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Cuffs And The Needed Breakthrough By Uwen Precious

POSTED 09/11/2018 12:27:13
1435 Reads Cuffs And The Needed Breakthrough By Uwen Precious, short story on Tushstories
Standing in no line in particular, swelling to the triage, I'm on cue. I'm ever so scrawny, lowered on a sweltering bench; marred by joyous cacophony, I'm everyone's mission — Livid. Living. Dying. Caught up by my inactions, I'm your favourite colour. A nuance of glow and foul moods, I need me some high tone.

I'm fond of my old self, sneaking thru the bushy paths to find me a perfect view, of nature's quietness; of its purity. Home is loud. And for six years, the Hate and hurls is superior to unity. Bitterness in the morning, then at night, in human form. He is a regular. And when our eyes meet, he glares at me, sinking me into a pot of gory and fear.

I snort and Dad gives no mind, but mum does. She usually ask what it was, and I point to the being I see. But this, she doesn't see. She pleas that I remain calm, then she retrieves from me to cry at her favorite corner. Dad was home, drunk, and tired; beaten by the day's turbulence, and over emphasized scorching sun.

I'm now alone in the living room. And I can count the so many times they do this — leaving me in disarray. A little kid with an imaginative man. Who laughs mockingly as home's always on fire. Most times I hear his voice clap like thunder strike, and if put keen interest to listen, I'd hear it like, “Aren't you tired of looking at me, go play with your toys. Weakling!” he'd cuss.

I usually have this favorite toy that I play with. It shows me a whole new level of comfort. Most times I plea with it to pray with me, and on most mornings, I'd carry it to mummy. Telling her that it spoke to me, saying everything would be alright by the sleight of ways. If we could just use a knife and fight daddy like in the movies, it will all end. Or like the fire balls they aim at each other in movie wars, then after a whole lot, it would end.

Mummy would laugh and rebuke this thought. For her, she thought I was a kid and oblivious to the flings and doings at home. She once got tired of my persistent nature, and how I played with the nature of death. She cussed me angrily and sent me away from her comfort. I broke down, accompanied by guilt. I picked up my toy from behind her and quietly moved away. I was young, but I wasn't stupid. These were ways I thought could make her heal, and mollify the sickening rage at home.

I then decided it was a war I was to take alone. Like in the warlike primordial movies, they'd construct weapons from their environment and attack the enemy off his notice. And for now, the enemy was my dad, he is to die. I snuck out of the house when it approached the usual times he returned. I had already prepared my spear, and if he doesn't die by that, I'd use our Kitchen's knife.

He was back, I watched him from behind the little bushes. And this imaginative man was with him — my dad. I employed stealth. I was going to steal his life away. And that moment will be “Glorious,” I mocked. As he stepped a bit farther from his car, I charted a mild attack with my favorite toy. And with it tied along my belt, we ran towards him.

Dad heard footsteps, but before he was clear that it was me, I made sure it was pierced into him. The spear, I sharpened all through the day and the knife, pierced at his heart level. Blood ran out of his mouth and I couldn't believe that he was dying. I turned and saw this imaginative man, surprised. He clapped his hands and said his work was done.

Hearing the screams, mum ran out of the house, beholding her husband, sprawled on the floor. With me, standing in shock, I uttered, “Mum I did it. I have chased the sorrow away.”

She gave me no mind and attended to her husband, who laid almost lifeless. I saw her still crying, and I was still confused. Why should she be? I just did this one for her. He is dying, and this is the same thing that gives her pain.

Days passed, and the next thing I was in the police custody, were they tried to clarify the reasons for me doing that. I simply told them I was saving mummy, and that she was suffering. During the interrogations, mummy walked in with Dad, who was unable to walk as he would. I saw tears in both their eyes, but I was still confused. Why is mummy still with him? I have lost this battle. It was like they couldn't believe their son. Weeks on and I was in a therapists office. I've moved from one to the other, as the government say I sure need help, my acts were despicable. But it is certain, I know my mum suffered grievous pain and Lo I'm now the bad one here. He who tried to be a hero? This isn't just right.

I await my going behind bars, cause there was nothing mummy was going to tell Dad to make him change his mind. I was fiendish! And that was it. The very last time I spoke to mum, I told her everything, including the Man I usually see, speaking to me. Usually around when you and Dad quarrel, when he hits you, when he coerces you to do something and you scream. It was all this that prompted me to act.

Mummy felt it, but it is too late, she watched me melt down during the very last seconds as I told her I loved her so much, and I should be forgiven, for I was blind; that which seeks violence, hate and evil recompense, has landed me here. But it is simply virulent. I didn't know this was it. I'm so sorry, I hope Dad treats you well, and ends his pretentiousness.

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