Molly

By R.J. Tennyson

She hated the cold, dank shed he made her sleep in; but it could have been worse. For the first twelve-months, he kept her chained to a wall in his garage. The only natural light she saw was when he lifted the heavy roller-door to bring her food and clean away her filth. The only other light she saw was the flickering of the fluorescent tube that hung above her bed.

Molly had been with him so long, she could barely remember what life had been like before he snatched her from the street. She could remember her father’s kind eyes, her mother’s scent and gentle touch, and playing in the garden with her older brother – but that was all that remained now; fragmented memories.

When he let his friends leer and prod at her, she would occasionally hear the story of how he found her.

“Was passing through a small town up north. Just driving along the street and saw her playing out the front of a house. She was such a pretty lil thing. Nobody was around. Thought all me Christmases had come at once. I circled the block a couple of times to make sure everything was good. Pulled up and called her over. The stupid little bitch ran straight over to see what I wanted. I grabbed her and threw her in the backseat. She carried on a bit, but I showed her who the boss was – if you know what I mean.” He always told the last part with an evil little laugh. It made Molly sick. She remembered exactly what he meant. He had been showing her ‘who the boss was’ ever since.

One night four years after he grabbed her, Molly almost got away. The phone rang unexpectedly and he got distracted and didn’t lock the shed door properly. Using all her strength and cunning, she pushed open a gap between the door and the rough timber wall. Scrapes and scratches covered her heavily pregnant body when she finally made it outside. Running down the muddy driveway on weary legs, she almost made it to the dusty track that ran past his property. It was dark, the only sound was the wind whipping through the ghost gums. She didn’t know where she was; she froze. Before she had time to run again he had her by the throat. He dragged her back to the shed. The last of her spirit, and the tiny life that grew inside her, were both beaten from her that night. And although there have been many more pregnancies since that night, she never tried to run again.

Molly is old now. Too old to be of any use to him. Her replacement is much younger. He doesn’t bother locking the shed door anymore. He knows she isn’t going to run. She just lies on the dirty blanket on the floor, waiting for him to bring her food, and wagging her tail.