To Die For by Connie Fick
I
There was a picture on the wall of three stone-coloured umbrellas. Spread out under each other, they protected against drops of rain that represented Satan. The umbrellas were a sacred image of the divine order. God’s umbrella was uppermost, the biggest to protect and encompass all. Underneath Him was a slightly smaller umbrella for the husband. If you blinked it was the same size as the first one. Underneath both was the smallest, the place of women, children and home-making activities.
Her blood spatter was next to the picture. The impact of her head against the wall had broken the skin, causing blood to fly. Head-butted, her nose was bleeding, her lip too. Their dance, which had started in the kitchen, had moved to the lounge.
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Stories of domestic violence are always shocking as if the reader hears them for the first. A haunting story but beautifully written!
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Thanks. Domestic violence is so prevalent here.
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