Hate. (Short Story)

The hate was so strong, so visceral that she could feel it all the way to her toes. It was like someone had injected her with a burning liquid that was seeping through all of her veins, ever bit of flesh and all the way deep into the marrow of her bones. She could literally feel herself shaking

Her mother had said that ‘hate’ was a bad word and that people should never say such a strong word, but that didn’t matter to Sharon. Not anymore. Her mother was gone. Her father had never been around in the first place.

And now she stood looking into the eyes of the man that had destroyed everything she held dear. His rage had taken a different turn from most men. Instead of fists, he used deceit, manipulation and strategy. When she thought of everything that had happened over the past year, all of the seemingly random things that had come together to put her here in this place… when she had realized that everything had been planned down to the tiniest detail by him and set in motion by him alone, she had been absolutely crushed.

She had been destroyed and she had seen how happy he was about that fact. His eyes never left hers as he whispered the seemingly innocuous statement that set her mind racing back over the last year. She watched the smile start to spread over his face as the realization hit her. No wonder she hadn’t been able to prove her innocence. He had been pulling the strings the entire time. It had started out small. Getting in trouble at work. Losing important documents. Her computer crashing. Then it started to get worse. Getting pulled over repeatedly for minor things. The drug residue showing up in her trunk. The gun that she’d never seen before that held her fingerprints.

She had started to think that she was truly losing her mind and she had nearly convinced herself that she had to be guilty. There was too much evidence against her. Staring at him through the bulletproof glass separating her from him, she felt the hatred, the pure rage filling her entire being. She was here, with nothing left to lose, with no more chances in life at all. And now she knew, it was all because of his hate. He gave her a stunning smile as he got up to leave the prison. She knew he would be back, if only to torment her again.

Her mother hadn’t been quite right. Hate wasn’t a strong word. It was a strong fuel. A fuel for revenge.

This is my 5 minute freewrite thanks to @mariannewest at steemit for the daily writing challenge!

Is anyone doing NanoWriMo this year? I’ve decided to use the challenge to write the book that’s been percolating around in my head for a while. I was inspired (of course) by a freewrite challenge and now I want to take the story to the next level and make it into a full out novel. You can find me on NaNoWriMo HERE if you’re interested. I will occasionally update with my progress here… if I think about it.

The story is told from the perspective of a girl who has been kidnapped. This is about her first year as a prisoner in this man’s basement.

One year. I’ve been here for almost exactly one year.

I have counted the days since I woke up the very first morning here and made a scratch right next to where the cuffs were bolted to the old stone wall. Those first days I just used to metal from the cuffs to make a scratch in the paint. Later I found a small nail that was easier to handle.

I have had so many lonely hours with nothing else to do that I’ve counted day in and day out. I’m almost relieved in some ways, because counting and arranging 365 days is far more interesting than counting 5 days or even 50.

Today is day 364 and I am ready for anything. Anything at all. If the plan fails and I die, then at least I died trying.

Tomorrow I will make one last mark on the wall and then I’ll let the chips fall where they may. I don’t even know if I can hope for the best. I can only hope for change. Anything has got to be better than the life I’ve led for this past year.

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