by Michael Seese
This is another "ummm" story. I have no idea where it came from. The words Janet lobbed our way for this week's 100-word story contest were:
I recall starting with "whip" and "bat an eyelash" and it kind of took off from there. So here is "Inured."
Inured, by now, to his belt, Sadie didn't bat an eyelash when he brandished the whip. A perfect reflection of her father's defiance, she shot one across his bow.
“You don't have the guts!”
The crack cut straight to her core. Practice, though, taught her how to swallow a scream. Thirty minutes later he smiled, spent and satisfied.
“Here's your money, Sadie,” Jack said. “Same time next week?”
“Sure,” she said, dabbing the tiny red rivulet running down her cheek.
“Sorry about nicking you. I'll try harder to control it next time.”
Dad always said the same thing.
So what do YOU think was on my mind? Since I've never done "that stuff" (and harbor no secret desire to do so) I'm at a loss.