She packed her pillows and stuffed animals under the blankets, shaping them into what she thought was a semblance of her body. The bed, pushed into a corner, was small but took up a good portion of the room. When the door was open, it hid the head of the bed.
Pushing with her feet between the mattress and wall, she was able to create a small gap, just big enough for her to slip behind. In the makeshift haven, she had secreted a small pillow and blanket, along with a flashlight, a few of her most cherished plush toys, and some small books.
From beneath, she pushed the bed blanket up to hide the gap, hoping that if he looked into her room he’d just think she was asleep. On the far side of the bed, the blankets hung to the floor. She prayed it was enough of a curtain to shelter any glow from her flashlight.
Lying in the darkness, clutching her blanket, she read. Transported away from this fearful life she led. The flashlight, wedged into the slats under the mattress began to shake. She knew he was home and would be in her room soon. The thunder of his boots echoed down the hall.
Quickly turning off the light, she closed her eyes tight and drew herself in to a tiny ball. Holding her breath, she heard the click of her door opening. Waiting, she listened for him to walk into the room, but he soon left without a word.
Scooting toward the edge of the bed, she cautiously lifted the hem of the blanket to see that he was gone and the door closed. Rolling back to her safe spot, she stretched out, allowing herself to fall asleep, hoping she would wake up early enough to get back into bed without anyone noticing she had been gone.
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Thunder [noun \ˈthən-dər\] 3: bang, rumble
Thin spiral notebook 
I agree with Patti. Leaving out the details makes this piece more powerful. Frightening how some people abuse and terrify their children. Your photos are wonderful, too. Nicely done.
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Oh, sad. She considers being “gone” being beneath the bed. Poor girl.
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Your story is as tragic as your photo is magnificent. I adore your writing.
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Oh, that poor baby! As a reader i found myself holding my breath with her. The thunderous boots description was perfectly placed. Well done. Gorgeous picture!
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Well done!
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We should all cherish the safety we feel in our own homes, with our wonderful families. This was frightening. I love that you could feel the character’s fear without it all being spelled out. I love that picture.
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Oh that poor child. I so want to rescue her so she has a chance for the life she deserves – but oh how resourceful. Though I don’t want my child to be that resourceful at that age – no child should have to be!
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I want to scoop her up and take her home and hug her till she falls sleep peacfully.
So evocative.
greatly done
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so sad what some do to their children. well done.
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Your story, combined with the amazing picture, really captures the fear your heroine experiences. i imagine the thundering of her heart, and her hope that he wouldn’t hear it. I like that you gave no details of her “fearful life.” Our imaginations fill in the blanks all too well.
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