The Faint, Small Smile.
I grieved for what he once was, then left him to his death.
Today was a good day.
He held my gaze a while.
His fingertips brushed mine
with the faintest, small smile.
He made an unexpected joke.
I must’ve chuckled a little too loud,
so the laughter died on my lips.
I didn’t make another sound.
My jaw was broken in three places.
His knuckles didn’t bruise.
He can’t remember what he did,
so he blamed it on the booze.
That night he went out on the town
and paid to fuck a whore.
He came home to laugh and gloat,
and then he beat me a little more.
The children thundered down the stairs.
They’d been startled by the noise.
I shakily clambered to my feet
to protect my little boys.
This only made him madder,
furious at my disrespect.
Then, from inside his jacket pocket,
something I didn’t expect.
The blade glistened beneath my gaze.
His movement quick and deft,
he plunged it deep inside himself
with all that he had left.
The children did not weep for him.
No ambulance was called.
They stepped across his body,
pitying and appalled.
He cried out for them
and then for me.
He used his very last breath.
I grieved for what he once was,
then left him to his death.
Some stories leave a mark.
If you want to keep reading, perhaps these words will stay with you, too.
The Power Lies in Your Hands.
For the moment you begin to remember that you still have choices.
Reasons I'm Leaving
For the courage to walk away from what is hurting you.
Things I Never Said
For everything that can remain unspoken for far too long.
Keep reading Shannon's words →
Thank you for reading.
— Shannon x
