The stillness of that night resonated with my most painful of entombed memories. That screech of helpless distress and retreat to violence and drink that blacked me out that night was habitual for me, it seemed an automatic mechanism, one which first surfaced at what was undisputedly the worst night of my life.
You see, the intricate farce that was my family had greater depth than I have told you of so far, I have another sibling, or more accurately, did. Just as in every lush forest there stands a tree withered and rotten, amidst every graveyard there are flowers of grand beauty, a singular pleasing of the soul in a sea of disgust and pain, Jenine was that delicate flower. She had hair of the most vibrant auburn, a relic of my mother’s bloodline, contrasting the dirty blonde curls of the family, and eyes that pierced the back of your skull whenever she was in need of attention, a glare that just screamed “pretty please!?”. Janine was my younger, but it irked me that I could not deny that he was my better. She had my wits and then some but not soured by brooding and apathy like me or the brother I once knew, her tenderness knew no bounds and ate away at me to know that she was the last hope for this shoddy family to produce someone who wouldn’t amount to a pitiful screw-up.
She was only ten years old when the accident happened, myself only a naive twelve-year-old, I remember that same incessant sobbing and swaying echoed the night long, I don’t believe I slept, the monotonous sway deprived me of rest for what felt as if it were the longest night of my life.
For every moment of agony, I felt I punched holes in every single wall in my house, it’s my father’s rage without his restraint and humbling of age. But the walls only took the brunt of the hatred that I felt for my brother that day, too cowardly to confront the gravity of his actions, he had taken to hiding in the park, swinging childishly in a wash of self-piteous tears. That night I lost two siblings, my beloved sister’s death beneath the wheels of a Range Rover killed my brother too, not to the world but in my heart he was forever dead, and his true demise was all I desired and have desired ever since. Jaine was foolish enough to butter up to her bastard of a brother to take her for late night burgers and I all too foolishly myself, barely took a glance away from the Sunday night horror picture, this being a time long before Carl’s vassalage to the needle was known to any of the family.
They say this hotshot insurance agent was out on a Sunday night cruise to vent the rage of a spousal tiff when a rickety station-wagon careened across to the oncoming lane. The back seat was struck first… the mangle that pulled from under the wreckage apparently brought a paramedic to sickness, she was barely recognisable. The damned recreant was the first to emerge from his wreck, he took barely a look at her or the hotshot before ran off for what must've been days to wallow in his pitifulness, and in just pitiful fashion my parents forgave him, afraid to lose two children. This denominated them as Carl’s doormats for the years to come as his swelling hatred for himself fertilised the flourishing of his dependency.
Every September her birthday arrives in her absence, I leave a fresh bouquet at her headstone and fight the urge to weep at the sight of her inscription, hence I make the journey alone after my parents have made their two-faced respects, mourning her loss at dawn yet coddling the pathetic wretch who took her from ours on the phone at dusk. They think I have grown sullen, as if I've forgotten her, the truth is I can’t bare them as the disgraceful apologists they are nor the irritating caress of the shoulder that is supposed to somehow be a comfort.
As I plummeted ever deeper into the abyssal recesses of my psyche, my body fighting to be free of the strangle of intoxication, I dwelled on her. I felt as if I were in the most lonesome seclusion of my life, if my slumped over body were found I would be none the wiser, I knew nothing of reality in the epiphany I was caged in. Yet another I failed to save because I never bothered to give a second glance, for all my hate and blame I brandish the one I never put to trial is myself.
I envisioned a road winding and waving before my eyes, but my hands not at the wheel, I am the passenger aside Carl, looking as despicably grimy as he does these days. I glance into the rearview mirror and clench my throat in horror at the sight of Janine and Joseph occupying the back seats in torturous silence, staring into my eyes from the mirror. Carl monotonically murmurs “You’re look rinsed Lil Mike” “Lil Mike”, A pet name worthy of a dog, one haven’t heard since the real animal ran out on us. My despisement is so strong that I sneer even at a figment of my imagination “Go to hell, you fucking piece of shit!”. He only attentively minds the road that seems to venture forth eternally “I’m not the driver here Lil Mike, don’t point me the way when you paved the road ahead all by yourself”
“Shut the fuck up and make some fucking sense! ...And don’t you dare call me that anymore you worthless cunt!” I roared.
“You don’t need to tell me to head for Hell, lil Mike, you set us down this road. We’re headed the same way. All the damnation ours to enjoy as brothers. The least we could do is ride on in hand in hand” He outreached his hand to me beckoning me to hold it.
I attempt to swat away his arm but he clutches me with his calloused hand and I feel as if I am enjoined with a corpse with the coldness of his palm. I am stricken with terror as the realisation waylays me that I am the sole life in a car occupied by pale corpses who have begun to weep profusely, Carl pulls my hand towards the wheel, his hand over mine and we veer the car into the oncoming lane in unison despite my frantic thrashing.
“Get your fucking hand off me…” I whisper gravelly.
“As soon as you do.” he said still incessantly monotone.
“I am nothing like you!” I release through a teeth-grinding growl
I snarl through my nostrils and lunge at him in a flurry of blows. With every numb strike I throw it becomes more evident to me that I am entombed in the asylum of my mind and yet I cannot wake with all my effort. My fear heightens ever more as the high beams of impending doom come barreling towards me. I hyperventilate inconsolably and feel that same damned awkward caress of my shoulder behind me, Janine’s chin at my back giggling and humming a cheerful tune, her comfort has never been so disturbing but yet it reminds me of the futility of my resistance. 358Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡItznh9EKQ7
I shield my eyes from the blaring light and bask in the sweet silence of the collision, for only a moment I feel what it means to die, I am nought but a spec, Michael Darrick is gone and what remains is the ellipses in the final verse of a song of misery, I am gone. But alas, it is only a dream and I am rebirthed in yet another prison of my own construction. A rusted swingset reclaimed by the flora of a forgotten botanic beset with a howling wind that frosts both the grassy knoll before me and the very blood in my veins. It feels as if I am falling through vision to vision with little coherency and as my alarment intensifies so too does the viscerality of the vision. My head darts across the plain before me but I find little but emptiness until the swaying the swing next to me becomes audible and the shadowy gangle soars into the air in the corner of my eye. And to who did I owe the pleasure of the company of in my own brush with internal madness but Owen Fielding, delighted in the childish joy of swinging to and fro.
“So are you gonna do an-” He blurted, swooping past me. 358Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr5VpXjR06p
I joined in a gentle swing to lend a better ear to what was sure to be more cryptic accusation.{TO BE CONTINUED}
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