Loretta's Labyrinth

Exaggerated Justice

"Amon, where are you, Honey?" My mother searched while desperately calling.

 The three coins: the fruits of my labor, I stuff into a chest pocket and buttoned it up safely. Mother shouted once more; I ducked around the right side of the firework-maker's wagon. "Mom!" I shouted frightfully.

She hugged me immediately, relieved in seeing I was unharmed. Without concern for the absent baskets, she hoisted me upon her shoulder and carried me back to the market's center. We found Father spinning around, flipping people whose backs were facing him to find who'd abducted me. When he spotted us, a relieving sigh released from his shoulders. 

Nonetheless, before holding me close, he held up his arms and shouted, "Where are the baskets?" Mother was reluctant to carry through with the course of the conversation, but she set me down and awaited my answer. I looked at her for help, but she gave a tilt of her head.

"Your father only wants to make sure you weren't harmed. Could you explain what happened, Darling?"

I took several seconds to think of a lie, before proceeding with: "I was holding them, and-- and a man took them from me and ran," I said, bringing up fake tears. I continued but kept half the story true, admitting I ran to the cart of fireworks, and that I'd last seen the baskets there. But I didn't sell them anything more.

Mother held my hand as we returned to the wagon of fireworks and its owner. Father struck up conversation with the old workman; and though I hadn't specified the baskets had been robbed in the alley, Mother ran forth and rounded the corner faster than I thought possible.  

Father shouted, "You can't offer us another? You've got a whole bundle of smaller fireworks here no one's bought." 

"And I wish I could sell them; but you see, I make little money off these, Sir. You haggled me off for a reduced price, and that is what you got. But I cannot give you one for free. In any case, my money's been stolen, and my assistant is still exhaustingly running through town looking for the boy she thought she'd seen disappear behind my wagon."

Father wiped his hands on his jeans to remove the sweat. "Whoever took your money must be the same kid who stole our baskets. Shit . . . shit." He cursed again and again, then turned and looked down to me. "Do you remember what they looked like?"

Before I could respond, a woman who looked similar to Mother, though younger, with blond hair and a light orange dress, stomped up. "I know who stole them!"

"Ah, this is my assistant, who is also my daughter," the craftsman introduced. His daughter hardly seemed eager for greetings.

"This kid, this one here! I was out buying string and saw this sucker creeping up to our wagon as I was leaving. I hadn't known he was up to no good until I returned."

All eyes set on me, pinning me down like tacks would paper to a wall.

Father grit his teeth angrily and audibly and furrowed his brow. "Is that true." He demanded and answer. I didn't give one. He turned me over and dug into my pants-pockets but came up empty handed.

"It's not . . ."

Mother hadn't returned, and Father wasn't satisfied. He tugged on my jacket to check the pockets. Before he could unbutton the incriminating pocket, he felt what was inside it, yet I threw the jacket off. "Damn it, they are here." He stepped towards me. "Did you steal these after your baskets were taken, thinking you could make it right, or something?" was the conclusion Father arrived at. 

"Yes," I lied, and kept the tears up. "I didn't want to lose you more money." This brought remorse to Father, as his shoulders dropped, he knelt down beside me.

"That's not okay, Amon. You understand that, right? Return the coins back to the gentlemen." He set the coins back in my hand and gave me a deathly glare, which directed me to the workman. 

I extended the coins to him, but he refused me, for he'd wanted them returned to the hat they were taken from. Father extended his apologies and gave the man a bow; next turning to his assistant, but she held a disgruntled look on her face. With the coins in my hand, I hovered over the hat.

"The baskets were on the ground, in the entrance to the alley I saw your boy sneak forth from," said the assistant to my father who was bowing before her. He looked up perpetually shocked. "I know what I saw: He stole from us before your possessions were taken. The boy was making no effort to make things right with you; he was there to steal, and nothing more."

Father grabbed me from by my collar instantly. I thought I heard the footsteps of Mother, but we were out of sight of the craftsman and heading out of the market, away from people, before the winds had a chance to shift. The last stall we passed was the trader who'd sold the key, and I felt my consciousness snap back into place.

I broke from Father's grip qnd rushed to the stand. I reached the basket of pomegranates relieved to see the key in place, snatched it up, and stuffed the coins beneath the trader's basket. Father continued to chase me, oblivious that I was now holding a large key. Though he'd got a clear view of the key, it was as though it failed to register in his brain.

"You're stealing fruit now, Amon? Can you not resist stealing; I didn't raise you like this." He reached me and pulled on my arm. When my palm opened and he saw the key, he released me and stepped back several feet, shocked beyond reason. 

I dipped the key's rope around my neck and continued to sprint. Being my only memory, it was the angriest I'd ever seen Father. I try to piece together the pieces of our relationship, and fear we were often detached; only knowing I was often scared to tell the truth; though, I don't recollect why.

My knowledge was attempting to bring me to our home, instead, the town opened up in a perfect circle of grey stone with moss growing between the faults. The houses on the perimeter had their corners and walls severed where they would have interfered with the circle's perfection, as though the stone expanse had reigned from another dimension. 

In the middle of the stone was a pit, and around it a stoop. I ran to the edge of it. Witnessing its black and endless abyss tied my gut in a knot. My heel knocked down a pebble, which echoed and echoed, never seeming to settle as Father furiously stepped to me.

Not wanting to fall into the pit, I ran away from it. This brought Father all the closer; and with a hare's breath between us, he gripped my wrist for the last time. 

"I'm sorry," I screamed only after realizing escape was futile. Father gripped harder. "Please," I begged. "let go."

"Stop kicking," he seethed, and without realizing it'd even existed, tossed me towards the pit. I saw him jump after me--though not to save me, but to hit me--as I tripped over the stoop and fell backwards into the pit. Above me, in the remainder of the sky's light, Father fell in after me.

I dove down chasing after the stone which echoed through the pit. Father's body fell like a limp doll behind me. I do remember looking up at the sky when Father was falling, and, perhaps due to an amplification of light, I believe it appeared completely white. Almost, empty.

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Listen to The Outsider by A Perfect Circle - this song is good af . . .