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She was afraid. She shivered in fear.



“I won’t do it.” She thought in her most stern voice.

“And no one can make me.”



That’s when she heard a garbled voice come from no

where.



“Gagglele gah, gah, GAH!”



She turned and looked at her son. His innocent eyes

looked into hers, so trusting. His smile warmed her

like sunbeams. Then she went cold again.



“I won’t do it.”



The girl walked from the crib, ignoring her son’s

earsplitting protests. She lifted her chin and looked

down her nose at her reflection. The bruises had gone

from purple to a tan kind of color. She rubbed her

neck softly. Even that feather touch made her wince,

though from memory more than pain.



Her husband had attacked her again the other night. It

had been so long, almost six months, since he’d done

it, that she’d really begun to believe that part of

her life was over. What a joke. Here were the

footprints to prove she’d been walked on again.



The argument had started over things that made no

sense. He’d been angry with her for crying. He’d been

furious that she was sad.



It happened fast. One minute she was sobbing, “Why

don’t you care? Why are you angry that I’m sad?”



The next moment she was sideways on the ground. Her

neck was pinned to floor by his forearm. She was

choking! Breath was fading away. The dark room was

growing darker.



Then just as suddenly the incredible pressure on her

neck was gone. Her lungs were assailed with a wave of

cold air as her body took over breathing

instinctively. She was in shock. She felt like she was

floating or dreaming awake. She heard voices.



“ Oh, God. Don’t act like you were really hurt.”



“I’m just afraid one day I’ll get a call from the

hospital telling me you’re hurt or dead.”



“He’d never do that, Mom. He wouldn’t kill me.”



“I didn’t want to leave you. I just couldn’t live with

HIM anymore.”



“You are such a drama queen. Get off the floor.”



The voices kept coming, floating through her mind and

weaving together in a loose tapestry. Figures,

blood-red, stood against the black garment behind her

eyelids.



She opened her eyes, wincing as light washed

everything around her in fuzzed outlines. She looked

forward at a map. It held on it many paths, deeply

etched into its surface. Then the image sharpened and

she stared at her reflection.



Her son garbled in the background again.



Her husband walked behind her, his face appearing

beside hers like a grinning ghost. Ignoring her

healing wounds, he ran his fingers over the vein

pulsing in her neck. Another shiver ran up her body.



Her son cried out louder.



She turned and shut the door to drown the cries, then,

dropping the robe on her shoulders to the floor, fell

into her profane love.