Lesson Learned by James Bromfield

The last time my father hit me, I asked him. What did he think he was doing?

"Teaching you a lesson," he said.

"Thankyou," I said, before balling my fist, winding back my shoulder and aiming a solid right square into the centre of his face. I felt his nose splinter through my knuckles.

For a moment he was silent, his hands over his face.

Then, "You little bitch," his words bubbling through the blood on his lips.  


Prompt: An ungrateful man.