I wrote this for Deliberate Donkey, a brilliant and moving blog on domestic violence.
Leaves blur in the sunlight, waving him on. The boy runs, away from the sound of his mother’s voice which he can still hear, carried on the wind, shouting: “Run. Go. Run.”
So he runs. Up the road, egged on by the cheerleading leaves and the wind, the blue sky and the sun which shines hard against his back – a slap of heat propelling him forward.
He runs – away from his mother’s voice, away from his cowering sister, away from his father who paces the length of the house, clutching the rifle he’d bought for a father-son deer shoot. This father who cried after accidentally running over a pigeon while driving, now sitting in the front room with a rifle across his lap, waiting for his life in this home to end and a new one to begin.
The boy runs because all he can say is “Leave…
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