Week 12 Prompts

59. 


I just... left. I didn't say anything; didn't even hint that something was wrong.
He left the motel early in the morning for work, and I made a phone call as soon as he was out the door. 
It wasn't his fault in any way. I wasn't angry, I was just done.
It was more than convenient that we were staying in a motel, everything was already neatly packed - just waiting for somewhere to go. A large army duffel full of clothes and baby items. 
On the phone, I briefly explained what I needed and the voice on the other end was happy to oblige. What else are friends for, if not to be there when you need them?
I woke the kids, fed and dressed them, and then anxiously waited for my phone to ring. 
Once it did, the voice on the other line told me to pick up a key in the office and go down to my new room.

I slung the duffel over my shoulder and grabbed a child in each arm. I left the key on the nightstand by the bed and walked out of the room.

The door slid closed behind me, and I went to our new room.

3 days. 3 days and we'd be out of here. Out of this motel, out of this town, and out of this state. 

All it took was one phone call. 

60.


I always pictured myself as some nomad. A wanderer. Some day I would just up and leave, backpack my way across the country, and hopefully across many other countries too. A lone wolf in the wide open world. Many adventures to be had, and nothing tying me down along the way.
When I got the news, I seriously considered not telling anyone. Just get it taken care of and continue about my life. I really did consider it. I just lacked the conviction. 
I wasn't ready. I didn't think I'd ever be. It just wasn't who I saw myself as. For months I struggled with the choice I didn't make, and wondered what I would do in the end. None of this was what I wanted, just what I had been dealt.
I think everyone around me was skeptical too. They all knew me, and doubted I could handle this. That didn't help me at all. It made me feel worse. I questioned myself, and started thinking about what alternatives I had. None of them were very appealing. 
Uncomfortable, unsure, scared and confused. That was me. 
I turned 21, and spent my birthday in pain; tears streaming down my face. By dawn, you were here.
Tiny and helpless. You didn't scream or cry. You were beautiful and perfect.
As soon as you were in my arms, nothing else mattered. No worries, no doubts. No question in my mind if I wanted to or could do this. I wasn't a mother until I held you in my arms, and now I can't imagine not being one. 


61 A.


I've honestly considered killing you. Too many times to count. Even before the night you held the knife to my throat, I had given it thought many times. That night in particular, after you passed back out in your drunken stupor, I wanted to take that very knife and put it to your throat. I didn't lack the courage to drag it across, letting your life gush out along with your blood. I just knew it wouldn't have been smart.
Since then, a day has not passed where I haven't at least given a passing thought to killing you. I've asked people if that makes me a bad person, none have said yes. I've had offers from friends to do it for me, and I've solicited prices and advice from amateurs and professionals. I want you dead, by any means necessary.
Sooner or later, and at the rate by which you keep making my life worse probably sooner, I will see it done. By my hand or anothers. Despite the legality of it, it will neither be unjust nor unwarranted. You won't see it coming. You aren't intelligent enough to see the big picture of things. And when you lay dying, you will still be blaming others though you will be the only one to blame.