Albino Child

Fifteen

I cannot recall much after seeing his face full of fright and worry, I only remembered him thundering up our cheap but waxy polished wooden steps as he grasped the complimentary wooden banister with an ashamed expression, tears that one would have never expected to see upon a man like him were visible- they were watery buds of sin, he had abused his wife in a swift motion, he had struck her placid, gentle and harmless face with his harsh, callous and muscular hands, they were the limbs of a diligent working man who, like every other father in the neighbourhood was that of a seemingly peaceful man who drowned out any trace of emotion with alcohol from the local newsagent- I became frustrated and almost enraged, I began to fill with bitter sorrow as I saw the hurt face of my mother, she did not deserve such treatment from such a foul man, she should have married a plentiful, sympathetic and amiable man who would protect rather than disfigure her; I could sense acrimony seep into my present self as I growled in animalistic dissatisfaction, there was no fair judgement or punishment, no form or repercussion would fall upon my beloved false father- he may feel guilty and repay her with some form of treatment later that night, one that would hopefully disguise what he truly did, one that was so vile that only a man like him would resort to such measures to gain favour of his wife- I repulsed at the thought of what they were going to indulge in later that evening, I had witnessed such atrocity before, when I had walked to the bathroom to sort a minor nosebleed that had trickled down my pale, pasty skin, I heard elongated low-pitch noises emit from the room, and that was the day I lost all faith in my father, I saw him feast on her body like a hyena- I watched with morbid fascination, to me they were embodying some kind of obscene, dark and satanic ritual that must not be revealed, I stayed silent that night but I soon learnt that my ideas were not exactly correct, he was only interested in these bodily revelry in which he gained a sense of satisfaction by ripping open my mother.

What happened next did not exactly register in my mind properly, it was as if there were a gap- a missing part in which I had closed my eyes and had been embraced by the motherly grasp of the beaten woman; I had firstly recalled my fury that had burnt and brimmed to fill my usually imperturbable, stoic and placid entity, I could feel my shadow amplify and dilate to capacitate the minimalistic chamber- it was an icy twisting force that was dark, it blew harsh winds and created rifts within the tiled floor- however, as soon as it came, it left, the rushing adrenaline that breezed through the tranquil setting reverted to formal normality, it was as if all my twisted thoughts had been drained away. After it had been extracted I returned to hug my beautiful doll for comfort that I had been grasping through my clenched fist, I let my watery fluids leak out of my sensitive eyes, they dampened the fine fibres of the luscious locks that was donned by Boneka, the petite frame of the doll should have shattered by the force I exerted upon the fragile body, however, it did not- for reasons that I only discovered within the facility, it was made with the powdered femur of my mother, she had donated it for research and this was her inanimate child that my father never knew of, he would have in for a shock when he realised that my mother had no right thigh, my mother after all was a relatively conservative person who tended to wear long skirts and mid-calf level dresses that hid the missing half-limb. Here was the gap, I could never quite member how or when my mother released me from the room, she just hugged my whispering over and over into the shell of my ear that it was going to be alright; I could feel my shoulder become dapples with the tears of my mother, her unusually cold and clammy body should have been enough for me to have realised that nothing was fine but I was more concerned with how my doll was being squished between our bodies. This was one of the last moments I had with my mother before I got transferred, to him, the exact cause of the dispute.

My mother told me to change into a set of pyjamas so I could go to sleep. Being unusually strict, I obeyed her, she had a sympathetic smile as she told me that she planned a fun visit to him, my uncle, I was ecstatic, I adored my appointments at his home- he listened to everything I said, he and I seemed to be ever so similar, he was a person that I could talk open-minded, debate and argue with as he taught me many facts and skills but what I treasured most was the doting attention, he was prepared to put up with my ideas, enough to even put many into practice, he was more than any child could ask for- I recalled dazing dreamily as I was tucked into my tidy single bed, thankfully I had been cleaned before the explosive argument- it would have been much hassle for my exhausted mother to have needed to sort out a tedious ritual after such an awful event, thus, to let my imaginary, hypothetical conversations with the man expand and fill my time before I began to dream and imagine ingenious ideas. Little did I realise that my ignorance scared my mother.

I evidently remembered the next morning and the next day, they were full of seemingly normal happenings that just did not feel quite as ordinary as they faked they were, it started in an almost regular manner: I woke up, stretched and pulled open the dull beige curtains to peek into the bright light of day, walking to the bathroom was the first of the strange occurrences- I noticed that my doll, Boneka, had been propped up against the mirror with her neck tilted in an uncomfortable, inorganic manner, frowning, I realigned her body, I had not yet realised that my appearance was far from the usual pasty one I wore- there were red blotches, similar to rashes they appeared to be burst blood vessels under the skin and resembled the ones on my mother's neck very often- I ignored them and reached under the sink to retrieve an ointment jar that was filled with a substance that was opaque, it was a scream of sorts that was meant to improve the state of inflamed and damaged skin issues- it was an all-purpose healer that had saved me from the horrible scarring I had from a year ago when a bully, a boy from a couple of years above, took it too far and proceeded to whip my back and neck with his faux leather belt, it caused internal bleeding and combustion of the capillaries but the innards were thankfully saved by the power of this healing ointment; I then began to flannel myself down, rubbing water into the sensitive skin, some parts flaked off while others grew more and more bruise-coloured as I scrubbed harshly, I removed the majority of the sleepy-scent that was an aura among the tired and sickly, placing on the silk-blend shirt my uncle had given me on, I also put on a pair of smart-Sunday trousers, the kind that I usually wore to mass at the local church. I was wore an exuberant grin as we took the bus to the station, the trains were on the other side of the town we lived in and reaching there by foot would have taken many hours so we short-cut the route and went by wheeled vehicle, I was excited back then by the simple prospect of meeting him.

Ironic. Now I would hate to even mention him while before I would be overjoyed, it is almost hilarious how much I had changed in such a puny amount of time.