Whatever you saw, no you didn’t. Stop crying please.
Mary shakes me with trackmarked arms. Look at you, you’d break if someone really hit you. My beautiful, broken sister. But her boyfriend really did hit me. Bruce. I understand people like him better than people like Mary. Nonverbal communication. One slap ringing out. Gun in his pants. Message received. Quiet people don’t like to repeat themselves.
No one makes him say a word.
I wish you’d say something, Mary cries and cries. I’m bleeding, unbothered.
Bruce will kill you if you tell. Lucky for me I keep my mouth shut.
Hannah Fishburn writes short fiction and poetry. “Prayer to Where the Missing Socks Go” || Hannah Fishburn.
The Centifictionist 
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