By Rachel McClain
88 Words
She always slept on her side with her arms hanging between her knees and her hands clasped in reverse, in perverse prayer. She folded herself so tightly, her knees drawn up closely, that she looked ready to be bound, wrists to ankles, and put into a case.
He was forever behind her. His arm across her chest made an upside-down capital “a” with her arms, a perpendicular prison crossing her. One night, all arms and legs, her tight body unhinged. One night she sprang open, a switch blade.
Rachel McClain is a freelance writer and stay-at-home mom of the best kid on the planet (there--it's in print so it's true). She has recently been published in the Cup of Comfort volumes for Breast Cancer survivors and for Military Families and has work forthcoming in Fuselit and Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine. She was named an honorable mention in Women on Writing’s Winter Flash Fiction Contest and third place in their Spring Contest. She’s just finished her first young adult novel and would love if someone wanted to publish it. She blogs regularly about her awesome kid at http://thelaundryfairy.blogspot.com.
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