HeadHunters
Who should a woman turn to for help?
If she needs help with her car? Or a leaky faucet? Or man-problems? Whowould you ask, and who do you think would answer?
-What if she's Wife#4 to the man she's got problems with, and he has a history of stalking her?
-What if that man has felony convictions for spousal assault on Wife#1?
-And you know that the lifetime federal ban prohibiting his ownership of firearms means less than dick, considering the fact that he misfired a shotgun, blasting a hole into his bed where (it's been alleged) your child sat less than 3 feet away?
-What if he'd once strangled Wife#3 and made threats on her life?
-What if that man stole her child for a year, then kicked him out, and was now attempting to take him back.
-What if that man tried to kill her once before?
-And now the only thing that is preventing your child from falling back into his clutches is the fact that you've split up, and have evaded capture so far?
Tell me, who does this woman turn to?
Oh, riiiiiiiiigggghhhhhhtttt.......
But what if the cops won't help her?
Because they're the ones leading the pursuit.
No need to follow procedure,
When reports are never filed
No incident record equals no incidents
From the fuzzy edges of the law
Second choice, come on quick now!
No, her family has washed their hands of her. The few friends who remain have their own lives and don't need the kind of hell that an association with her will bring.
Third option, surely you've got one?
Oooohhh, good thinking. Yes, her tiny town has a woman's shelter. But it and all the resources they could provide are not accessible. Not to her.
Why?
Oh it's funny, you see... Wife#2.....the only wife who still wants him, the ONLY wife who HE broke up with, and coincidentally {or maybe not} the only wife who he'd never attacked violently.....
Wife#2 is the DIRECTOR of the woman's shelter. She is a bleeding heart, woman-helping, do-gooder to the nth degree. She is respected and admired by everyone from cops and judges to welfare moms and border babies. Too bad she's a corrupt, disgusting, child-endangering flying monkey, placing more value in her pleasure at feeling needed by him than in the moral standards a woman in her position should be held accountable to.
Her endorsement is heavy. It carries weight... With cops and judges and CPS.... you know, people that matter when you're fighting to break free of an abuser and take your kid with you. Her recommendation can place a man convicted of woman-beating into a training program where he's now certified as anadvocate for sexually assaulted women. Her stamp of approval can post his picture on their Woman's Shelter Facebook page, where he'll receive the praise and accolades they both feel him worthy of. Her word glosses over gunshot holes in walls until they're invisible. Her stupid, pig snout has protruded enough times to know that law enforcement will not help you.
It's 11:00 Saturday night. You're parked in the parking lot of the ER, the only place you can think of to hide in plain sight. Where chain smoking in a parked car isn't that unusual of a sight. Who do you turn to for help?
I don't see Superman swooping down. It doesn't seem much like Jesus is very talkative either. Lord knows, no blue eyed angel with brand new cowboy boots is headed to save your skin. Cops won't help, you are literally on your own. Your sons future rests entirely on how these next few days will play out.
Fight or flight, I've always chosen the latter. But I'm out of places to hide.
I can't fight everyone. I can't stay hidden forever. The quickest and most effective way to kill a monster is to chop off its head
It's 11:18 pm.
I'm going head-hunting.
Dear Fuck Faces,
I never particularly liked any of you. Except for Greg. Greg's cool. The vast majority of you, however, are a bunch of self-absorbed twats who were either too wrapped up in your own insignificant lives or too stupid to realize that I was really, really unhappy. Maybe I wasn't worth saving anyway. I suppose that's not the most egregious conclusion.
Initially, I had dreamed of hurling myself into the ocean. Dramatic flair, you know. And I heard it's such a peaceful way to go. Alas, it wasn't meant for me; I much prefer to leave a bloated corpse as a physical manifestation of your narcissism and apathy. Just let that guilt soak in. Plus, I have that rash thing with cold water. Furthermore, it's remarkably easy to purchase a handgun in this country.
Ah, yes, please play Billy Idol's timeless ballad "Eyes Without a Face" on a continuous loop during the ceremony. Open casket, of course. Also - I can't stress this enough - keep my liver away from Eric, that deadbeat lush. My organs shall be dispersed amongst the people who are truly deserving, the ailing wealthy with the means to afford them. After hollowing me out, please preserve my cadaver and use it as a Halloween lawn decoration.
Well, I guess that about does it. Don't worry, I'm saving you all a seat beside me in Hell.
P.S. If the fish are still alive, could somebody please feed them?
Innocence Lost
What did you feel when you beat her?
What pleasure in it did you find?
Her tears fell as she grew weaker
You wanted to teach her to mind.
Face down biting the pillow
Screams muffled, no one could hear.
Choking as you landed each blow
Instilling in her only fear.
What drove you to hurt your daughter?
Did her beauty drive you insane?
Jealousy ran just like water
It ate away at your brain.
She loved you and wanted to please you
More than you ever could know.
But farther and farther you withdrew
As the child continued to grow.
Sickness was your destination
A tumor took root in your brain.
You awoke up to humiliation
Dark clouds, thunder, and rain.
She was 14, becoming a woman
Taller than you overnight.
Her eyes, they caught your attention
You saw what was missing, the fright.
In it's place was strength and wisdom
Beyond what she should have had.
With it a brand new freedom
Did what she'd become make you mad?
One last time you raised your hand
Her defiance too much to bare.
That strike, it never did land
That's it, she'd had her share.
Eyes blazing and shoulders thrown back
She faced you down like a cat.
Suddenly your world turned to black
To her cat you were only a rat.
5 years passed and then you died
A memorial held in your name.
She was there but she never cried
You've only yourself to blame.
How do you feel about your legacy?
She looks back and remembers the pain
The times she begged you for mercy
The only thing you gave her was shame.
Would you be proud of your daughter
A son of her own to raise?
The chain of abuse she did shatter
She sees no fear in his gaze.
She wonders why her mother would hurt her
Overwhelmed with love for her boy.
Of his trust in her she can be sure
He is her pride and her Joy.
Now and then tears come calling
She breaks down and starts to cry.
It's not for you they are falling
But the innocent girl, youth gone by.
A Bad Date
"I must feed the beast," he whispered into her ear. She giggled. He took her hand and led her into his bedroom. He picked her up , and laid her on the bed. She found to her surprise that she was unable to move, as if glued to the bed.
She screamed as she struggled in vain. "I must feed the beast," he said again to her. He walked over to a button on the wall and pushed it.
The floor underneath the bed slowly pulled away to reveal that the bed lay at the center of a large web. From below, a dark figure the size of a small car began to emerge into the light. It's body was flanked by eight large legs. She screamed as its fangs found their mark. It removed her from the bed and then disappeared from where it came. "I have fed the beast."
Cigarettes
I always hated your smoking.
My mother did it
and I never liked the smell.
You had half a pack left
the night you drove to the gas station
to get more.
You must have thought you lost them
but you didn't.
I hid them
because I wanted you to quit.
If I would have known
about the drunk driver that night,
If i would've paid more mind
to the slick roads or those old tires,
I would've given them to you.
But I didn't.
And I'm sorry.
Things were getting better
between us.
The fights came less frequently.
Your gaze brought me tranquility
like it did so long ago.
I remember one night
I sat next to you on the porch
while you smoked.
We didn't speak,
but our eyes met,
and through your cigarette smoke
and my inability to find the right words
to tell you I that I care,
our hands reached for one another.
And our fingertips
had barely touched,
before God had cast a line down
and yanked you off the earth
and to the other side of the universe
like a celestial fisherman.
He left me alone
with half a pack of cigarettes.
I wish I buried them with you.
Thank you
Today I woke up to see that I had 51 people following me. When I first joined Prose, I expected it to be like every other writing website and I figured that nobody would care that someone new had joined. But, it's different, everyone here is so sweet and supportive that it feels like home. So I just want to say Thank You to everyone who follows me, who reads any nonsense that I write, who likes my work and takes their time to comment. This means a lot to me. Thank you
Only 40
With an all-mighty cry, he sank to his knees. Directly in front stood a cloaked figure, dark hair cascading off its shoulders. Its face, veiled by its garb, retained features neither feminine nor masculine.
"Please," he whimpered for the Who-Knows-How-Many-eth time, "I swear...I'll be good."
The figure stood unconvinced. "I know I wasn't before, but I mean it."
It held out a hand, reaching for his forearm and tugging firmly.
"At least ten years? I'll volunteer, I'll go to church! I'll start talking to Sam again!" he struggled frantically as he was dragged through the door, "One year? Please!"
