Onmatopoeia

Click. Boom. Bam. Onomatopoeia

Click. Boom. Bam.

Click. Boom. Bam.

Click. Boom. Click. Boom. Click. Boom. Bam.

A hand reached out and caught the delicate black hand of Olivia MacPhearson as she ran through her compulsive fidgeting pattern. Her mother, stony-faced and blue eyed only looked at Olivia for a moment and she knew to stop.

She knew to stop, but she didn’t. As soon as her mother’s snow white hand pulled away for a sharp left turn, Olivia continued opening the center console, slamming it shut, and tapping the cup holder.

“OLIVIA!” Her mother shouted, grabbing her daughter’s wrist with clenching force. Olivia let out a whimpering gasp and her mother let go. Olivia held her wrist, almost raw like a rug burn. She looked out the window, sulking.

Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Bop.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Bop.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Bop.

Smack.

Olivia jumped. She just needed sound, something to allay her busy mind. Her mother never seemed to understand this. She hated weekends with her mom, but always stuck them out just in case they for once wouldn’t suck.

It’s been two years since she was able to spend a day with her mother without being hit. She tried to tell her dad or the cops but legally her mother could hit her, as long as it didn’t leave a mark.

How fucked up is that?

Olivia tapped her knee, listening for the hollow internal vibration of padded bone on padded bone.

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