DIGGING HER GRAVE – A BRIEF STORY

Yesterday he was standing there – digging furiously, his face determined.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Digging your grave,” he replied.

A knife went through her. Or so it seemed. For weeks now, he had been terrorising her. One night he had dragged her, naked, out of bed, laid her on the floor, stood astride her and done long, slow, revolting spits on her face.

When he had finished, she got up from the floor, unsteadily, grabbed her clothes, ready to run.

She reached the door, but he was there, waiting, with a bowl full of freezing cold water ready to throw at her as she went through the door.

Drenched and shaking, she ran out into the cold air. Where could she go? There was nowhere. All night she walked the streets waiting for morning.