She was hardly sixteen. Like all girls of her age she ought to have been living a happy, cheery and carefree life. But she was trapped and was condemned to plot an escape from the clutches of her family.
She looked at the pen; it belonged to her grandfather. The old man, she recalled, was almost in love with his pen and would not let anyone even touch it. She was uncertain whether she could use it to deter him; perhaps a stab in the eye would hurt him.
As the door opened she felt a tremor rising deep inside her. She tried, but vainly, to give a deadpan look as he stepped in. The fear was overpowering.
She could hear her mother; she was in the kitchen. The mother was, as usual, busy cooking and muttering some inanities.
The mother stopped, but for a moment only, when she heard an ear-splitting scream. She looked towards the girl’s room.
A pen, blood dripping from its nib, rolled out of her daughter’s room.
A post for Three Word Wednesday; word prompt- carefree, deadpan, ear-splitting
and Sunday Photo Fiction on a photo prompt.
Word count 172