15.Short Story: Freedom Can Mean Many Things

By | July 31, 2020

Writing creative short stories is an art. So don’t think how to write a short story outline because we are giving story writing tips for beginners along with with short story examples for high school and story writing topics. Remembering the importance of story writing for class 10 and story writing in English for class 9 have also been included. This page includes short story ideas for high school and story ideas for teenagers This page also includes story writing format CBSE class 8. There are so many stories writing blogs but the story writing ideas, story writing prompts, and story writing samples we are providing are nowhere. Find these story writing examples

Complete the story on the following beginning

I open my eyes with a sense of fear and foreboding that …………………..

Freedom Can Mean Many Things

I open my eyes with a sense of fear and foreboding that almost natural to me by now. My husband, I note, is still passed out next to me. I get up and check on my bruises a tame pale yellow better than yesterday. I make my way to the bathroom. I let out the sigh I do as I cross any door in our house.
He put all the doors off the hinges. Apparently, he liked knowing I have nowhere to hide. One time, I was peeing and he came in. Grabbing my hair he dunked my way into the bowl.
I guess drowning in your own choir gives you some perspective. Because that was the day I snapped.
I sent him off to work, like any normal day. Mode him breakfast packed his lunch, tried not to cringe as he in for a kiss before learning but I do my port perfecting. Today has to go perfectly. And the last person to rain my plan is going to be that man. I lay out my clothes on the bed, grab a couple of towels and head ever to the cellar.


There I get out the hammer I’d bought a few weeks ago. I turn and head back to the living room and I sit, gripping the handle for the house. Then I hear him at the door. I spring into position.
I swing the hammer, with all my strength, the moment he enters. He drops like a rock.
I hit him again and again and again, till see brain.
Covered in blood, sweating and exhausted, I still didn’t feel it was enough. So, I hit him some more.
You don’t know what it’s like. Feeling broken bones before they happen. Living in a constant state of paranoia – knowing that maybe one day, one day he will go too far.
And that will be the end of it. No. He hadn’t done hurt me that day. But he was going to. For the rest of his life.
And that’s why I don’t feel a shred of remorse over what I did.
Today I set myself free.

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