask the sky to stop them from
hurting you?
Asking God the Father felt wrong, but so did asking His son.
Tears rippled up in her little eyes until she spied an orange streak in the
sky. A shooting star, she thought, a message. A chance. She clasped her fingers
together and wished, and wished with all her heart, that Dad would stop yelling
at Mom, stop grabbing her, and just, just, just stop.
Wishes come true.
Great stuff, John.
ReplyDeleteJustice!
ReplyDeleteThat orange streak was indeed her lucky star.
ReplyDeleteI hope he was in the plane by himself! Difficult subject child abuse.
ReplyDeleteBreathtaking, John. Short, and oh so sharp.
ReplyDeleteNicely done.