Her father worked evenings. That was good. She rarely had to be alone with him.
Getting off the school bus she checked the drive. He was home. Damn!
He would expect her to walk around naked so he could ogle and touch her.
Her mother was buried, no longer a wedge of protection. No siblings.
She stood there, on the edge; go in or not.
She backed away, fishing for her cell phone. She touched the only safe number.
“Dad’s home, therefore drunk. Can you come get me?”
Waiting, she decided to stick with the lie, he gets mean.
In response to Charli Mills -Carrot Ranch Literary
January 25, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that goes to the edge. Consider what the edge might be and how it informs the story. Go where the prompt leads.
Respond by January 30, 2018, to be included in the compilation (published January 31). Rules are here. All writers are welcome!