We’re still raging on with the ownvoices #iwriteincolor campaign and my Book Club and I chose this prompt for our meeting this week. Remember, the point is to free write for at least 20 minutes without any self-editing. Try a new POV or setting, but be sure to put yourself in the center of the story. Join the newsletter to get the full 31 days of prompts to kick off your New Year.

Prompt: Bianca tossed the handful of dirt on the coffin but couldn’t get the image of her father’s feet swaying out of her mind. She would stop this.

Bianca tossed the handful of dirt on the coffin but couldn’t get the image out of her mind. She would stop this.

The ground was cold in the spae under the porch and more than one thing or another that called the place home crawled over adn under her bare knees, but she didn’t move, nor did she make a sound. The light of the day was dying and the Devil’s son would be home soon. His wife had gone to see her sister in Charleston and Bianca was glad of it. She liked the littlest Devil and even though he was destined to grow up and become as evil as his grandfather and father she didn’t think he deserved to see what was coming. She’d spare him her own fate.

As soon as the pickup pulled up to the house the dust blew into her face through the slats under the porch stairs and she was grateful for the dogs for once.  She had always hated them as they trailed her to school as she passed the house, but now the familiarity was serving her well. That and the slices of ham she’d given them before sliding under the house. The barks and bays hid her sneezes and she was able to recover before he stepped out of the cab.

“Hey, boy! Hey!” the Devil’s son sang as he patted the dog’s on the back and scratched behind their ears. He was kind to them. Though, she was sure they too saw the back of his hand. No one was safe from that, not even his wife and child. Though, he was the loudest of the protestors at the city council meetings. It was his love for his family that wouldn’t allow him to sit idly by and let niggers sit next to his son in school. It was his love for his neighbors that fueled his desire to keep segregation alive.  It was his love he said that forced him to strip Bianca’s father naked and hang him from the strongest tree on the river bank.

She knew it was him. She knew the voice from the council meetings she attended with her father. She knew them from the irritated curses he used when he brought his wheezing truck to serviced at her father’s shop. It was that voice that soothed the dogs and it was that voice that melted the ice on any reservation she had about what she planned to do.

The rifle was her father’s, the small one he’d taught her to shoot squirrels with. It was relatively harmless unless you intended harm, and she did.

The first shot pierced his right knee. The crack rang out but few would hear it. As long as the dogs kept barking they wouldn’t hear the other either. The second tore open his shoulder and sent his face to the dirt. He turned his head and one blue eye met her brown. It was the last thing he ever saw.

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