I ran down here and hid in the bushes when I saw the rifle in his hand. He saw me run through the kitchen, hollered at me to stop, but I didn’t, he couldn’t catch me. I left her to bear witness to another rampage.
Oh, it’s different this time. He wouldn’t use that rifle…would he? I woke up to hear them fighting. He said he was going to blow his head off and that would solve all her problems. I snuck in, saw him waving the rifle, drunk and dangerous, my mother pinned in the corner, horrified to see me in harm’s way.
Her eyes begged me: Get out! Go!
So I ran.
But he doesn’t know about my hiding place, or the phone I hid out here.
I jump when the door slams.
It’s time to stop hiding, time to tell.
If I live long enough, I will.
My Entry for Flash Fiction’s May Challenge #1—Witness