Amara POV
"C'mon Olympia get your butt movin" I called to my chicken.
Normally I'd just let her out of her pen but papa ordered me to take her on a walk.
He needed to talk to mother he had mumbled as a response when I questioned his commands.
Whatever its fine with me.
Side stepping the big hay piles that were scattered around the low slung barn, I lifted my arm to shade my naked eyes from the blazing sun.
It was quite chilly out in the autumn air, yet the sun shone brighter than the vanity mirror mama kept to pamper herself on sundays.
Sundays were for the holy one, according to mama an papa.
But to me it was torture.
The priest all high and mighty stood up on a podium which I liked to think of as a throne.
At least that's how Brother Palmer acted when he was up there.
Always gloating about that worn book he held.
Children were never allowed to fidget or they'd get the old whip back home after service.
Communion was always the worst.
When I first had it I thought it would be a good snack, like from the bakery down town.
But oh no, don't get me started on how bad each part of communion was.
First there was the wine, which was so tart it would make your lips pucker as if you had licked a lemon.
Then there was the cracker, well I'd say piece of cardboard.
I always swallowed it whole, like a pill.
Angry voices startled me out of my deep thoughts.
Looking around confused I stopped and peeked around the barn door.
No one could be seen as far as the last apple tree on our land.
Shrugging it off I blamed the wind.
The wind tricked you in those weird ways, as if in the lonely nights it would scream your name.
Soft gusts of air would kiss your lips and murmur your name.
But if you had enough patience it would sing you a song.
Many times I had sat by the little lake and listened to its rapids sing the blues.
No one but me heard it out on the farm.
Mama said when she was a little girl she tried but never had enough time to settle down and let the earth tell her a story.
Papa told me I would never get a job telling tales like I did.
Mama reassured me he had a bad day in the field farming his crops.
We had lost a lot of our wheat from those critters.
Our corn stock almost empty from the rambunctious crows.
Mama blamed Mother nature for all our tough times.
Papa just told her to shut it and went to smoke his pipe in the shed.
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"Helga!" Papa's croaky voice called out.
Mama tore out the door throwing her skirt away.
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ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ
Ação"Amara." his croaky voice called for me.. No I must not.. Cannot turn back no! no! My body burned under his controlling voice. I would not face the man who slayed my mother. I would not face the man who called to me when he was lonely. I was no pe...
