The young girl slid quietly behind the slightly ajar door. The shouting was growing worse, she couldn’t stand listening. She crept to the back of the house and there jumped over the low fence.
Run, she did. Run, she savored the feeling of freedom and silence.
She ran until her feet were numb. Tomorrow, they would be bruised and even blistered. But tomorrow, she would not mind them because the house would be quiet again.
At a street reasonably far, she sat on the side of the road. She would stay there for a few hours; by then, her mother would be up in her room sleeping off the anger and her father would be out in the pub drinking off the despair.
Then she would be able to sleep, before which she would pray for a happier family.
Photo by: Phil H
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