Spit in my Left Eye

My ears pricked as the shrill pierced my 2 year old innocence. "You're a chop off the old block"! Carina Reynecke was the master of wrangling. Her husband Ferdinand - a rooibos tea grower - was too princely. “Come Brown” he gently prompted, a reminder of how much he adored my eyes. I walked beside him along the Cypress lane as he relived past moments – The demon slugs hung about in villainous fervour. Mr "Old Brown Sherry" Reynecke had pissed and pooped his pants again; mumbling into his alcohol infused puke. 20 year old Ferdinand slung his father before the onlookers then footslogged. The old man’s expletives echoed through the cypress trees and raised its aggression to  beat the ground, where the armadillo sat in silence Ferdi doubled over at the torturous memory.Shame glazed his hot skin. Even now, 10 years later his tears are like freshly squeezed lemon; Fleshy splayed bits like Jackson Pollock’s No 5 -a gradient artistic creation articu

Her silent whimper went unheard; tongs pierced translucent skin and like a vengeful act imbedded fragile bones, Steel wrenched an arm  from its shoulder. Her mother's silence hurt more than this obliteration -  more than the inch by inch rip of leg  from hip.... blinded eyes screaming in shock. “Mommy please!” – Her heart pounding strong; Her soul unbreakable, “Stop! Mommy please”, she sobbed “Please......please ”! Isabella stared aimlessly - as if her very soul had been plucked from the earth. Tiny fingers curled tightly  around it's life support the cord froze in places it touched. Life lost its grip. But her memory stubbornly held on.  She tried one more time as her voice trailed off - "Mommy".........  Terminated yet present.   With a thrust and twist of his curette "The Chief" breaks her spine and crushes her skull; His scissors snip, snap  then scrape her from her safe haven - her incubator; warm flesh sucked

Image by Mohammed Metri The sun stretched lethargically then ricocheted off the red streaks of her hair and mirrored itself in the green pools of her eyes. King Duncan McAlpine gazed infinitely at her soft mouth.  Their eyes spoke of an unquenchable fire. Soul to soul. Their passions narrated intent and dangerous games - a courtship of swans. The residents of the Isle of Rhe were restless, hankering after their bone for the day. A King who was found guilty of the abduction and murder of the French Queen Gabrielle Delon was indeed the type of parade that would bring hundreds to the town square.  Their voices a welter of discordant sounds. "Murder”? shouted the village baker, his pound of belly glaring beneath the flour coated beige apron. His voice straining above the din, "Blah blah blah. No such thing. The King is a decent fella. This is the work of his one-eyed monster of a step-brother,  it is Lord Blanchard’s doing I tell ya". The crowd roared with laughter

   "Rebecca the child will be a freak.  Give it up or do away with it.  It's not even human yet. I never wanted a child, I told you to take precautions so that we would never end in this kind of mess.  Honey, you know I love you.......but I can't do this".  I can't have a "Downs Baby”.  Think about it, he will be made fun of and bullied.  How will he cope? It will drive you mad"!  He seemed to have the future all worked out.   5 Years of love had ended as if it had no value........and perhaps it didn't.    "It not even human yet".  Tears rushed to her soul and spilled onto nervous hands trying to convince her to end the life she carried.  Guitar hands.  Her  baby was no freak.  Nothing was going to change her mind about him.  They would find their way back home.  He was all human.   They connected in the most incredible ways.  She felt him. He was her baby.  He felt, He spoke. He sensed and knew.  Ah yes, the world and science would d