a sound, stays.

So another prompt from writingprompts it is:

Behind her, the noise escalated.

It is not the sound of gunfire. Neither the sound of a torrent of water unleashed by the splitting of a dam nor that of galloping horse hooves in fierce advancement on a battlefield.

It is not the sound of a child’s cry, hungry and cold (the sound of her own voice, she remembers) or that of laughter of dog and girl playing chase in the grass.

The noise grows as she runs, runs for her safety down the narrow hall forming the long side of an “L” that is the shape of the house. “L” not for love or laughter and certainly not laziness, she muses, only many years later after the noise has stopped, though it remains locked within her. There is it, “L” for locked.

Down the hallway she bolts, her little legs carrying her little body as fast as they can. Past the white walls, scrubbed clean each year by her with a bucket of water and sponge. Past the doorway on the left that leads to the back yard. Past the doorway on the right that leads to the guest bedroom. Then to her own door just beyond. She flies into the room then slams it with all her might.

But the noise she cannot escape. It is coming for her. Heavy footsteps, serious, determined, laser-like focused. Heavy footsteps angry, enraged, intent on teaching her a lesson. And then remind her it’s for her own good.

A sound chilling, terrifying. Footsteps that pound thin durable dark blue and green carpet (purchased with money proudly saved by her mother) and resonate down the long hallways like a ramped-up march of a military commander. A commander with a build and strength far superior to her own by at least 150 pounds. She is the size of a fly against an oncoming tank.

She waits in her room, nowhere to go now, nowhere to run. Waits as the noise like the Earth itself rumbling in rolls to her and flinging open the door. He grabs her, throws her against his knee as he seats himself on the edge of her bed. Or tries to, she puts up a hell of a fight. For a girl so petite, she has, surprisingly, a will and physical strength of five tomboys.

But it is no match for the master, the man of the house, the man who is her father.

The noise of heavy footsteps in chase shuts off. And is replaced by the sounds of sobbing and a father beating his child.