“The Black-Eyed Pansy”
It happened for the first time on a Tuesday afternoon, a warm spring day in the flatlands near Hollywood, a light breeze moving east from the ocean and stirring the black-eyed pansy petals newly planted in our flower boxes. I remember thinking how odd it was, this ugly thing happening when everything else was so beautiful. He had been laid off, and came home to find dinner still in the oven. It was late because I had been busying myself planting the new bulbs he bought me for our garden. That was the first time he struck me.
After that day, he spends more and more time at home. He looked for a new job in the beginning, but gave up fairly quickly. He began taking his frustration out on me, and once his anger really built up, he would lash out and strike me. I think it became easier on his conscious as time went on, because the beatings started coming more frequent and more severe. After a while, they became less about my punishment and more about his enjoyment.
Tuesday morning, I awake to him towering over me in bed. I have done nothing wrong yet, but he pins me down anyway and sneers at me. He spits in my face and calls me a filthy whore. He beats me until I am bloody and bruised. He forces himself on me. In me. He starts choking me and I think, this is it, this is finally the end. Just as I am on the verge of blacking out, he lets go. He laughs in my face and pushes me off the bed. Tells me to clean up. I run outside and take refuge in my garden, what is left of it. It is a warm spring day, and a light breeze is moving east from the ocean, much like that day one year ago. I look over to our flower boxes. The black-eyed pansies have withered and died. My fate is sealed.