Nala Cyriac
Mr. Cohen
END2D
September 10th 2024
Target: I would like to start by picking something that I have a bit more interest in because I found little inspiration from my first pick which led to me having to start again due to a lack of ideas.
Second Creative Writing
Time, time would be Larissa’s greatest enemy now. Paralyzed in the darkness of her bedroom; she could not move or think. Why was this so hard? She had planned this escape months ago and she knew she didn’t have long. She eyed the wedding band on her dresser: a constant reminder of that day, the day she had forfeited her dreams… her soul, and for what? Money? She shook her head. I must, I must, I must, she repeated as she forced her stubborn legs quietly out of bed. I must, I must, I must.
James lay motionless on his side; a handsome exterior to be sure, but she could see him for what he truly was. The devil. His manicured nails became talons in rage and she knew those bruises and cuts were not sustained at the gym as he claimed. She brushed her fingertips gently over her aching neck and hurriedly glanced at the clock. 2:34 AM.
Quick yet silent as a mouse, Larissa slid the duffle bag out from under the bed and tip-toed to the bathroom. Packing her toiletries, she looked back at the beast. He did love her, or so she thought. But three years of enduring his bigotry and lies had soured her. Even looking at him brought back memories of their wedding night; she shuddered at the thought. Never could she have imagined what she would witness that night…
She headed for the bedroom door, thankful that in last night’s drunken fit, he had forgotten to turn his office light off: faintly lighting her escape route. I must, I must, I must. Larissa knew she had to hurry; too loud or slow and she might wake Atlas: a protective beast with ears that detect a pin drop in a thunderstorm. I must. The declaration was weak, but enough, and she carefully made her way towards the front door.
The hall felt even longer than it had before; the dim light illuminating the fine art that hung on the wall. She stopped at one, his favourite, a strange phallic sculpture that vaguely resembled a woman. The faint light warped the sorry structure, modern art, Larissa sneered. She hated that thing. As she turned away, she couldn’t control herself: she scoffed.
Fear. Fear consumed her as she heard the dog’s waking breaths followed by the unmistakable sound of barking. In her panic, she turned to see if the sound had woken her husband but misjudged her arm placement and knocked the horrible stature to the ground with a crash.
She looked up to see James sitting up in bed, shrouded in darkness; his fury apparent. I must, I must, I must- run.
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