Essay on He Hit Me: A Short Story

“I’ll never hit you in the face where it will leave a mark...” The words rushed in, taunting. The cold emptiness in the tone, like he was there in the room, whispering in her ear. And all at once, the fear was back. The raw fear that gripped her body like a vice and left her gulping in air. In a panic, she whirled her head around the room. She was alone. Relief flooded her, but the sickening butterflies remained. She gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white; outlining the jagged scar more prominently, and she fought to steady her breathing, blink back the tears, focus on something else.

The large cut on the right side of my forehead had begun to bleed again; my own blood threatening to choke me. “Calm down its ok. You're going through a rough phase that's all. Try to get some rest,” was all the comfort dad could manage before choking up into tears. He turned away as streaks of auburn curls lightly brushed against me, the owner tending to my wound. Rest, he says; not so easy when every time your eyes droop, the dreams begin. They have been getting worse, the closer I become in finding a way to bring her

Claire’s was the first face I saw. Covered in tears, she clutched her mouth with her trembling hand. Next I directed my gaze towards my father, his arms firmly wrapped around my distraught mother. He held her as if he was afraid he would lose her next. The panic on their faces sent my head even further into a spiral. My vision blurred as I fell down a rabbit hole of fear and emotion. Disoriented, I stumbled over my

his tie, remarked, “It’s hot as the devil, I want a shave.” With that he took his seat. I estimated he had a fourdays’

“Fine,” she looked up as a man with a scar running down his cheek smiled sinisterly. She didn’t trust him, she moved to try to get out of his reach but he pulled his arm out. Her eyes widened in horror as his fist came forward, she had stopped crying, watching the fist as if it was coming at her slowly. When it hit her face she barely registered it, it didn’t hurt, only stung and sent a shock through her body. Another fist came, then another. Her vision was going blurry, she heard them say something but she couldn’t make out what it was as her body fell limp against the seat and her eyes shut, unable to handle the pain in her

“How could you?” she exclaims, despairingly. Her eyes begin to well as she turns away and storms off, her heart sagging in heartbreak and anguish. She hides herself in the collar of her coat, embarrassed and humiliated.

The flood of emotions tumbles out. A stream of questions, one after another, is rapidly fired at him - where did he go, why did he leave, and most importantly, why didn’t he say goodbye? All this time she’d spent waiting in the past, suspended in time, unable to receive any semblance of closure or composure. All the pent up emotions rush out of her and guilt flashes in his eyes. "Let’s go inside first,” he says, “I’ll explain what I

I watched him walk away and tried to wipe the tears with the sleeve of my jacket. Of course, the water only smeared. I stood up slowly and looked up at the market. Oh God, Johnny. What would you think of me? Crying… Taking advice from a stranger. I slowly walked up to the store and let the automatic doors slide open. I looked up at the store sign. Letters burnt out and graffiti stretching up the sides. I guess I’ll know soon. I felt for the gag gun in my pocket and inhaled. Getting ready for a running start into the store I exhaled. I’m coming,

I felt someone rubbing my arm softly. When I opened my eyes, I was on the couch with… Katy was snuggled up against me and held my arm in place as I tried to move it from cradling her. Oh, but the man’s deep harsh voice that now rattled my brain had me frozen in place and in pain. Katy covered most of my face being in front of me as we spooned, but I could see (who had to be her dad) on the wall size TV looking at the two of us huddled closely together.

“I hear it was a frenzied attack,” she goes on. “There wasn’t much left of her neck by the time he was finished with her.”

“Those burns need to be treated too. If we don’t debride those soon there’s no way we’re going to be able to get a skin graft on them later.” Mark pointed out.

“Stop,” said Jen as she shook her head back and forth. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

“The firemen came to my house, they burned it down, I got out in time but my family didn’t” she mumbled. At this point she had been sobbing. I had engulfed her in a hug again, “A rumor had spread that I had a secret library in my house” she sobbed. I took a while for her to calm her down

“Oh, lovely,” said Lionel with a grin. “Just another one to add to my vast collection.” The knight commander lifted up his long, curly-blond hair from his neck and touched his burn. “Joan did a good job tending to it. I thought it would feel much worse.”

She had been blessed with long, silky, blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes. I loved her eyes. They were the same color as our father’s, and with him gone, I often felt as though Kayla was my only way to hold on the a small glimpse of him I still had in my life. Our father had died when Kayla had only just turned four, so she didn’t have the memories of him that I did, and I knew she envied me for it. She was too sweet to ever treat someone with animosity, even if they deserved it, as I felt I probably often did. I was the fiery sister, the one with stubbornness leaking from every pore. I was the one who held grudges, and made sarcastic comments. She, in turn, was quick to forgive and offer favors. I envied her, this. I simply hadn't the patience to deal with all the backbiting falsies of the world. As I stood there, thinking these thoughts, she drew away from the door of her room, coming instead, to the door of mine. She leaned quietly against the door frame, simply watching me as I reached for my boots. She was a quiet one, my sister, always observing, taking the measure of everyone she crossed. I wondered what she was thinking now, with her watchful eyes gazing at me with thoughtfulness. Finally, after a moment or two she spoke. “ Are you ok, T? I heard your argument with mom.” I quickly looked up at her from where I sat on the bed, pulling on my brown and turquoise boots. Mom and I had been arguing about Kayla’s medicine. I hadn't known she could hear us, talking in low, fierce voices in the