The D Spot

I’m running and my breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. A pull in my left side threatens to stumble me but yet I cannot stop. I can feel his breath barely on the back of my neck and in my head I see again his eyes wide in anger and red with gin and rage. The growing in my stomach threatens to unbalance me but I keep going. I have to.
I set my focus on the big oak tree in the distance; if I can only get this far, I can climb the tree and in his drunken state he won’t be able to find me and even if he does, he won’t be able to climb the tree.
I am almost there when I trip on the tree root. I land on my stomach, hands out to protect myself and I feel my left wrist snap. Tears from my eyes yet I get up and I go and I go. My nightgown tangles around my ankles but I hear him now, calling my name and the names he calls me when no one is around.
I am almost to the tree when I look over my shoulder.
I see him in the moonlight, wavering with drink but still walking at a good clip. I shudder. He brought the shotgun.
I get to the tree and jump for the nearest low branch. I have done this many times before; this tree holds my secrets and I come here when I need to be alone. Now I come for succor.
I am high up in the branches when he gets to the tree. My heart is pounding so hard I think he must be able to hear it. I will the branches to protect me, the leaves to shield me from his insanity.
He stops under the tree, and I can tell he is scanning around, looking for me. He wipes his forehead with the dirty rag he keeps in his pocket. I almost gag; that’s the same rag he shoved in my mouth last time he caught me.
I am thinking he has maybe given up because he sits and leans his back against my tree. I want to shout at him; his filth and evil has no place in my haven.
I move a little and one single acorn falls off the tree. I watch in horror as it bounces off the bald spot on the top of his head. Almost like slow motion, he stands and looks up in the tree.
My treacherous nightgown near glows in the moonlight and I know by the humorless grin that he has found me.
He raises the shotgun and points it at me. “Get the hell down here, girl”
I instinctively take one step back, and the branch under me snaps. I am holding on with both hands and balancing on one foot. “Please,” I beg. “Please put the gun down.”
He sneers and I see his yellowed teeth. “You can’t bargain me, girl. I said get the hell down ‘fore I blast you down. You and that bastard you’re carrying.”
I instinctively grab my belly. Bastard indeed. He should know; he put it there.
“Please,” I say one more time as he levels the gun at my abdomen.
In slow motion I watch his finger line up on the trigger. I see the spark as the bullet flies out and drunk as he is, the bullet finds its home in my abdomen.
The world goes white and then black. “Daddy, please,” I think as I feel myself fall.