The Ten Year Old

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At the awful sound of the crash,
My feet bounce off the bed,
I hurry down the stairs,
In fear that my mom is dead

But she lies crouched in a corner,
Our ancestral vase shattered on the floor,
My father pulls out his belt,
As he firmly bolts the main door.

As I tip-toe into the living room,
My heart pounding in my chest,
I see my mother, now being kicked,
By the father I utterly detest

I reach out for the phone,
Tell the cops my mother may be dead,
By the time I’m done with the call,
Uncountable tears have been shed

My mother’s face is red,
My father’s face, vile,
At the sound of the sirens,
On my face, a wide smile

The cops barge into the house,
See my mother on the floor in pain,
I quietly get back into my room,
And pretend to be asleep again.

This is an entry for the FEMFLASH 2013 writing competition from Mookychick Online. Enter now.

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