Trembling isn’t new to me but this is definitely not the Parkinson’s. Dopamine has not completely drained out all the emotions I have. I still feel – alive in pain and love. Yet this pain feels different. Worse.
I watch as the skies darken, my newly found deepest fear – watching the sun set as the stars come alive. Waiting, I feel my heart running a different race than it had in twenty-four months. 24!
Twenty-four years of my mother’s anxieties -whether Tutu will live or die. Twenty-four months enduring my own version of hell and only a few hours left since I had been planning my escape.
‘Tutu! Tutu!!’ I jolt, scared again, however differently. The deafening voice had returned, the dreadful darkness finally coming upon us.
‘Are you stupid or just a retarded spoilt child?!’ ‘Are you deaf? “Am I not talking …” Never one to complete a thought before unbuckling began.
‘Am I not talking to you?’ Like a pro he had become, he swiftly pulls out his leather belt, as always. Three lashes were always enough for me to collapse and digest the rest of the ‘discipline’. There was always a reason to straighten his spoilt wife.
I struggle to keep my feet on the ground as I yell in pain, more from the voice in my head than the heavy lashes – the demon that boiled to overtake me sooner than I had planned.
I feel two succeeding sharp strikes as the metal buckle finds a landing spot on the punch-bag my face had become. A perfect blend of sweat, blood and drool rapidly quench my thirst, strengthening my muscles towards my pants.
I reach for the piece – loaded, but the devil did it.