Writing Prompt, attempt 2.
The daily race is sometimes just too hard to run. Never knowing what will happen. Never knowing if this will be the last day. What if I make a mistake. What if it hurts worse than the last one. What if I don't complete my task. Will pain be my friend today? Everyday she rises with the sun. She starts the day making sure she looks up to his standards. Her face is to be perfect. Not a smudge or a blemish. Make sure to hide the color change in places. Her hair is to be exact and how he likes. It is to fall just right to hide the things no one wants to see. She is to wear what looks the best. Making sure she looks worthy of him. She needs to be up to standard. She continues the morning trying her hardest to prepare the day. She runs the laundry and hangs the clothes on the line. Picking out his clothes and ironing them. Make sure its all done before time. Waking the children and preparing them for their day as well. Keeping them quiet and in control. Brushing hair, brushing teeth, Dressing, and off to school. He awakes. He showers. She must time it all just right. The toast must not be too soft. Too burnt. Too Hot. Too cold. The eggs must be right. Not too runny, Not scrambled, Not boiled. What mood will he be in today. Will he be angry or will he be ok. Please don't let this be the thing that breaks the glass. His footsteps come down and his chair pulls out. She grabs the toast as it comes out and slides the eggs onto the plate. perfect time. Everything is perfect. She sets it on the table in front of him. He takes a bite. Picks up his plate. Smash! As the eggs run down the wall the toast just lays there. Pieces of her blue and white plate just lay there. She stands against the counter. Terrified. He stands. Looks at her. From her shoes to her hair he examines her. Smack!! She looks down to the grown. No tears. No point for tears. He goes about his yelling. He grabs her arm and throws her to the ground. Pointing to her like a dog. His dog. A command is given. She begins to clean the wall and floor. The door slams. He is gone. She silently cleans. Tears form against her wishes. Down her face the flow. Onto the floor the splat. Silently. Everyday, no mater what. Those eggs just are never enough. Maybe tomorrow will be the day. Maybe she won't be there. Maybe she will leave. But...if she does..who will make the eggs and toast? She stays just in case tomorrow things will be different. Maybe tomorrow she will get it right. Maybe tomorrow he will be kind and say thank you and I love you. Now...to clean up her mess and start with the rest.