As a reminder, when I use the tag/term “flash fiction” I am doing so in a very specific sense. The stories I post as flash fiction are conceived, written, edited and put into WordPress for posting in one hour. That’s it, that’s my time limit. If I can’t complete a story within that window, it gets moved to my “short fiction” file for later work, but it doesn’t get posted here to my little seat at the bar…
So, well, as is so common for me, it was a song that kicked off the image I wanted to use for this piece:
Good For Nothing
A scream, then, as background to the sound of fist hitting flesh. Over and over, that sound.
She clutched at his arm, tried to stop the jackhammer blows.
Her voice became a whimpering cry, just short of despair, “Stop…oh God, please stop!”
The face on the floor…it wasn’t much of a face. Not anymore. Not after the rain of blows. She pulled at the arm, tried to pin the blood-spattered hand to her chest.
The arm jerked and pulled, then the other looked at her. That face was hard, had nothing in it but rage and murder when he looked at her. He stopped pulling, then, and his eyes…melted. Pain came, and helplessness, to replace the rage.
“This fucker…he hurt you!” he cried. A child, wailing at the universe.
Sirens and yells in the distance. In the distance, but coming nearer.
A touch to his face, and a tear, then the sirens were on top of them.
Shouts and thuds and a whirl of chaotic violence and both were on the ground. Rough, gloved hands cuffed them, searched them. She felt her wallet taken, knew the cops had everything…
The hands holding her relaxed — a bit — and a voice, harsh and hoarse, spat, “Fuckin’ good-for-nothin’ kids…”