Writing prompt: “With that, she walked into the rain and didn’t look back. That was the last time anyone saw her.”
“You’re a piece of shit.” He roughly blew his nose into a tissue and threw the crumpled paper toward me. It narrowly missed as I took a step backward, glaring at him. “There’s a reason no one’s adopted you yet. No one wants you.”
As you can probably tell from that alone that my foster brother was one of the worst people I’d ever encountered. His parents — my foster parents — were decent enough people, but they refused to acknowledge that their son was bordering on psychopathic, let alone disciple him for his actions. I held my unwavering gaze on him and he smirked. It wasn’t even two seconds before he crossed the room and grabbed my hair in his hands, wrapping the long strands around his palms and tugging so hard, I stumbled forward. “You with your ugly face and whiny voice. Your disgusting long hair.”
He extracted a small switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans and flicked it open. The dim overhead light glinted off of its flat reflective edge. He moved it toward my throat, holding it against the skin so that I could feel the cool, smooth edge against my neck with each ragged breath I dragged in and pushed out between my parted lips. I would not beg for my life. I would not tell him that he was wrong.
“How about I cut a little smile into your neck?” I could feel my breathing level, my clenched fists relax. “How about I kill you right here?”
He won’t do it. Not today, at least. His knife shot up, clipping the tip of my ear as he hacked away a handful of my hair. Nearly reaching my waist in length, the hair fell to the floor in a tangled clump. I could feel the blood from my ear trickling over my cheek, down my neck. Impulsively, I kicked him between the legs and watched the knife fall from his hands. As he crumpled to his knees in pain, I picked up the thick length of hair and wrapped it around his neck, pulling the ends in opposite directions. I watched his squirm, flailing his arms to find his knife to no avail. The red of his cheeks began to pale and shift toward a blue tinge. Eventually, his quiet gasps ceased and the flailing stopped.
It was all over. I tasted freedom now. I would be my own guardian; a dark Rapunzel who murdered anyone who tried to stop her. With that, I walked into the rain and didn’t look back. That was the last time anyone from that house ever saw me.