She fluttered her eyelids, trying to make sense of the time and place. Her vision cleared a little, and the light streaks gave way to objects that told her she was in the bedroom. From the brightness around her, she decided it must be late morning and that she was on her back, on the floor. There was a metal chink when she tried to move her hands, reminding her of the chains that bound her wrist to the bedpost. Her wrist felt sore and she couldn't remember how long she has been tied up like this.
As she gradually recovered her senses, an excruciating stabbing pain reverberated from her ribs. The boot mark was still apparent on her white nightgown where he had stomped on her the night before. Bruises and welts, painted blue and red on the canvas that was her damask skin.
Even in this state, she would've stretched out her arm if he had asked her to, stifled her screams as he cut into her flesh with the blunt blade of his rusty switchblade.
But the pain still could not make up for the wrong that she had forgotten she had done.
*Word token courtesy of Kah Soon.
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