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Maid and inions

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Munching, swallowing and slurping stifle the silence
After never hearing silence so loud
The clatter and rumble of the tarnished cutlery shuffles
The tick-tic of the clock like a ticking time bomb, atrocity waiting to happen
From my peripheral vision I awkwardly glance at my sister; bruised and battered like the cold slimy mutton on our plate. Although I am a poor two years younger I feel like the heroine in all of this .The pioneering spirit unable to nullify her daughter’s agony and torment.
My father so languished, who forgot to pay the bills, or work. Shadowing the room like a protruding cloud. His tenacious grip on his cutlery was terrifying. Almost as if he was imagining one of our necks. A single yet daunting, pulsing vein throbbing in his forehead. Pausing every so often to take a puff of his cigar, smoking like a chimney.
The effloresce shorn and weak limping in the corner of the room; shards of glass skewing the spine
The sun mooching outside the stained window; the moon drinks up the day. The tone darkens like a bruise as she bids the new day hello.
And from dusk till dawn, the filtered country air let the sun labour, bleeding out the new day. The vast wastelands of the rural idyll neighbouring more landscaped of teeming population and agriculture. Distant Factories smoke billows so majestically, smothering the thin air.
Neither of us has much to say, all the unspoken words dry in my throat .I know the devil in my father frightens me and my sister both; our ma too bothered to look at us, out in the wilderness making more of us, minions and maids to commission her dirty work.
I poke and finger the niche in the table, where all the other children had taken out their frustration
For every second that passes I carve and carve, following a soothing rhythm trying to imagine I’m digging myself out of this “hellhole”.
Pa doesn’t care that I don’t eat
But whether you eat or not is not the matter. Whether the chokers around our necks and balls and chain around our feet swell and infect do not matter. We’re forced to call this warehouse Home, fed lines and told to eat, told to clean and when to speak, taught the boundaries and the rights and wrongs. Told the hymns whilst walking behind the false Jesus.
What time to sleep and if you don’t wake up, then it is your fault, because all you had do to is to do what they Say.
Munching, swallowing and slurping stifle the silence
After never hearing silence so loud
The clatter and rumble of the tarnished cutlery shuffles
The tick to ck of the clock like a ticking time bomb, atrocity waiting to happen
Then my father grunts; summoning me to clear the table. As I do so, hastily, I look him in the eyes, I can feel the darkness, the torture, the manipulation and slaughter all in one look.
Suddenly! The door is flung open, with an almighty “Slam”! Followed by a “Crash”! Of the effloresce toppling over. The Big Boys march in like a swarm of soldiers; a handful of spotty younglings learning Pa’s dirty trade.
I turn the faucet, plunging my hands into the sudsy water, daring not to look into their eyes, watching as one by one they grab at the limbs of my sister, carefully carelessly dragging her body into an adjacent room.
Unfortunately, she isn’t learning as rapidly as the others, I as the smartest, her at the bottom of the food chain, pushed aside to get her punishment. Day after day, merely a carcass, resembling road kill.
I yet two years younger, can write and speak fluently, and coherently. I have always known, taught by Charles Montgomery in discreet; the pastor’s son. This is not the life I wanted. The life of a slave. All I want I an education, so I can go back home to help my family. Everyone wants to go home. How can you refute the plea in their eyes? The damp pillow cases full of tears?
Through the door I hear the yelps, the pleading, the cries of despair, of pain, hurting, anger and confusion .I hear them throw her against the door, the crack of a bone, the snap of a wrist or finger. Then The Boys ooze out the door so smug, as Pa pats them all on the back.
I bite back the tears, but the tears seep out the corners of my eyes. I marvel in pity how much one man can be so sanguineous .So in awe that I break a plate. It surrenders to my feet in a clamorous manner.
Pa, quick as a bullet, whips around as if someone had slapped him. Chance would have been a fine thing indeed. As he nears my I can spell the pungent cloud of his aftershave, the stale echo of his sweat and beer and smoke. He swiftly lifts me above the ground, the choker tearing away at my skin beneath. It feels like I’m tasting blood, so bitter yet sweet; gurgling in my throat, whilst he sneers at me, spit flaring in my face. He carries me towards the door. The big boys sniggering in awe. With a swing of the door he pushes me out the door and tells me to leave his house, a hooligan.
I fall to the floor, as the gravel scratches at my skin, the door behind me slammers shut .I should be glad I’m leaving at a ripe age of fifteen, ready to start a new life, but all I can think is of Elizabeth .So hurt and alone. But I must leave. No turning back. Not now. I will wait, she will be fine .I will come again to help her and we will both escape from this. Not now but soon. I pray to myself she will be fine, I tell myself repeatedly .I finish and with the bare soles of my feet; I turn and start to walk.
I have no money. But I have more than others dream to have. Such is the nature of greed. Such is the nature of humans. We always want more. I suppose that makes me human.
Crunching, chatter and crackles stifle the silence
After never hearing silence so loud
The clang and murmur of the sea lapping the shore
The tick to ck of the Village clock like a ticking time bomb, atrocity waiting to happen



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