My Heart Doth Wander

Chapter 7 : Black Horse

You know sometimes, I wanna rip out your throat

Daddy

For all those things that you said that were mean

I'm gonna make you just as vulnerable as I was, daddy

What's that say about me?

And you know sometimes, I wanna bash in your teeth

Daddy

I'm gonna use your tongue as a stamp

I'm gonna rip your heart out, the way that you did mine

Daddy

Go ahead and psycho-analyze that.

"Daddy" – Jewel

From the mind...thrashing and screaming...of Snively Kintobar, Tyrant of Robotropolis

Daddy was a prick. Daddy was an asshole. I could've took it. I could've endured. But not that - not the blame for her sickness and death. I loved her. It was infused in me – right down to the marrow and nerves and blood...it was something I couldn't get rid of, even if I had wanted to. My love.

I somehow remember this particular day more than some of the others. I think it's the day I gave up totally on him. You see, I always harbored a foolish hope that deep down inside he really loved me, his youngest child, and that one day he'd overcome his bitterness and show it. It wouldn't be enough to make up for what he did. But it would be something...

Stupid FOOLISH hope.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

I almost believed him sometimes. I really almost did. I saw her in the coffin, at the ceremony, and I saw my own hands, alive and living...and...it was like the blood running through them was stolen from her. I was a vampire who had sucked out her life. Or a farmer who had planted an evil seed within her and tended it my whole life. Until it grew and strangled her soul.

God I HATED him so much I could feel my insides turning black from it. And green...seeping into my blue eyes...Like algae. Jealousy. When he touched her, when he talked to THEM, my siblings, like they were all a family, and I was an outsider, some horrible parasite just clinging on the outskirts and trying to rape everyone's happiness. They didn't care either. Even she didn't stand up for me...not always. It was like torture. But I couldn't do the impossible...stop loving her.

I wanted him to love me.

What a beautiful day! It was early autumn, and blustering warm winds were buffeting the house. Barefoot I twirled around the kitchen floor, humming, piling dishes in the sink and filling it with warm soapy water.

It was two months since she'd passed away. But the grief wasn't weighing me down today. I was indulging in the glorious sunlight, opening the curtains wide and pushing the window open. It was so breezy out, and the smells made me feel like a part of the earth and sky. I thought maybe I would go out and ride my bicycle after I finished my chores. It was so hard lately...to feel like a child, but today I was feeling my age...twelve, a carefree young preteen, only glad to be alive and breathing in nature's perfume.

Some of mom's figurines lined up on a shelf rattled in the breeze, but I didn't pay attention. The wind didn't seem strong enough to do damage to anything in here.

I immersed my hands into the soapy water, and began to diligently scrub dishes. Singing. Mopping strands of my hair out of my face with a wet hand, wrinkling my nose as the water dripped down. It felt wonderfully cool as the air touched it.

I could hear thumping in the living room. Daddy. He was the only one home. My skin prickled and my shoulders hunched...but he wasn't coming in here. Vaguely, I could hear the clink of a bottle against glass...he was drinking heavy liquor...

I gulped and began to sing louder. To cover up the clinking sounds. I didn't want to think what could happen later if Daddy kept drinking. He got so wild and wrathful...the alcohol pulled monsters out of him, bringing them to the surface. Monsters that hated my existence.

After a few minutes I had calmed. The wind was picking up, and I couldn't wait to get these last few dishes done so I could run outside. There were a few plates left, and the bottom of the sink was strewn with utensils. I always saved them for last.

I heard the figurines rattling again, much more severely, and I turned my head to look...eyes widened in horror. NO! NO! One was falling...in slow-motion...and I sprang away from the sink, launching into a dive. My stomach hit the floor and I slid forward, hands outstretched. Tears sprang to my eyes from the harsh friction of floor on skin.

But there were worse things than that. Like the figurine. I had missed. It had shattered. Mother's figurine. Irreplaceable because of who it had belonged to.

My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes still watering, I began to scrabble to pick up the pieces. It was a little porcelain figure, of an anthro cat. Daddy didn't normally like 'animal-things' but he made an exception for Mom. The head and the left arm had broken off.

"What the hell was that noise!?" A voice bellowed from the living room.

"Uh...n-n-nothing!" I called back, my voice squeaking horribly. I cringed at the sound of it, hating it. Stupid, stupid voice!

"That don't sound like nothing, boy..." I heard him grunt as he heaved himself off the chair and his heavy footsteps neared the kitchen. I looked about wildly...clutched in my hands the evidence of my atrocious crime...and all I saw was the trash can. A quick disposal. I stood and stumbled towards it, and was just letting the pieces fall from my hands, turning to eye the door...and seeing him already there. Just entering, his eyes on the trash can. I quickly clutched my hands to myself. Sweat broke on my brow, and the cool air wafting in did not help relieve it.

"What the FUCK are you doing, Snively?!" He snarled and approached the can...I backed up against it, trying to hide the contents from him. But he shoved me away with one large hand and stared down at the remains of the figurine. They had landed amidst yesterday's newspaper and leftovers.

He just stared...and I began to back away. His face...it was flushing red. His fists...they were starting to clench...and his temple...it had a vein pulsing there, and in his neck too...

Finally, he reached a hand in, seeming not to care as foodstuff smeared it. A piece of the figurine was withdrawn, the poor cat's head. He stared down at it for another moment, and then his gaze, like a knife, was thrown to me. My legs went weak and my bladder threatened to empty itself right there... "This..." his voice was a whisper... "Was one of your mother's..." He clenched it in his fist. "You...you broke it..."

"It...it was an ACCIDENT!" I squealed. "The wind blew it over...I tried to catch it...I tried, daddy...I..." I could hardly speak now through the trembling in my voice...backing away from him...no please...he was coming at me... his eyes so frightful and angry, like a rabid animal. "I'm SORRY!"

"Oh, don't even!" He snarled and a large hand pushed on my chest, pinning me back against the counter. It cut into my back. "Don't you EVEN say that word 'SORRY'! How DARE YOU?!"

My lower lip trembled and I felt the traces of humiliating wetness start seeping down my leg. I cursed it. It only made him crueler. I think he enjoyed it, sometimes...knowing he could scare a boy bad enough to piss his fucking pants. It must've been a real treat for him.

His eyes were on the piece again, and then he twisted his body and hurled it towards the trash can. Then his attention was turned back to me... his eyes drifting down my pathetic bony little body, the wet spot on my pants. Yellowed crooked teeth bared in a snarl and those smoldering gray-brown eyes were set on me. I believed looks could kill...or mutilate at least. His gaze was ripping me apart. I wanted to scream. "Ain't enough for you to kill her, is it, you worthless little scum? Now you got to ruin the only things left of her? EH?! Is that it, you pile of shit?!"

"No-" But his fist was raising back... and my words dissolved into whimpering.

He punched me. Each knuckle striving to leave a bruise on my stomach – oh god – it wasn't fair for a fist to hurt so much. It was like he'd thrust a red-hot spear into my gut. I curled up inside my skin, eyes squeezed shut, a breathy grunting gasp expelled from my lungs. Dimly aware of hitting the floor as he stepped away from me.

He was ranting...I caught his hurtful nasty words, swears and oaths and demands intermingling into one ugly beast language. I tried to close my ears to it. It wasn't hard at the moment. The red haze was filling my vision and the pain was stabbing over and over, like knives. Just from one punch, one blasted punch. What about more? What would they do...kill me? Would daddy kill his own son?

No, why kill something you hate? You can't torment it any more after that. What good is your enemy's corpse? It can't feel anymore. And he wanted me to feel.

It seemed like hours for me to recover but I did, and it had only been a few minutes. Maybe less than that. He reached down and caught me by the shirt collar, yanking me to my feet and I gagged. Breath I had just retrieved was lost again.

He dragged me over to the shelf, and his free hand selected a figurine, a cute little prancing horse, its delicately sculpted mane flowing in an invisible breeze. It had been one of Mother's favorites. She loved horses...they symbolized freedom. Freedom and beauty and the ability to run wild even when confined in a place such as this. I don't know...if she was right. But I almost believed her. I could run free here sometimes...my body would stay in the house, but my mind, like a wild horse, would gallop far far away from here, to greener pastures and skies where the sun never set, and if it did, it was always breathtaking in its death.

"You want to break her? Break her then!" He shoved the figurine into my hand. "GO ON! You little mutt, go on and BREAK it!"

I stared at the horse -the essence of mother. Free, beautiful, delicate. To break it? To kill it? Like the cancer had killed her? How could I do that? How could I take a piece of her...and throw it away? He was screaming at me to do it. I couldn't. I just couldn't, even with knife stabs in my gut. The tears that spilled from the rims of my eyes were like acid. Burning like guilt. I DIDN'T kill her, I didn't cause her death!

"Break it, you little piece of shit! Break it already!" The taunts kept coming, crowding my head. Confusing me. My hand began to tremble; my entire body shivered.

I couldn't do it! Even though it was easy. To throw to the floor, to let the hand open and drop the sacred object within...

That wasn't easy! In action...maybe...in mind...no! No, no! It was destroying part of her....defiling memories! How could he even WANT me to do that?

Hurting me was worth more than her memory.

That's sick.

I thought that back then, a whole twelve years of age...I thought, 'That's sick. He couldn't want that. It's sick. He's sick. He's WRONG. He does want it. His soul...it's poisoned!'

"Daddy, I can't!"

"Oh why not?! WHY NOT?!" His breath stank. He was already half-drunk, all tainted, and not just by booze.

At twelve I knew what a poisoned soul was. And I knew mind-bending hate. How wrong...how so very wrong.

Do I have to see this? Can I stop it here?

'Oh hell no' – my mind says...it's poisoned too... and part of it hates all this...and part of it wants to keep seeing it. Feeling it...hurting dying...dying.

So the memory keeps rolling.

"I said DO IT!" His hand lashed out and belted me across the face. I felt spit fly from my mouth, tasted the tang of blood.

But still I balked. "I can't, it was HERS!" I cried at him, the tears coursing down my face and my pants wetter than ever. "Don't make me, daddy, PLEASE!"

I swore he wasn't human. Not with that face. It was like a monster...a devil...had taken his face and twisted it into a mask of rage and hate... it was frightening. If my bladder hadn't been empty by that time I would've made a puddle on the floor...if I had possessed a weaker heart, it would've given out.

"Oh, don't make me?!" He mocked cruelly, grabbing my chin and glaring into my eyes. "You KILLED her! Don't play INNOCENT with me, MAGGOT! I should've..." His hand tightened on my face so hard I thought he'd crush the bones. I whimpered.

If I broke it...would he let me be? Was it worth it, defiling her possessions and memories for him?! Of course not. But I was so afraid...

Too fucking WEAK.

I didn't say anything. I just extended my arm and let the horse drop, falling free, galloping to its doom. It hit the floor and the head broke off at the neck...and one of the rear legs went spinning across the linoleum.

A sob ripped from my mouth. He just stared at it, like a murderer eyeing the incriminating bloodstain on his floor. Like he'd done something terribly wrong...and yet he was going to cover it up anyway, he was going to pretend it was justified. In his mind it –was- justified.

Then...he exploded. He grabbed me hard by the hair and went towards the nearest weapon there was. The stack of plates I had set in the wooden rack to dry. He wanted something more shocking than fists.

I was released, shoved backwards, my tearing eyes just barely seeing what was coming towards me...not enough time to move... and then my head was snapped to the side by ceramic. One of the dinner plates clutched in his hand. It didn't even break, amazingly. I fell to the floor with blood gushing from my nose and smearing my teeth, gulping breath in a panic, screeching.

His boot slammed into the small of my back, and I lost my breath. Strange white noise flooded my head. I could hear him screaming over it, over and over. I didn't want to hear it, but even over my gasps I could.

"I HATE YOU!! BAD SEED! I HATE YOU, HATE YOU!" Kick kick kick. His spit was dripping down on me. His boot slamming into my body, over and over, until I couldn't tell when I was breathing or not...it hurt so much either way... and my whole vision was red...I didn't know if my eyes were opened or closed, I was bleeding...was I bleeding? Kick. Kick. KICK.

"YOU KILLED HER!! I SHOULD'VE KILLED YOU FROM THE BEGINNING!"

No...no...I moaned through a mouthful of spittle, drooling onto the floor. I didn't. He was a liar. I didn't do it.

"Why couldn't you have died..." He was panting now, dragging me up by the shirtfront. I could vaguely make out his face through the scarlet haze. His face was wet. He held me there, breathing on my face, for several minutes, making these horrible wretched sounds, like growls and wails all at once. If I hadn't hated him SO much at that moment, I might've felt sorry for him. If I hadn't been the one who was feeling the most pain...maybe I could've had sympathy. But no, he killed all that good in me. I just wanted him DEAD. Let him join her if he hurt that fucking much...

"Instead of her, why couldn't you?"

My vision cleared up. I could breathe again, but my entire body ached when I did. My head was spinning.

He still had the dish in his hand. I thought he was done. There was no way I could go out and bicycle now... maybe I would just stagger out and lay on the front lawn. Outside...away...not nearly as far away as horses could fly me...but away, at least.

A twelve year old couldn't fathom how deep hate could go. Not yet...there just wasn't enough room in my soul to stuff it all. I wasn't a black hole...bottomless pit of despair, yet.

A strangled sound escaped him and he swung. I tried to move, but I was too dazed. My face was accosted by the plate again, and this time I heard it shatter. A piece cut the corner of my mouth, my back slammed into the counter behind me. I tried to distance myself from him, scrambling along the counter, my hands groping the surface for...anything. I let out a yelp as one hand plunged into the sink. The water was still warm.

And the bottom was strewn with utensils...because I always saved them for last. My fingers felt the edge of a knife. A sharp one.

Daddy was coming closer. Unfathomable hate.

I grabbed the knife and drew it up behind my back. Water slid down my wrist.

'Do it...' A voice was whispering to me, dark and silky. 'Do it...'

I stared at his stomach. The knife...it would sink in so easy. Right into that flabby gut. The warm blood would ooze all over my hands, it would fill the air like perfume. Blood would come bubbling out of his mouth, and he would give me that look that they give in the movies...that wide-eyed shocked look. That 'how could you do this to me?' look.

How couldn't I, was more like it.

I wanted to, so badly. He was treading on my toes now, those intolerable seething eyes on me. I swung my arm forward, my teeth gritting.

I'd kill him. YES.

'Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.'

I would slice him into a million pieces. I would cut his face off. I would sever his fists and shove them into his mouth. I would...

He punched me in the crotch. My whole body opened up. My hand... it opened and I dimly heard the splash as the knife returned to its watery grave. My mouth opened, my eyes went wide... 'how could you do this to me?!'... and I collapsed.

"I hope it kills you..."

"Now you can never make any more of YOU at least..."

"You won't join your mother. She's in heaven. You're not going to heaven. You won't see her. She doesn't want to see you. She HATES you."

If I had the knife I would stand up and cut his tongue out and let it slide down into his throat...choking him on his lies.

But I didn't, so I didn't. I couldn't stay there anymore, though.

A black horse came and took me away.

I passed out.

I woke up. Facing the interrogation doors. My hands were made into fists, the short nails cutting me. Blood was seeping out between my fingers.

I wanted to KILL someone so badly. Whether or not they deserved it. Justice...or freedom. Justice or freedom. Freedom.

Liberty from pain. I'll free them all, maybe. They'll never hurt like me.

A smile cut into my face like the track of a knife. Bold, searing. Scary.

I'll free them from me...and me from them.

Smiling wider.

Everyone free from pain all ways around.

God...that sounded so good.