The Escape – Flash Fiction

[This was written in light of small children that struggle with trust. It is interesting that frequently their caregivers, who should be the nurturer, are also the bringers of hurt. Take care of our children, or they may never be capable of maintaining a healthy relationship in their adult life.]

His tiny fingers pushed the black and white cop car through his covers. Up and down through the curves of the hilly blankets, and down towards the plateaus, painted with colored stripes and circles. It was a funny looking landscape, but the police officer had business to attend to and was willing to travel the lengths of the world for justice. It was his duty.

The red car was gripped in the opposite hand, pulling ahead of the cop that was giving chase. The red car was fast, but evil could not get far when good was in pursuit. A little siren and the cop could drive faster!

“Whoo eee ooo,” the little boy whispered under his breath, trying to stay quiet.

He heard footsteps in the hallway outside his room. Quickly, he grabbed the cars and pressed them to his chest, covering them with his little hands. He looked for a moment at his white door expectantly. The sunrays from his open window made the door gleam. If only it were made of iron and not wood.

The door flung open. “Mark!” His dad stormed up to the bed. The large man loomed over the bed threateningly with his fists balled at his sides. “What are you doing in here?”

Mark stayed quiet, keeping his hands firmly against his chest. He held his breath. He refused to move a muscle.

“You are supposed to be napping!” His dad screamed. The window rattled. “Close your damn eyes, son, or I will close your eyes for you.”

Mark did not hesitate in making his eyes shut. He pressed them firmly, leaving wrinkles…seeing dots of color.

“You are four-years-old, Mark. I should not have to tell you again! Now, go to sleep.”

The footsteps were like thunder, marching back towards the living room. Mark breathed.

He moved slowly, full of fear. Lifting his hands up, he could see the imprints of the cop car sirens on his palm. He reached his hand over the side of the bed to drop the cars on the floor. It was not worth–

“Mark! Goddammit!”

Mark shot his head up to see his dad, racing towards him from the door. Two steps and the man was across the room. His face was full of anger, a face that Mark would never forget. He could not hear what was being said. He only saw that face.

He curled his little body into a ball as the first punch hit him in the arm. The second landed in his stomach after his dad threw him back on the bed. He saw the third swing…

…and everything went black.


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