Okay. So The Blog Tag has me on a roll with expanding on a post I did yonks ago. Who would’ve thunk Food Week would do the trick. If you’re a blogger like me who sometimes just needs that spark of inspiration give The Blog Tag a try. You can follow on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
The writing prompt for this post is Recipe. I’m no food blogger – but there is more than one way to interpret things, right? Right! Here it is…Recipe for Disaster.
Did everyone know? Did they see? Why did no one think to warn her?
She left him lying there in the kitchen in a crimson pool not knowing if he was dead or alive. She was not going to wait to find out. She ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Threw things into an overnight bag. Grabbed her identity and anything else she could manage. Flew down the stairs and out the door. She had to get away. As far away as she possibly could.
After all these years she finally realised that she had lost herself. She stared in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back at her. He had degraded her so badly. Made her feel worthless. He couldn’t win. She wouldn’t let him. For the last year he hadn’t even attempted to sweet-talk and apologise for hurting her. He got off on her pain. People looked at her – she thought – with kindness. She now realised it was pity. They pitied her. She hurt. So deeply. No one helped. No one cared enough to look (really look) her way. She was invisible. In that he succeeded. At least it allowed her to disappear.
She ran. Took a train to don’t care where. She just had to get away. Far away.
How could someone who proclaimed he loved her do this? Lay his hand on her? Take her heart…her pride…her dignity…and crush it so completely? Why did she love him still? He marked his territory in more ways than one. She was scarred forever. The blemish that was him would always remain. How could she trust when her trust was broken to so many little pieces it would take more than a miracle to repair? Her low self-worth and falling for his charms was a recipe for disaster. A slow ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.
No more. She was reclaiming herself. Find her inner warrior. It was time. Her time. She was standing up. She had to win this battle for her life. Lose herself in place where no one knows her. Rise up from the embers. She had to prove herself…to herself.
© Shelley Smidt-Booys 2016