Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

First Memories

Growing up, I was a climber. Play structures, trees at the creek, fences. Sometimes I climbed on things I wasn't supposed to climb on, like the cupboards in the kitchen.

I was next to the fridge, and the crayons were above my reach. With drawers placed as perfect footholds, the natural approach seemed to be climbing. I had already been reprimanded once for scrambling on things that were forbidden but this was a new thing, and this time I had a reason, so--

He hit me so hard I fell off.

My butt had never experienced something like that. Less pain than shock at the violence of the impact. Then hitting my head on the floor, which was linoleum plastic tiles at that point. He was yelling, and I curled up and started crying. I screamed "you hurt me," or I started too, but he grabbed me by the neck, lifting me off the ground and holding me in front of him like a writhing snake. He was still yelling, but I was more focused on trying to breathe than understand what was being said.

I was carried upstairs in this manner and bodily hurled across my room onto my bed. A slam registered as the door was closed with a few screams of anger and banging sounds. I choked down grateful gulps of air and coughed them back up again in full-body sobs.

It was the last time I climbed on cupboards.

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