Willow at http://magpietales.blogspot.com/ host a weekly writing prompt based on a photo.
...write a poem or vignette
This week's photo prompt:
I hid his father's fancy ebony and silver walking stick under the bed. He never cared about anything from his father...not the land, the money, or the legacy. His loyalty was with the bottle and women. Lots of women. I gave up long ago caring about anything from him...except the walking stick. It was so beautiful.
When his mother brought it over years ago he threw it in the trash right in front of her. They got into a big fight and she stormed out the door,and she never came back. She died last week and he's been on a bender ever since. But the day she left, as I chased after her to her car, she turned and grabbed my arm real hard and with a a voice as tempered as steel she said,
"Grace, I brought the stick for you...use it....if you ever have to."
I guess she saw the startled look on my face because she went on.
"Don't think I don't know what goes on here, he's just like his father and his father before him...dirty stinking bastards. We other women couldn't get away, but you Grace, you have an education, you don't have to take abuse. If he as much as lays one finger on you, you stick him!"
Those were her last words to me.
I wondered how long she knew about Collin's ways. For years I hid it. I chalked up his behavior to bad upbringing, thought I could teach him some new kinder ways of dealing with things. But I never could, instead he debased everything in our lives. And since his mother died, he's been down right evil. I avoided him the best I could. We got through the wake and funeral with barely a fight, but the luncheon afterwards was a trip down bastard way. He got me in the hallway and shoved me against the wall and grabbed my throat and threatened me that if I ever turned out like his slut of a mother I'd live to regret it. So I better get my ass back into the banquet hall and make nice nice to his friends from the job. I shook my head in compliance and went back into the room and was the best darn wife a woman could pretend to be.
By time the luncheon was over he was already three sheets to the wind, but insisted that I go home and he would come along later....he'd get a ride home from Johnny Spence.
"Go home and wait for me." he said.
I did just that. I waited and waited, finally put dinner away and went to lie down thinking of all the ways I could tell him I was leaving, then fell asleep... my fingertips touching the silver of the stick just under the bed.
When Collin staggered in late that night he stumbled into the bedroom and began calling me a slut and ripped the blankets off of me and started in on my nightclothes, ripping them and throwing them across the bed. Despite my pleas he began to straddle me and forced himself on me, his breath hot and spewing alcohol. I tried to push him off and he began punching my face and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't keep him out of me and I screamed that he was hurting me. "You bitches are all alike," he said as his hands closed around my neck... and I began to see my life ending. It was being choked out of me. Somehow my fingers remembered the walking stick just within reach. I heaved my body just enough to stretch over and grab the stick and with a shreik I brought that silver and ebony rod down across the back of his head and he let go his grip and I took a life breath as he began struggling with me and I managed to bring it down again, this time a clean blow to the side of his head and he fell over on top of me moaning and bleeding. I shoved him off of me and rolled out of bed and ran for the door... casting one last look back at the ebony and silver.