"There is blood on my door!"
She almost burst into laughter as the congregation on the television stood up and prophesied Jesus' blood onto the metaphorical door of their lives for protection. Not that she thought they were silly. She would have joined them if there wasn't actually blood on her door.
For two decades, she'd vacillated between thanking and vilifying God for her childlessness. Last week, she settled on gratitude.
She hadn't meant to throw the hammer;it was only because of his carelessness it was beside her anyways. And he was armed with a belt. Not a fair battle but it had never been.
The sound made her breakfast lurch up in her throat, but still she crouched, expected to hear his usual roar and to see the belt buckle flash in the air but neither happened. When she opened her eyes and saw everything, she paused.
Sat.
And stared.
Suddenly, she jumped up and ran to what was to be their first child's room and grabbed her emergency-and-escape bags from the closet, took out the car and door key copies and raced out the front door.
She had been saving and stealing money from him for years but she would not waste it all by travelling abroad. When he was alive, they had traveled across Nigeria and most of West Africa but not once did he let her explore.
But now she will because there was blood on her door.
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I was going to enter this in a flash-fiction contest but I missed the deadline. But, that means I can post it here, so enjoy!
- Karis Oparaugo
YOU ARE READING
To Sink into the Deep
Short Storythe noise in my mind the swell in my heart the words are highlighted why do I go blank the mechanics I know of the spirit I desire it would not be art if it did not sink in so deep
