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Weekly Contest #345
Warning: This story involves themes of domestic abuse that may be triggering or upsetting to readers. Charlie stood motionless at the end of the short hallway, barely blinking. He didn’t know how long it had been, but his ears were still ringing and the smell was making his stomach turn. The air reeked of rotten eggs, and if he’d been able to move, he would have thrown up all over the faded linoleum underneath him. But movement wasn’t an option. He was too numb. Like most 12-year-olds, Charlie had never been in the room when a gun was fired...
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