Fragments Of Me (Time)

The Lonely Author

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Adults always complained about time.

Never enough time for this; not enough time for that.

My parents were at a dinner party; while I stayed at my friend’s house. I was summoned to the phone.

Barely eleven, I listened to my mother sobbing. Apparently, my drunkard father slapped her in front of all their friends. “Please check  on the house.”

Two flights up, I unlocked the door with a spare key. Moonlight filled the dark apartment.
Terrified, I walked through the quiet living room until I reached the long hallway leading to the back of our home.

I froze.

The man I hated for all of my young life, the tyrant who abused us, lay on the floor with a gun resting inches from his hand.

Fear, relief, joy, and sadness flowed through me like light through a prism.

Fighting the urge to run away, I approached him. The rise…

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