Rush

The old town clock struck five as she screeched into her driveway. Meg was late, and Jenny was not a patient child. Her chants of ‘We are going shopping,’ still rung in Meg’s ears.

It was an hours drive into town. An hour of Jenny’s non stop chatter. But it was their first Christmas since freedom, and Meg was determined to enjoy it.

Until she saw ‘it’.

And then she knew.

After all she had been waiting in dread for this very day.

Jenny flew into her arms the moment she stepped in. ‘Shall we go? Shall we go?’ She was so excited.

‘Yes we have to go. But first we must pack.’

‘Pack what, momma?’

‘The little suitcase we discussed about. Remember what I told you.’

The colour drained from Jenny’s face. ‘Did he find us already?’ she squealed.

I pointed at the wreath on the door. They very same one. The last thing that we had seen when the social worker had helped us out of there.

‘Rush baby. Before he comes back. Rush.’

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In response to Priceless Joy’s 163rd Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge