Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Disarmed 


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Phylor

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Who do you think you are, disarming my arms? 

I’m a memory; tween girl wronged, such harm.

Life wasn’t kind to a child, such as I, 

“Girl be quiet;” he hit me, my soul flies.

Woman, my mother, your fault it is not, 

You didn’t know his secrets; but I fought.

My own fault lay, his anger inciting, 

Daddies drunken rage; I went out with spite.

Ironically, you see; I shoved hard with both–

My arms, strong enough to make him me loath.

Hands claw at his throat; blind him in one eye, 

He’s in prison; and I with angels sigh.

Each day I see you cry with regret Mama, 

Your every breathe, sobbing from what you saw.

Words apologizing for not being there, 

How could you know? Woven in your despair.

Carved statue; youthful glow, eternal girl child, 

My soul hovering; watch statue defiled.

Did the marble break? No quality of stone?

Smooth form, my likeness made; please understand —

My soul’s not here kept; I’m where clouds form rain,

My life’s c’est fini; God will heal your pain.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.