Write...Edit...Publish Blogfest - MOVING ON - to Paris!

Hello everyone!

It's time for the second Write...Edit...Publish blogfest, the prompt, MOVING ON. The only rule is that stories remain around/under 1,000 words. The monthly blogfest is open to all, so watch the prompts and sign up. You're most welcome! OCTOBER is HAUNTING! 

In August I began a story with the premise that a young girl has arrived in Paris to look for her mother who has run away from home. (A little twist, yeah?) Willow meets a young French man, Jacques, whose intention is to help Willow solve the mystery. Today my entry is from the mother's point of view.

If you need me, I’ll be in Paris. Y

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

Cecelia woke with the corny quote swirling round in her head like some bizarre jingle once heard, never forgotten. She opened one eye just a slit—the other was swollen shut. But she could see enough to know she was alone in her bed. Her tormentor had left.

He’d tormented her one last time.

She reached for the clock on her bedside table. “Owwee!” She screamed as pain burned like a lightning bolt. Tears ran down her face as she focused on the dial, but the digits wobbled in her vision, a distorted mirror image. No matter. It was nearly light. It was probably the closing door that had woken her. Thank God he had drawn early shift at the factory today.

Did you ever lay in the dark and sing? Someone had once asked her that question. No, I can’t imagine doing that, she’d replied at an time when she had no hope.

But as she lay in the semi-darkness, arm throbbing, eye throbbing, heart sobbing, she started to sing away the pain. The notes reverberated around the room like one of her father's cracked ’78 records, but as the words welled up from her heart and passed her lips to the outside world, her spirit strengthened. The tense space of the bedroom filled with positive tones; the darkness receded.

Battered and bruised, but not beaten, Cecelia rose from her bed to meet the new day. Her knees cracked, her calves ached from the vicious kicks. She fell back onto the bed and nearly screamed with the pain of it. She reached for the photo frame with her favourite picture of the Eiffel Tower. She found comfort in its strong, sleek lines. She sat awhile until the pain lessened. How tempting to fall back onto the pillows and lay there all day! No! Up she got again. And again. Until finally, she stood strong on legs like steel springs.

The first day of the rest of her life could now begin.

Everything was ready. She’d been planning her escape for years. Her luggage in the basement, hidden in the old fire recess, her travel documents squirreled away in her make up case. She was pretty sure it was safe there. Ewan hated makeup. “A little bit of powder, a little bit of paint, makes a girl look what she ain’t”, he always sniped when she made the effort to hide the bruises, to hide the evidence of his brutality and her weakness from the world.

But her most important stash of all was hidden in plain sight—her precious books stacked on her bedside table would take but a moment to pack. She couldn’t leave them behind after the years spent building her collection. They would give her a kick start in her new life. She ran her tongue over her mouth, remembering the smacks when Ewan saw she’d added another book to her pile. “Spending all our bloody money on books! What good did books ever do for you?”

“Mum? You all right?” 

Darling Willow at the door. How could she leave her behind? What kind of mother was she? But the time had come. She couldn’t take her daughter with her. Not yet. Willow needed to finish her schooling. Ewan adored his daughter. She’d be safe.

“Mum?” The old wooden door creaked open. Willow tiptoed across the space between door and bed.

“Mum? Why are you standing there?” She snapped on the bedside light. An eerie glow seeped into the pre-dawn shadows. 

Cecelia shivered. The floating white curtains had always reminded her of a shroud. She took deep breaths. She couldn't afford a panic attack now. 

Mother and daughter stared at each other, wrapped in light and fear. “Mum…your face. Dad said you fell in the bathroom. He’s hit you again, hasn’t he?”

Willow’s voice was raw with pain…and something else…realization? Her saintly father a sinner after all.

Cecelia couldn’t find words.

“I heard you singing just now, Mum. You sounded happy.”

Cecelia touched her eye, wiping away a tear. “Give me a hug, darling girl. I am so happy right now, you can’t imagine. I have the sweetest daughter in the world. I love you so much.”

“It’s going to be all right, isn’t it Mum?” Willow’s embrace tightened. Cecelia winced at the sharp stab in her ribs. “I have an early class, but don’t worry about dinner. I’ll cook. Dad ordered steak and potatoes, but said he won’t be home till late. Overtime.” She frowned at Cecelia, studied her face. Did Willow sense the change in her mother…a fresh determination after all these years?

Willow held her close. “Another hug, Mum? I love you.”

Cecilia wanted to stay in her daughter’s embrace, but she had a busy day ahead. If she didn't make the break now, she doubted she'd ever gather courage again.

When her daughter read her note tonight, she wouldn’t understand, not at first, but Cecelia knew her Willow. She would struggle with her loyalty to her father, she would struggle with the decision her mother had made. But then she’d recall the yelling, the blows, the brokenness of it all. She’d remember her mother with love and acceptance…eventually.

But Cecelia had to take that first step to a new life. She'd leave the picture of the Eiffel Tower behind. She'd have the real thing instead.

Paris. Here I come! 

WORD COUNT: 810

I am happy for a full critique. All constructive criticism welcome. Just play nice.

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LINKY WILL GO UP EARLY OCTOBER AT WRITE...EDIT...PUBLISH Start dreaming up something scary, wicked or just plain fun for Halloween!