The Thornbush

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers @

https://rochellewisoff.com/


PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

She crouched behind the thornbush and heard him croon her name in the night.  His silhouette crossed in front of the backyard security lamp, and she clenched her eyes tight so he wouldn’t see her tears reflecting the light.  At first the thunderous rain had masked every sound, but now there was silence except for the crack of the stick when he lashed out at something. 

She couldn’t tell anyone what he’d done.  She would curl up and let the earth absorb her.  The cold was sweet and forgiving, and the yard lamp shone through the thorns like a star.

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