She Only Got Flowers Once
"You call this a meal?" He shouted in her face.
"THIS IS GRUEL," he slapped the bowl of soup from the table and grabbed her by the collar. "MAKE ME SOMETHING ELSE!"
She nodded, lip quivering, and ran to the kitchen. She pulled pots and pans from the pantry, herbs and spices, different meats. She made him a feast.
The only thing is, he never tasted it - he said she took too long, slapped her, and went to bed. She apologized a million times and put everything away, planning on serving it to him tommorrow.
She sighed heavily and laid down on the couch, her tiny frame bruised and sore. She closed her eyes and fell into sleep.
The next morning she showered, made sure she looked perfect and started cooking breakfast two hours before he even woke up.
"Mmm, smells good." He said and sat down at the table, he piled food onto his plate and ate in silence.
She stared and smiled timidly, hands cupped and in her standing lap.
"Well, what're you staring at!? Start your morning chores." She nodded immediately and started for the pantry when he dropped the fork to the plate and asked, "Do I taste..., onion garlic?" She turned to him and nodded. A sick, twisted smile appeared on his face. He stood up and walked over to her, cupping her face in his right hand. He put his lips to her ear and said,
"You know I hate onion garlic."
The beating insued. But it was different today, more intense.
He threw her into a wall. He does this all the time.
Punched her in the face. Common.
But then, he walked off and left her balling silently in a ball on the floor.
He returned with a knife.
He stabbed into her right hand, twisting the knife, watching the blood pool around it, staining the carpet. He repeated the action on the other hand, slowly working his way up.
Slashing, ripping, and tearing. Making certain no one piece of skin is left unmutilated.
He cleaned all her wounds and covered her in a warm, soft blanket.
Then called the poilce.
He went to jail and her funeral was a small one.
Her headstone read:
She was beaten 287 times.
But she only got flowers once.
"THIS IS GRUEL," he slapped the bowl of soup from the table and grabbed her by the collar. "MAKE ME SOMETHING ELSE!"
She nodded, lip quivering, and ran to the kitchen. She pulled pots and pans from the pantry, herbs and spices, different meats. She made him a feast.
The only thing is, he never tasted it - he said she took too long, slapped her, and went to bed. She apologized a million times and put everything away, planning on serving it to him tommorrow.
She sighed heavily and laid down on the couch, her tiny frame bruised and sore. She closed her eyes and fell into sleep.
The next morning she showered, made sure she looked perfect and started cooking breakfast two hours before he even woke up.
"Mmm, smells good." He said and sat down at the table, he piled food onto his plate and ate in silence.
She stared and smiled timidly, hands cupped and in her standing lap.
"Well, what're you staring at!? Start your morning chores." She nodded immediately and started for the pantry when he dropped the fork to the plate and asked, "Do I taste..., onion garlic?" She turned to him and nodded. A sick, twisted smile appeared on his face. He stood up and walked over to her, cupping her face in his right hand. He put his lips to her ear and said,
"You know I hate onion garlic."
The beating insued. But it was different today, more intense.
He threw her into a wall. He does this all the time.
Punched her in the face. Common.
But then, he walked off and left her balling silently in a ball on the floor.
He returned with a knife.
He stabbed into her right hand, twisting the knife, watching the blood pool around it, staining the carpet. He repeated the action on the other hand, slowly working his way up.
Slashing, ripping, and tearing. Making certain no one piece of skin is left unmutilated.
He cleaned all her wounds and covered her in a warm, soft blanket.
Then called the poilce.
He went to jail and her funeral was a small one.
Her headstone read:
She was beaten 287 times.
But she only got flowers once.
holy whoa o_o
that's really sad ];
hollywood tragedy., August 8th, 2008 at 11:21:49am
It's a shame how often things like this happen.
What inspired you to write this?
Umberto, August 8th, 2008 at 12:09:22am
Whoa. :|
(btw, gruel is spelled wrong)
ROSLYNN, August 7th, 2008 at 08:47:48pm
D: damn. this horrified me. is this real?
CanYouFeelIt, August 7th, 2008 at 01:48:11pm
That left me feeling incredibly empty.
(In a good way, and like everyone said it's extremely powerful.)
threeam., August 7th, 2008 at 02:10:43am
=[ omg. I got shivers...and I almost cried.
Bubble Wrap., August 6th, 2008 at 11:45:50pm
if is real that is just so sad.
this is so powerful.
it hurts just to read.
Fallop!an Cwac Cwac., August 6th, 2008 at 01:50:16pm
f*cking hell
powerful stuff
:/
really really good though.
Trusty Chords., August 6th, 2008 at 08:20:53am
Oh lord. This made my heart sink :(
glitch killgasm., August 6th, 2008 at 07:24:17am
:'(
Did you write this? .. Is it real?
Skippy., August 6th, 2008 at 06:47:03am