100 Word Wednesday

8/7/2019

The cutting

Empty Boone’s Farm bottles rattled in the back floorboard to the rhythms of lust. She was only twelve when her father abandoned her. Now each night she spent in the back seat was just her attempt to erase him from her memory. Each night was an endless stream of the same old shit as boys, trying hard to act like men, dripped sweat from their foreheads. They took what they could and left her cold and empty. Every night ended with tears soaking her pillow. Each time the razor touched her skin, the scars took a little longer to heal.

21 thoughts on “100 Word Wednesday

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