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Craig Nybo

12

his flannel shirt.

As he loosened his collar, revealing a patch of the salt and pepper hair on his chest, a form of hypersensitivity flooded into her. This wasn’t going to happen, not any more.

Lucy drew her right leg back, cocking it and taking aim. With every micro-fiber of her strength, she kicked, planting the heel of her sneaker between Artie’s legs. She kicked him so hard that his feet came off the floor. He floated that way in the air for a moment, buoyed up by Lucy’s foot, his mouth crunched into a pained O. He crashed down, hitting the floor hard next to Lucy, both hands between his legs. He lay there, moaning out a tapestry of threats and profanity. But he couldn’t move.

Lucy pushed herself up to her feet and looked down at him. She took in everything, his pathetic, red face, his stench of alcohol and body odor, his complete lack of compassion. “This is never going to happen again, daddy. I hate you.”

Lucy kicked Artie two more times, once in the ribs and once in the side of the face. She grabbed her homework from her bed and left the house, she hoped for the last time.

Small Town Monsters

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