Note: this is Fiction (not real)!!!
“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
“Nice to meet you, too.” I shook his hand while unconsciously pulled down my sleeve, concealing the jagged scar on my arm but just like every time, that night came back like a punch.
My father was having one of his fits that night, pacing about the house, kicking and throwing things around. I was fourteen then, hidden in my closet with my hands pressed against my ears. After a short while, I heard his muffled voice, “Girl, where are you?” I lifted my head and found him standing before me.
Tears began to fall from my eyes as he pulled me up, his long nails dug into my skin. “Ow, you’re hurting me,” I sobbed. He dropped me on the living-room floor and left me there with a single thought. I have to get out of here. And I did. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I pulled the door open and I ran and ran, until I was in my little safe-house.
I am participating in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer, where we write a piece between 100 and 150 words (more or less 25 words) in length inspired by the photo prompt above.