Fingers (Part 3)A Story by Marcel Grant Dylan 3.
Dylan knew that
every Monday morning Don burned his trash in the back yard. The old man threw
two bags on the pile of leaves and wood he had raked in. The trailer park was
surrounded by trees; at this time of year, a constant downpour of leaves, pine,
pinecones and twigs fell like rain. It was perfect material for burning garbage.
Don was sixty-three. He followed this routine for over ten years, every Monday
morning. The child walked
barefoot as he made his way to Don’s wooden shed in the backyard. The door was
wide open, not enough to light up the shed. It was small and dark; Don kept all
his yard supplies packed in there, making it difficult for even someone little
like him to get inside. The orange cat had walked inside, maneuvering past all
the tools easily. Dylan followed, watching as the cat moved to the very back
where the paint cans and brushes were placed on shelves along the wall. The boy
climbed over a riding lawn mower, on top of a wheelbarrow and down to the dirty
ground. Underneath the lowest shelf, the cat had curled itself in a ball in the
corner. Dylan lowered himself to the floor, and stretched his arm out to the
cat. He couldn’t reach. The cat wasn’t
worried, slowly opening its eyes to give an unconcerned gaze and then shutting
them again when Dylan made a little too much noise. He wanted to play. He was
bored, not even allowed in Don’s house anymore. He didn’t know why. He wanted
to play with Morgan but she was eating lunch inside. He turned his
attention to his left and noticed a large spider in its web to his right. It
moved furiously, stretching its legs out, making it look more intimidating then
it was. Sitting up in surprise, the boy banged his head on the shelf before shuffling
backward. His palms pressed down against the cool floor, he finally noticed the
insects and dust around him. He’d need a stick
to get rid of that web. “Dylan!” He heard Don’s
sudden voice, but didn’t move. “I want you out of
the shed, you hear me?” the voice was firm and commanding. Dylan still didn’t
make a noise. He knew Don wouldn’t do anything. Not to him. He heard a few
things being picked up and scraping sounds as Don moved rakes and shovels
around. Then he heard the sound of swishing. Gasoline, Dylan knew. After the man
left, Dylan stood up slowly and made his way to the door as silently as he
could. Two cats suddenly ran past him, a black one and a gray one which caused
him to the stumble and trip over a nearby shovel. The cats ran out of the shed
leaving Dylan on the floor. He rolled over on his back and pushed the tool
aside. He walked over to the door and watched Don standing over the pile of
leaves and trash. Turning the can
over, he poured the gasoline all over the mound. Dylan glanced over
his shoulder and saw the large shovel he had left lying there on the ground. He
reached for it. Don reached into
his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Bringing up one to his mouth,
he lit it. A moment later, a large cloud of smoke expanded around him. Then he
threw the stick on the trash, setting it all ablaze. *** … -@#$52
…
!CV$#T#$^@#$^BJ&I**&WE()Gqwfq2&31$!!!
… OPtPIug)gP^*5*675875O864ouf^75^9O(*&)89)_9IOhyYR7FVgtFR45IhNHBYF&U*IHOYFT&IY^54%678(iJHUgytfr$%67*UJhgft&8yu9ijFTD%RFTGYHUIJOU(T&6fygHUIJOIhugytd5eT&HIUVYTFY&*IH-!!! … Don walked into
the kitchen floor, the old cheap vinyl bending under his weight. He didn’t
notice the small puddle of apple juice he stepped in or the crumbs from the
crackers he left for Morgan. She sat at his
plastic table, swinging her legs back and forth underneath the chair. Morgan
noticed Don walk in. She grabbed her cup and took a sip of her juice. Wordlessly, the
man took a seat beside her. *** Dylan knew it was
the hottest part of the day, but it’d cool off soon. It had been like this for
days now. He wasn’t allowed inside anymore, his mom said. So he kept cool under
the shade of the large pine trees. Until his mom got back, he played with
sticks and used them as swords, threw pinecones at trees and threw stones in
the lake. He wished Morgan
was here though. Tired from the
heat, he sat down and fell back into the grass. The sun was blaring, but it’d
only be for about thirty more minutes. Then the sun would start to set. He
sighed. Bored. Light glared into
his eyes whenever the wind shook the high branches and leaves above. Even when
he got tired and closed his eyes, it was too bright. Sweat started to drip down
his forehead. He couldn’t sleep. It was too hot. His breathing
became long and deep. He raised his arm up over his eyes, blocking out the sun.
Drops of sweat fell from the small hairs on his arm onto his face. Very warm,
but he was thirsty. *** Morgan sat
quietly. It was like this
every day now. And she had stopped reminding him what he had forgotten. There
was no homework on the table. He always remembered it himself. Don stared at her
for a long moment. Then his face sudden jolted, like he was reminded of
something. He stood up from
the table and walked out of the Kitchen. Morgan didn’t say
anything. She wasn’t supposed to leave because she was supposed to do her
homework. Mom said so. Don walked back in
a moment later. In his arms he held two text books from school and in his hand
was a cup full of markers and pens and pencils. She only needed the pencils
though. He sat down beside
her again, and placed the two books in front of her. One was from school; her
teacher had given it to her at the beginning of the year. It was full of math
equations. The other was Don’s book. He reached into the cup and pulled out a
pencil for her. He held it out. “I’m tired,” she
complained and brushed the brown hair from her eyes. He rapped the
pencil on the table. “Morgan.” She reached out
and took it. *** Dylan awoke with a
start. He had just let his mind begin to blur when he felt pressure on his
chest. He heard a purring
sound and opened his eyes to see a cat staring back at him, sniffing his face.
He grabbed the cat by the sides and lifted him off. The boy sat up and yawned.
But then felt the discomfort. His head hurt and his face felt flushed. He stood
up slowly, the world spinning just for a moment. He planted his
feet firmly to the ground, steadying himself. A cool breeze moved past him and
as he looked down, drops of sweat dripped on the grass. One hit the cat on the
forehead. I want water…
And he would get
some. Enough was enough, as he set his sights for Don’s trailer. *** Morgan didn’t try
to think about his hand. But it always started off the in the same spot. Right
on her leg. Don always placed
a hand on one of her legs where she sat, and she never asked why and never made
eye contact with him. But it was always
unnerving. She didn’t want to do homework today… She glanced up
toward the kitchen window and saw how the sun had turned orange again. Her mom
would be home soon. Then she could go home. Reaching out for
her cup of juice, she sipped on it- “Morgan. Do your
homework.” She frowned and
put the cup back down. 3 x 50 = …150…
She always wrote
down each number like her teacher taught her, one on top of each other, and
then multiplied them one at a time. So 3 x 0 equaled 0. She would write in 0 as
an answer, and then 3 x 5 was easy too, and she’d write 15 next to it. Most of
the time she got it- She flinched as
his hand moved. Down her leg, to the knee cap. Up her leg. She ignored it. She
had to do her work. She messed up writing the 5, so she erased it and rewrote
it. She brushed off the eraser shavings, and looked to the next problem. 4 x 50 = Q#V6y@!!!
Morgan flinched
and twisted in her chair. Don moved his hand away and she placed her own where
his was. She didn’t know
what to do. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know
what was going on. But every day… It was always the same. She followed the
next problem. It was easy when she thought about it. 4 x 50 = 200 Sweat dripped down
her forehead. Don reached up and wiped it away. He moved his fingers through
her hair. Down her cheek. Down her neck- 48^@&$%8245!!!
She flinched
again. She didn’t need to see him frown, but knew he was. “We should do some
science now,” he said, his voice very monotone. Morgan didn’t move. “It’ll help you
get into a good college.” Don always said
that. He stood up and
reached for the second text book he had brought in, much larger than the math
one. It was thicker and older, the pages yellow and smelled of mold. It smelled
like her trailer, but not in a good way. He pushed the math book to the side
and opened the science book. It was always on a
random page. It was never in the same spot as last time. “Ready?” “I don’t get it.” “I didn’t get it
at first either. Come on, read it.” “I’m not good at
reading that.” “…” She looked at him. “I ain’t good at
it!” she yelled at him. “Come on, you need
to try,” he replied in a calm tone. She pulled herself
closer to the table and looked down. She couldn’t get any of the words… “Out loud.” “’An… a-av-erage
n-n-‘” She hesitated. She could read that one. She could never read them, not
all of them. Don looked at the
book and brought his finger to it. He placed a hand on her back. “Neuron.” “’An average
neuron, in the h-hu-human brain has some. Where. Between…’” she paused. “’A
thousand and …’ I forgot, what is that?” “Ten thousand.” “Ten thousand… S-s-s1@#%12-”
“Synapses.” She couldn’t say
that. Tears started to well up in her eyes. She wasn’t that smart. She didn’t
know what that was. She never read thi- @#512^*2!
She flinched. Hot
tears streamed down her face. This wouldn’t end until she was finished reading. “…with nearby
n-neurons, some of which are… re-re..sponsi-able… for think-ing, some of which
are re-sponsi-ble for moving…” she paused taking in every word as she knew how.
Thinking about how the words would form in her mind. All of it, she read at a
slow pace. “And some of which are … for better or for worse, s-s-s…” (“Simply,”
Don explained.) “Simply, blank. When a nerve im- (“Impulse.”) reaches the
sin-sin (“Synapses, I told you this once before.”) synapses there to jump,
across, to the ad… ad… (“Adjacent.”) nerve cell… it’s given a nudge, along by
an electric (“Electrically.”) trig-gered squirt of a chem-ical. Some chem-icals
(“You got that word right.”) en-hance, others inhabit (“Inhibit.”); ditto
pain-killers, transq- (“Tranquilizers.”), and re-cra (“Recreational.”) drugs.
The adjancent (“Adjacent.”) nerve cell reacts acco-” It took too long.
What did it all mean? Why couldn’t she get all of th- 2&2*@(AQ!! “I…I…I…” “I don’t want to read
it anymore!” she screamed moving out of her chair and standing up. She couldn’t
feel him near anymore. She wasn’t shaking when he was far away. “You need to read!”
he screamed back at her, rising out of his chair. It was like this
every day. She couldn’t figure it out. She wasn’t smart enough. Silence. … … Wait for mom to
get ho- And then they both
heard, past the sound of their breathing and her sniffles, a muffled call that
distinctly sounded like the name of a girl. “Morgan?” She turned to see
her brother at the opened backdoor, staring into the kitchen. He looked red and
he was sweating. But she had never seen him look so mean. Never seen his
eyebrows bush together like that, staring Don down with a tense body. His
stained clothes flapped against his skin as a gust of wind blew into the house,
turning the pages of the books on the kitchen. Morgan felt
something she had felt sometime before. Scared. For some reason, she was scared
that someone else watched her do homework. She was scared like she was at the
lake. She was scared that she’d someday find herself covered in worms. She ran toward
Dylan and rushed past him to get outside. She never wanted to see either one of
them again. *** Dylan turned to
his sister as she ran past, her knees wobbling down the steps of the back porch
and nearly tripping over herself as she hit the grass. She sprinted to their
house. He ran after her. “Morgan, you get
back here you piec-” The door closed
and he didn’t catch the rest of the sentence. He made his way down the three
steps and booked it as fast as he- He tripped into
the dirt as a cat ran from underneath him, hair up and frightened at the noise.
Dirt smeared against his shirt. Morgan didn’t want to talk. She never told him
all the things that happened to her all the time. But he always knew. It was
just that… they never believed him if he said something. They never believe me…
They never believed me…
…1#keCp*%^QQF… Even when I told them.
*** When Sue pulled
into the driveway she knew something wasn’t right. Things should have been
okay, but Morgan never waited for her on the front porch. Sue smiled. I love you too kiddo.
Easily she stopped
the car and put it in park. It had been a nice day at work. No real problems
and no annoying customers. A couple good tips… he even showed up today. It had
taken her a little time to get off work because he kept trying to decide what
to order, making a big show about what he wanted. She thought about how he
asked her to come back a little later when he made up his mind. He was so cute. It was a little
later compared to when she normally got home. Not completely dark yet, but the
sun had nearly set and she had turned her headlights on. And now her
daughter was waiting for her. “Hey hey!” she
called out, a grin on her face as she exited the car. “Guess what I brought
home?” She reached back in and over to the passenger side, pulling out a big
pizza box. “Get your brother and let’s eat.” Sue carried the
box awkwardly in her hands and could smell that pepperoni. It filled her car
and she was tempted to take a piece before getting home. But she could wait.
Her shoes picked up dirt as she moved from the pebble driveway to her front
porch. Morgan sat down in a chair with her head down. “Hey, you
sleeping?” she casually asked, pulling out keys to open the door. She peered
over at her daughter, who didn’t make a sound. Shrugging, the
woman entered inside. Making her way
into the kitchen, she placed the box on the wooden table and opened it up,
letting the entire aroma fill the air. Then she moved her way through the
cabinets until she found paper plates, napkins and silverware. The plastic fork
and knife were for Morgan, who still burnt herself by eating pizza to fast. She
grabbed a plate and reached out for a slice of pizza. With a plop, she threw
her piece on it and sat down. She licked her
lips and the tip of her thumb, getting all the grease. Sue waited just a
moment, about to dig in… And Morgan still
hadn’t walked in. Sue paused, and
for the first time since she got home, frowned. Her stomach growled and whined,
but she ignored that and watched the opened front door in the other room. Just
like she left it… but no one at the door. No one coming inside. Not even a little
hungry girl. Putting her plate
down, she uncrossed her legs and stood up, moving with slight annoyance to the
front door, but also restrain. Maybe her daughter found another dead cat. “Morgan?” she
asked softly, bringing her head out the door and seeing her daughter still
sitting silent in a chair. “You okay sweetheart? You hungry?” Nothing. She smiled and
moved right in front of her daughter and got down to her knees, at eye level.
She reached up and wiped the tattered and messy bangs away from her face and
tucked them behind the girl’s ears. She flinched. And
her eyes were red and puffy. “Baby?” Now she felt a
slight stone fill her stomach. Her hunger started to ebb away. Something had
happened. “Honey… what is
it?” Her daughter started
to move her mouth, and then she shut it. She opened it again, and shut it. She
started to cry some more. *** “Dylan!” … “Dylan!!” … He could hear his
mom crying out for him. But he didn’t respond. Not yet. It was too dark to see
her, but he knew she was on the front porch of their house. Maybe she could see
him, if she looked for him. He was near the fire. Don’s backyard, in the night. And this was the
only time to do it, since it was night. Morgan might find it again, so he had
to do it now. His arms throbbed
as he moved toward the fire, cuts and scrapes up his arms. Dirt too, and that
stung. He had gotten used to that. He took in a deep breath and could smell the
smoke, the flame thriving on trash and wood. Sweat dripped down his forehead,
smearing all the dirt on his face. Blood ran down his
arms, down to his hands. No one ever
believed him. No one ever believed that people would hurt him. And now they
wouldn’t believe that people hurt Morgan. “Dylan!” He ignored that
shout too. But in the distance, he could hear noise, alarms and horns going
off. Dylan breathed in
and out, and looked down into his palm, fingers grasped tightly. A cat in his hand,
mouth opened and fur all messed up and filthy. He held it by the back of the
neck, where his blood was beginning to fill in the fur. Orange hair and blank
grime were built up in his fingernails. The cat had struggled a lot. But that
shovel he found in the shed helped him reach. If Morgan hadn’t
found the last one, he wouldn’t be doing this. But he didn’t want her to get
scared again. But he didn’t want to stop either. This was the only
thing he could do to hurt that man. Around the large
fire, he could see some distant blue and red lights shining against the trees.
He could hear car doors opening and closing. His mom was shouting again. Years from now, he
wouldn’t remember everything that happened that day. He would forget what it
was like when the police rushed toward him and picked him up. He wouldn’t
recall all the questions they asked him; his mom at his chest crying and grasping
his shoulders. He never saw Don get
dragged out of the house and into a police car. He didn’t remember ever seeing
Morgan, or speaking to her for a long time afterward. And he never saw what his
appearance in a mirror, so he never knew what he looked like. But he would
remember one thing. With a gentle
toss, Dylan watched in silence as the cat started to sink silently into the
trash. And with a sudden crack of wood snapping and ash filling the air, the
animal disappeared completely into the flames. … (For the tortured.) © 2015 Marcel GrantAuthor's Note
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1 Review  Last Updated on May 14, 2015 Tags: Tragedy, Mature, Child Abuse Author
Marcel GrantSCAboutI'm 22, and have always loved reading since I was a kid. I've been writing since I was fourteen and really enjoy it, though I doubt I'm any good. If you get a chance, please read some of my work an.. more..Writing
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