Broken Pieces

A break from my normal B'rinna series, I've decided to do a short story. Sorry if it's horrid, it's quite late and cold here... :) Well, here we go... Sorry, if it's a bit hardcore

She looked up from her knitting. All around her was black, like the night sky. But then it had been black ever since he left. When she went riding with him on that big red bike of his, she felt that they could make this last, that she could hold on forever. When the baby came, he was the perfect father. He didn't hit the baby. 

But then their precious child, their little girl, withered, shriveled up, right in front of their eyes. All they had was gone. Their perfect, idyllic existence. He brang home a bottle, then two, and then the whole lounge was filled with them. The stench of the bottles, of unwashed man, of stale breath, of the cigarettes filled the room.

And then he would drink too much. Find fault with her cooking, her washing, her sleeping. Everything, absolutely everything was her fault. And then the other baby. Her fault, as well. She wasn't thinking. So he hit her, yelled at her, screamed profanities at the top of her lungs. "You stupid woman, you!" Shook his finger at them, her, and the other baby, this time a boy. "I don't want a boy! I want my princess! And you, you took her away from me!"

And he left. Packed his bags, and hopped into a cab. Into the night, the dark, black night. Leaving behind broken pieces of a happy life. And, oh, she thought she really hated him, that she wanted him gone, but the tears wouldn't stop coming. "Maybe, just maybe," she would say to her little boy, who was growing up so fast," Maybe I did love your daddy."


  1. This is really good! Very, very nice (and yet horrible) ;)
    The problem with short stories is you always want more.

    1. Aw, thank-you!! I could probably expand on this but... it would take time.