The tangle is a writing prompt courtesy of a Dean Writers Circle writing workshop
The tangle of emotions which played in her head might overwhelm her. Daphne scrunched further into the cushions, wanting to make herself small, a baby rabbit crouched in the furthest corner of the burrow.
What had just happened? The phone call. Until the phone call, Daphne had been contentedly getting on with her day. She had woken at her normal 7.30 am, slipped from her bed, dutifully bent and stretched for ten minutes. A breakfast of toast and marmalade listening to Radio 4 and tutting at the latest political shenanigans.
All as it should be. She was setting the dial on the washing machine for the white wash when the phone jangled its peremptory summons.
Straightening, she reached for the handset on the kitchen counter.
‘Hello, Daphne speaking.’
‘Daphne Simmonds? Of …’
And the caller said Daphne’s address, which Daphne, wondering if this was a scam, confirmed.
What the caller told her sent her mind into a spin akin to that of the washing machine. She had left the handset on the counter and retreated to the sofa without even the benefit of a cup of tea, and had huddled there since.
Twenty years. Over that time her scars had hardened, the soft tissue beneath protected by the scab.
The call had ripped off that scab.
He was out, early release. The caller, who had her address, wanted to make Dorothy aware.
Slowly, Dorothy worked to untangle the mass of sensations in her head. He had served his time. She had served time too, her prison emotional, psychological rather than physical.
His punishment was over. Hers, Dorothy knew, was about to begin.
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Find Cheryl’s flash fiction and short stories, including audio versions of some, here.
How dreadful for Daphne/Dorothy. There is never any excuse for men abusing women. Go take it out on a fence post if you feel like that😒
Well, we don’t actually know what happened, do we? They could have been in something together … But yes, I agree of course.