Epiphany

The heat powers through the hand as though directed by some outside force. Methodically working to cause pain in every orifice as it rips through the soft underbelly of the thumb. The muscles seize and jump while the invisible fire eviscerates the palm. But I’m jumping ahead, let us start at the beginning.

On the eve of September twenty-fourth, in the lovely town of South Bend a mistake was born. A bastard born of unusual circumstance, son of an elaborately elegant man and a valley girl.

The pain began when the slap upon his behind caused his body to become alive with movement. As his eyes opened his mother was revealed to him. A quivering mass of exhausted flesh. Seemingly the creature before him was dead, face wet and makeup smeared as though it had been the victim of some terrible bodily trauma. As his eyes gazed further down he witnessed the gaping hole in the body of the woman from whence he came, and he began to cry.

The arguments always rang through the house unforgivingly. The shrill voice of the screaming woman always met with the powerful tone of the man. As the speech intertwined into a blurb in the air it seemed almost melodic, almost with a tune you could dance to, almost with a breath of meaningful conversation.

The arguments had always been blatantly loud, but this one seemed strangely quiet as though one person was never really present. As the house began to simmer only one individual remained. Perhaps one who would have the most impact upon the outcome of a new child. Then quiet came.

The silence was uncomfortable, nearly a complete antagonism to the echoes that normally ran through the walls. The new baby stirred ever slightly trying to discover the outcome. As the person entered it became clear what had happened. It could be seen in the mans eyes as they filled with tears. The kind woman had left, perhaps never again to have her only child lay his soft hair upon her shoulder and look into her soul with his beautiful innocent eyes.

The searing pain began to overcome the small child. He opened his mouth as if to scream but could not summon the power to do so. The metal of the appliance fully intended to take its revenge by removing the skin of the one who had invaded its personal area.

The child had lived with the man for many months and become accustomed to the lack of the woman. Many other women came to take her place, often only for one night. Then they left in the morning without uttering a noise or granting some kind of acknowledgement of existence to the small child living within the walls of the house. Alone and depressed the child often sat in its room, never leaving its crib for fear that the bed in his room was meant for someone else.

He slept many hours of the day to stave off reality for a little longer. Often it had dreams, terrible dreams of goblins and sprites chasing it down a never-ending corridor. The corridor always in a straight line, leaving the child no choice for direction. He was never really caught and he never really escaped, he simply ran. Ran from that world, and ran from the world above. That where his parents were never really together and never really apart.

The house was always seemed alive to him. The red carpets excited his mind while the dull and unlit basement called to him to come and explore their depths.