Here is a story that I did for a Flash Fiction/Prose Poetry class in college. Let me know what you think.
The pills didn’t work.
She had tried all different varieties. Vicodin after he pushed her down the stairs, Oxycotin after the punch to the head, a whole bottle of aspirin after the belt incident. Yet, nothing worked. She sat in the tub and looked at her body; the years of abuse that she hid. The scar on her left arm was from when he stabbed her; the bruise on her abdomen because she was late the other night. The black eye was from his outburst because she looked at him the wrong way.
The insulin didn’t work.
The guy said it would and it was almost untraceable. Mimics a heart attack. She can’t remember when it all started or even the when his rage became physical. He broke her hand last month because she forgot to put on her wedding ring. He accused her of having an affair. No, she said. I forgot to put it back on after gardening. I swear.
The arsenic didn’t work.
They use it on rats, why not a person. One time he slammed her head against the wall because he didn’t like the way she was dressed. Another time because he just felt like it. I am the master of this house, he would say. Do as I say. There were the countless trips to the hospital accompanied by the countless lies. I’m just clumsy she would say when they questioned her. Fell off the stool this time or tripped on the garden hose that time
The bleach didn’t work.
She sat in the tub and looked at her body as she waited for them to arrive. It was hers again. No more fear, no more bruises, no more breaks. I am the master of the house now, she said.