This won the Write Invite live Flash Fiction Competition on the 16th June 2012
Secret Corridors
I never quite realized just how much stress I had been
under. I just sort of got on with it. I didn't kick up a fuss, wail out my
woes, paint out my pain on the washing line. I didn't let my troubles go viral
- for what would have been the point. It was my fault anyway I'd decided, and
with that thought I had kept my head lowered when I collected the morning paper
and gave Toby a discreet show and tell when I left him at the school gates.
The skies were eternally black, and Ted's reign in my life
was for life. I poofed the cushions on his throne, polished the jewels on his
crown and I knelt by his knee wearing his authority on me like a heavy robe. He
was my master and I wasn't to forget it.
But in secret corridors I dreamed. I dreamed of strolling on
the shore, tiptoeing through the froth on the sand. I dreamed of another's
touch. An altogether gentler touch, one that was welcomed and longed for, and
one that left no purple bruises and bloody lips. One that whispered out love on
my skin and warmed the stone that had replaced my heart.
In the secret corridors the clouds rolled away, blue
replaced black, joy replaced fear and someone else replaced Ted. In the secret
corridors all was fresh, like cotton sheets on the washing line, all was
peaceful like sitting in the church and praying - in the secret corridors I
didn't need someone to rescue me.
But that was all they had been - corridors - a place to escape
to. And was it worth it, for when I emerged with hope burning in my little
stone heart the clouds had rolled back again, the cotton sheets were soaked
with tears and all I was left with was prayer.
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