#194

cowering under the table, the hardwood reverberated with his pounding footsteps. the tip of his brown boots piked under the tablecloth. steel toe. they were worn, a present reminder of a past in which he worked each day with his hands, on his feet. his hands and feed were used for such different purposes now.
a shattering noise. it was a picture frame and her confidence all at once. she pinched her eyes tightly shut and willed the table to remain standing, not to buckle under his raging fists.
shards, stuck between piano keys, stuck in her bare feet after he passed out on the floor and she trembled out of her last hiding place.