The Women who Ran Away

Bare feet pounding the pavement, arms pumping, heart on overdrive. Ignoring the jagged edges of loose paving stones, broken glass, excrement and other objects, blocking the pain. That wasn't difficult, she had been doing it for so many years. She heard a car turning into the street and felt herself panic. Reaching inside she focused on her breath, calming, soothing. The car drove past, the driver oblivious to her plight, her flight to freedom. In her mind's eye she pictured herself on the school playing field, leading the others to victory, the first to cross the finish line. He had drawn lines for her, told her, shown her, repeatedly, what would happen if she crossed them. Now she had erased his lines, replacing them with her own. They were still a little wiggly but time would set them straight. Reaching the edge of town, she dived behind a bush, retrieving a bag stuffed with what she thought she might need to start this new life. Clothes she had picked out herself, a book she had been forbidden to read, pen and paper, oh how she had longed to write, and half the cash from the safe he thought she wasn't bright enough to remember the combination for. She picked the glass and stones from the soles of her feet, wiped away the muck and blood and slipped on her most comfortable shoes, the ones he made her wear to church. She would burn them once she reached her destination. Shouldering the back pack, she disappeared into the night.

On the other side of the world, her sister in sorrow walked along a dirt track. She had no need to run, didn't think she could if she tried. She had no need to run because the man who had caused her pain, who had treated her like a slave, like a dirty little secret, was lying in the kitchen, his brains splattered on the floor. She had only meant to hit him once but the marble rolling pin that had rolled out endless mounds of dough had been such fun to swing, the thud as it made contact with his head like music to her ears, the pattern the blood and bits of brain created so beautiful. So she had kept swinging it, delighting in the crunching sounds, admiring the work of art she had made from such a piece of shit. It didn't really matter now if she headed East or West, although she knew that East led to the ocean and she had never seen, smelt or tasted the salty waters of the Coral sea. Nobody would find him for days, they had no neighbours and had led an isolated existence. For twelve long years she had been at his beck and call and during that time she had lost count of the breaks he had inflicted and healed. She walked with a limp yet she walked with purpose as she headed along the dirt track in search of the ocean.