Curiosity Killed The Child

My first real short story!!!!!!!!!!!!

It came into our sterile home on the arm of a woman. It was glistening black snakeskin, silver buckles. She was alabaster skin and red lips, black eyes and lace. Another one of mother's friends, no doubt. As she was escorted to mother's chamber, it- the black pregnant purse- was transferred to the ready arm of a coat hanger.
I couldn't help but notice the woman flash a grin in my direction before she dissapeared, though I thought I was well concealed under the stairs. But the smile was a cold one that drew her lips taut.
As I waited, the clicking of her heels stopped and the excited chatter of women rang through the halls. I crept away from my hiding palce to stand before the coat hanger. But it is so much taller than I.
Reaching up my fingertips did not brush the belly of the black purse.
Why it intrigued me so is easy to say. it caught the eye like a damned quartz, especially in contrast with the plain white walls, and the light seemed to slide right off its scales.. But most of all, it looked heavy. There was something inside that just begged to be discovered.
In fact I could hear it.
"Good boy.. Release me.."
So I jumped, but only set it swinging.
"Oh no you don't" Irving the butler stood towering over me, all bones and graying mustache and mean eyes. He took the purse and hung in on a hook in the wall, higher even than it had been. "That oughtta keep ya safe." he said to the purse, then shook a knobby finger at me. "You, behave."
I nodded to make him go away, and he did.
"Good boy.. Release me.."
I jumped and couldn't reach. I jumped again and again but never any higher. I knew I would need help. So I ran throughout the house gathering my brothers.
Jerome, my eldest brother at the age of eight, I found in the bathroom pretending to shave with Irving's razor. I startled him, and as I watched, blood blossomed on his cheek. He cursed at me and wiped it away with a clean white towl.
Mathew, second oldest, was easy to find. I followed my ears to the livingroom where he sat tapping out Bach on the grande piano.
Nathan, aged six and also my twin, was lounging in the studie's window seat, nose in a book, glasses pushed up to his twitchy eyeballs.
My youngest brother Joshua I found in his bed, talking to God. His hands were pressed together, his eyes were turned up to the heavens. I heard only the gentle hiss of breath falling over his lip. I didn't want to disrupt his prayer so I stood waiting for him to notice me shuffling my feet. Sudenly he turned to me with his scary white/blue eyes. "Yes?"
Not a minute later all five of us stood around the hanging black purse.
"Good boys.. Release us.."
Jerome jumped but only set it lazily swinging. "I'll go get my bat." He did, and then each of us took out turn at it. I guess we figured we could bust it open like a pinata, but the snakeskin never broke to our beatings.
Joshua, though, wouldn't take his turn with the bat. He sat off to the side looking sick, a fevered look in his eyes. He said, "Something bad is going to happen."
It was Jerome of course who won us our prize. After the unfortunate wall took many unjust dents and bruises, his bat connected with the purse with such force it swung on the hook and hung for a full second, suspended upsidedown, open, then pinata and prize fell upon us.
Five smiling demons.
They were five black snakes.
Each chose a host a fell into our gaping mouths. They slid down our throats, cold and barbed, and curled up around our hearts.


The day that followed was the first day mother paid us any mind.
We were late for school. Mother flew through the house in a fury, screaming at us, wherever we were.
She found Jerome in the bathroom. He had the razor blade in hand. He was shirtless, and covered in long crying cuts. His back, his chest, his stomache, his arms, neck and face; red tattoos in stripes and ribbons, like a nightmare's zebra.
She followed the music to find Mathew, drooling over the black and white, and now bloody red, keys while his raw fingers stabbed out a relentless melody- perfect soundtrack for the horror of the day.
Nathan was found in the study, literally devouring his books. Pages at random were torn from their spines- poetry and hystory alike- and thrust into Nathan's mouth with his own shaking hands, his eyes rolled back into his head, glasses broken on the floor.
Little Joshua though.. was hardly a concern to mother. Because  he was still praying. Crouched in the hallway on the tiled floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. Back and forth. But now it wasn't God he was praying to. If mother would have looked closely she would have seen that his tongue was forked. She would have seen the shadow of a face in the wall over his shoulder, listening.

And I? Oh, I wouldn't give mother the chance to put me in a straight jacket. She can jump, again and again, reaching with fingers outstretched just brushing my soles.
She'll never get me down from where I've hung myself so high.

Author's Note

I can imagine that there are quite a few typos. Let me know.
This is my birthday-edition post!!!!!!!!! Yay!!!!!!!
Please let me know what you think!!!!!!!!!!
8D

Reviews

[dreaming dame]

It's a strong story. You know where you are and htere's no confusion over it. Love the way you put your words. Well done!:)

[Coyote Poetry]

A very sad tale. Death leave a close door to a happy ending. I like the way you told the story. I had to read again. A very good birthday story. A be-lated Happy birthday. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[dreaming dame]

I read just over half, I just can't seem to get time on here anymore:( But your adjectives are amazing!! Very interesting:) I'm coming back to this that's for sure:)