She opened her eyes, to the raucous sounds of a catfight, that emanated from outside. Turning to lift herself from the ramshackle bed, she heard him snoring loudly, his body stretched on the floor beneath, bearing a grimace, a broken bottle lying next to him— the one he had used to hit her.
If the smell of liquor and sweat nauseated her, the thought of having to give in to his aberrations every night, or the strange acts he forced on her, filled her with loathing, even more, making her sick to the core.
Seeing the door unlocked that morning, she saw a chance. With every cell in her being conspiring to fill her with courage, she pushed past the door, slipped out into the open, with the cold air brushing against her face. She knew it was now or never.
So, she took to her heels and started running, out of the alley, onto the streets, jumping over potholes, ignoring the traffic lights, gasping for air, clinging onto dear life, blinded by an overwhelming sense of fear and confusion.
Just then, a deafening sound echoed, followed by a shrieking wail that rent the air. A cacophony of dissonant voices stalled the streaming cars, as people stopped to see what had happened.
Later, newsflashes reported a hit-and-run accident, where the victim was a 15-year-old girl, who was fighting for her life in a city hospital. Little did the world know, innocence had died a million deaths over and over again.
This Flash Fiction was written for the fifth edition of #FictionMonday, a blog hop hosted by my very talented friend, Vinitha Dileep on her blog, ‘Reflections‘ based on the word prompt ‘innocent’.