Laikyn Meng
I’m awoken by the slap of my father’s hand. His fists clench the disobedient daughter claimed as his own. My round cheek burns from red imprinted fingerprints. Speechless, I wait for the next mechanism of an outbreak. The punishment is chosen to put into blame. Other children hiding underneath the safety of their sheets. Blends of the noises of mute moanings with the valley wind. It made it hard to realize who was in choice crying, my siblings, or that man who stood strangled before us.
Words unspoken, the brother’s bed laid empty. He believed the vacant spot had been my doing. If I could prevent the outbreaks Malachi so strangely motivated himself to do. Longed for the ideas of an obedient son, granted that make father respectful. Children of their own, creating rifts and a name for themselves, shining a darkened light on those we call mom and dad. Anger betrayed by his wife’s teardrops. Comforting hush only ringing inside the ears of her being. Woes keeping her unstable and shaking. Rebecca was once an alluring woman I remind myself; my mother might have been a prize to be won out among the modern of folk. Instead, she paired up with the first man who came calling. The man she called papa sending her off to give birth to the devil’s defiant son.
Words useless in the battle alongside him. Crucible tones of unnecessary phrases sharing his guilt and discernment of the mistakes made in Malachi’s upbringing. Flashbacks show the sobbing in his throat, knowing the mind has placed those corrections onto his humanity.
To Be Continued…