Power

The heavy wooden door slams

Shaking the thin plaster walls

And the frail girl

Who sits curled in a ball

In the shadowed corner

To the myopic eye

The room looks well-kept and ordinary

A dim lamp illuminates a faded paisley couch

And casts a dim glow around the tattered walls

A grandfather clock ticks against the wall

As second by second goes by

But under closer inspection

You notice the broken picture frames

And the shaking form of a child

She keeps her head down

Under the protection of her thin, quacking arms

A looming shadow blocks the faint light

Casting her shadow into darkness

Burly hands grab her by her hair

And she muffles a scream

Knowing it will do her no good

She is slammed against the wall by her neck

With a force so strong

It sends the room spinning

Her heart beats loudly in her throat

As she clammers for air

Gasping, waiting, knowing

That he always lets go

"He loves me, he really does,"

She thinks, trying to hold on

She slides down until her feet

Have reached the floor

Feeling the grip lessen

But the color doesnt rush back into her eyes

Nor does the rush disappear from her ears

All thats left is the sight of a shadow

Stalking through the door

And the faint ticking of a grandfather clock