“There’s
nothing cute about it,” he said. The register of his voice indicated decision
more so than discussion.
She
disagreed heartily and privately, staring past his head and out the window
behind him. Her opinion cost a beating.
“Prancing
about doesn’t finish chores.”
“Stop
dancing,” she told Ellen.
“Make me.”
She coveted
Ellen’s courage. She feared for her
life. While he watched, she punched
their child.
This was written in response to this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. This week, we were given the first thirty-three words of a story, which we were to continue in exactly thirty-three years.