There was a boy who cried out. There was a world he dreamed where there was no pain, no anger, no tormented existence. There was a boy who smiled true; who laughed and felt the warmth of love around him. No more…
There was a woman who seemed human. She could laugh, she could cry, she could do as most human beings could. And for all intents, early on, one might hold no suspicion of whether she was human or not. A broad term, humanity. Some say it’s flesh & consciousness. Others say it’s mind & soul. But this Woman was no human. If one shook her hand, met her eye..perhaps, again, you could be, would be, fooled. And she did fool many, many a human being.
One could spend a great deal of time asking where or what went wrong…or when. I certainly have. But as I matured, I grew to obsess over another question; When, and how, will I fulfill that Promise?
I was born into what was supposed to be a loving family. We had a house, a big yard… what some would say is the classic dream. Just not the American dream, mind you. From the outside, at least during the first few years, one could look inside our windows and see the carefully constructed illusion of a happy family. We smiled; but we were not happy. We laughed; only because we were nervous of any other response. The Woman was our mother. First it began with beatings. Ferociously she would attack my Sister. Unforgiving, any infraction the Mother considered, was met with inexplicable violence. The Father, too, was a victim of this violence. And because the Father was broken, scared, and weak, the Sons and the Daughter too, were broken, scared and weak.
Terror ruled each hall. Fear & pain, each room. The Mother was always good at hiding such things however. Borderline murderous, she was a master manipulator. An intelligent woman, who once walked a path that could have led to the perfect End for any woman of her time, instead used such intelligence to destroy; families, not just her own; instead that intelligence was used to play others against each other. To create a web of lies so thick, so enthralling, so inescapable that one could lose their sense of reality entirely trying to discover which thread of the web led to the truth- and we did. I did.
As time passed, the Daughter fled. Then, the Eldest Son. There were three. Years more, and I was still but a young boy. The Father, finally, cracked. Despite a Promise to return to rescue his Son, that Promise was instead abandoned. Two remained. One Wrath, One Victim. Years more, and the torment continued; beatings, molestation, perversions of every sacred ideal behind the meaning of Motherhood. A sick, twisted torture, leaving me now, as a Man, tormented, angry, and uncertain. Despite the depth of history, I only wish to talk of the Promise; not the one made by the Father- that Promise, being abandoned as I was, very clearly held no substance. But it was one day, during summer, during yet another beating, this one…most especially terrible.
A boy cries out. He pleads. He begs. She laughs, and beats him. But the Boy, full of wrath, does something no one else in the Family had ever thought of- he hits back. Fear grips him. He knows he is weak, that she could kill him. For once he dares her to. For once, he welcomes the prospect of death. But such a release..not for Him. Not for Me. Lashing out at the perceived audacity, she beats harder. She quite nearly does kill Him- kill Me. Bloodied. Frightened. Wrathful. As she strangles the boy, the words slip out “Do it. Come on. Finish it.” For the first time, the Mother seems almost shocked. Her eyes, once fiery, soften with uncertainty…or something else. Her grip, icy and strong, leaves the Sons neck. Anger, and another beating. She throws the Son to the floor, bruised and shivering. Suddenly, fear leaves the boy- if only for a moment. He locks eyes with the jackal, who, ravenous, holds her hands in the shape of claws. It’d be comforting to say the Son smiled as he said this, in some display of further defiance- that would be untrue. Instead the Son hardens himself. And for the first time, a Promise of his own is born; He says to the Mother, his tormentor, his warden:
“One day, when you are older, when you are weaker as I am weak now, I will kill you.” Snarling, the Mother stomps on the Son, and leaves. Years pass. Pain, comes and goes. The Son escapes. He leads a life of anger, wrath, and loneliness. He very nearly starts a similar path to the Mother, with anger at the center of every solution. He laments this. The Son realizes he cannot become the Mother.
He reforms himself, still young. Young like he is now, still. He carries himself better; and becomes known as an even tempered man, a fair young soul. Those who know any, and there are many who do, of what the Son has been through, sometimes praise him for the strength he has. For the man he chose to be, instead of the monster She wanted him to be. And so he builds a life for himself. He works hard, using that anger as motivation, using fear to carry forward; fear of failure; fear of becoming like the Mother.
But he isn’t entirely free. Night terrors. Flashbacks. Wandering, day dreams that bring images of pain, misery and hell. He has learned, as years passed, to calm such things. To weather the storms. And he has, slowly, begun a path that will lead him a solid life; wherein he might enjoy the fruits of labor, and perhaps find love, and be happy. But in his heart he knows he will never forget the Promise he made. Having every intention, to this day, to keep it. Going back some years, he reflects on the very last day he spoke to the Mother, some few years ago, and some years since the Promise first left his lips. A reminder. A warning, though he knows she is too far gone, too evil, too self righteous- and too obsessed with the Son to heed it. Always believing he will return to her one day, and live with her as an acolyte of some demented existence. Drivel.
“Do you remember what I promised you that day, in July? I tell you now, as I told you then; you will see me again one day. I will return to you just as you always wanted, Mother. I will show you love, compassion, and I will win your trust. And as usual, you will trust me. You will seek to control me again. And in your folly, in your sick & twisted desire to do so, you will forget the Promise. And when you do see me, try to remember; I am there to fulfill that Promise. Nothing more.” Almost exactly these words, says the Son to his Mother. And, as he knew she would, she has forgotten. Peace & Quiet have found the boy. And he does well, for his lot. But as the years go by, no matter how good the Son will do in his life… he’s become a man of his word. And nobody likes a man who breaks their promise.
Loading comments...