​Ms. Holway

Fragile, lonely widow
Darkened New Hampshire farm house
Silent morning, dawn just breaking
Frightened awakening
Strange shadow in the doorway
A jolt of terror with the realization of what may come.
“I’m an old woman,” she croaked.
“You don’t want to do this to me.”
A sinister smile advancing his scheme.
 
He took his time.
Hands around her throat, invading body and mind.
Shockingly quiet as she lay
Eyes scanning the room – her once safe space.
I must make it through, she prayed.
Until blackness overcame.
She roused, bruised and bleeding
A stranger snoring where her beloved once dreamed.
Small-town Easter morning
And nothing will ever be the same.