Daily Prompt Post: Write Here Write Now
This is meant to be a tiny piece of conversation in a novel I am working on:
I stare at her in disbelief, and maybe I should pretend that I don’t hear the words that she is shouting at me
The pang that rips into my heart is telling me that I’m right, I shouldn’t listen to her. “You killed our son!” My own voice echoes in the anger of the room.
She scoffs, “Son… there wasnt a gender. It was barely a baby.”
The anger in the room was nothing as intense as the anger that I feel creep into my body. The heat begins to flood into my face, and the veins in my neck begin to pulse loudly. “You heartless whore! That was our child!”
Her laugh sounds out in the room. It is her sarcastic laugh, more like a cackling witch. I remember that laugh from days of old, back in highschool. “I was seventeen, and you disappeared over night. I’ve paid for my sins, while you…you ran away.” I watch her stand, her head held high, an arrogance that I had missed for so long and tonight find agitating. “Jeremiah, don’t insult me again. You don’t know anything about me anymore, people change. Time sees to that.”