The Dark Tales Of Ive-er..?!

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William Black
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The Dark Tales Of Ive-er..?!

Post by William Black »

Hard knocks and unbroken promises.

My dad gave me a decent tour of the dining room floor with his old brown steel-cap mining boots.
I was 7 years old.
This was my first tour.
Both my sisters and mother received regular tours before me and not just the dining room, so this was nothing new. Except for the intensity perhaps.
Last is definately not least! He kicked me 17 times that day.
I was just happy to survive the ordeal.
I guess he had good reason... Even at 7 I knew that if you recieved orders and messed it up, the shitstorm would soon follow.

The day had started out pleasantly, warm and sunny. Everyone (except my dad) was excited and me mum was rushing around getting everything ready as friends of the family were driving out to the farm to visit us.
The Meltons had 2 kids, slightly younger than me, a son Rory and daughter Amanda. Having visitors on the farm was the highlight of our holidays. Farm life is full of animals and animal smells, but not very much in the way of human contact and socializing outside of the daily grind.
My dad didnt seem to mind the isolation much, so obsessed he was with his farm. His own kingdom, to rule as his short temper dictated.
My mom suffered the most and these outside visits gave her a distraction from everything else. Her excitement spilled over to us kids and my sisters were helping out in the kitchen and setting up of spare rooms. The house was alive with activity and smells of baking bread filled every room.

Being the youngest by almost a decade, I was always too young and clumsy to help. Hanging around close by in case some task popped up that I could handle. That and the chance of yummy morsels to nibble on from the kitchen during the preparations, my mom sat me down on a chair on the veranda. I was given a fresh piece of bread laden with honey and told me to watch out for the vsitors car when it came up the driveway. So I sat in my station munching my doorstop slice of bread while everyone bustled around.
No car appeared and minutes felt like hours. My restless fidgeting and moaning eventually got my dad round shouting at me to eff off. Night shift made him grumpy. We all spoke about it behind his back when he was not there. We had all noticed a change in him. Worse than normal. And 'Normal' was a kind of hell in itself.
My dad was a stout heavy set Irishman with arms as thick as most mens legs and his legs as thick as tree trunks. A powerful intimidating man, even in a good mood.
But, when the rage took him, and he clenched his fists till his arms shook, and his face turned deep red, his teeth clenched and his voice hissing profanities between his teeth... then it was bad. Coz you knew what was comming!
I must have been nagging my mom again because the sound of my father stomping through the dining room at speed alerted me.
My moms voice was concerned but stern. "Bill.." Her way of alerting me in case I was not paying attention.
I bolted. I had become good at bolting lately and missed a few good hidings already.
My dads arm shot around the door and just missed my ear, taking a tuft of hair instead.
My dads nasty voice followed me out the garden gate! "YES, run you Stupid Bastard! You run like a girl. JEESUS CHRIST!"
Then " Lorraine, this son of yours is goin te get a slap along the earhole! f****g Arse!" He still had a thick Irish accent even after all these years in Africa.
The rest drowned out as I ran passed the chicken runs some 30m away, not sure if I should head to the dairy below or the forest. So instead, I headed back towards the house after I heard the bedroom door slamming. We had 2 Jacaranda trees just outside the veranda garden gate where we parked the cars. On one tree was a swing and I sat on the simple rope and wooden bench looking down the sloping driveway towards the main road. The lane was long and cushioned on either side by lush green grazing fields. I lazily move the swing around, not getting too comfortable.
I was close enough to hear if someone called from the house and far enough away to feel safe. I had a head start on my dad if he decided to come after me again with a belt or whip this time. I knew he was counting the missed beatings and waiting to dish them out.

Eventually there was a bright flash of reflected sunlight as the car turned into our drive and I raced up to the house to let everyone else know. Screaming like a banshee at the top of my lungs in my excitement.

Now my dad was late and without fail he could never find his clothes when he wanted them in a hurry. Shouting at my mother and sisters to find his socks and best safari suit he rushed to the bathroom in his undies.
Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing and started searching every cupboard frantically. Eventually turning up in a suitcase on top of the cupboard where the khaki safari suit got stored.
The old bastards mood was definately set for the day.
Us kids played while the folks all sat around the fire pit and threw back a few toots. My sisters sat by the folks counting grownups teeth, occationally refreshing the snacks and drinks to give my mom a chance to relax.
Soon it was late afternoon and the farm hand was driving a herd of milking cattle up the drive towards the dairy. The cows had been grazing across the road in the lower fields. They were about 30 mins late.
Amanda had left our army games to spend some time with my sisters. Suddenly our parents were calling us to the veranda, my dad wanted something done with the cows coming up the lane. I was behind my friend and didnt catch the instructions fully. So I asked him to repeat them. He grabbed my ear and dragged me to the Jacaranda trees all the while swearing and calling me names. He turned my head to look at the cows and told me to put the new cows in the right field opposit the dairy where a seccond herd of cows already were.
So I ran down the lane and passed the instructions on to the farm hand. He barely glanced at me. So I told him again and stressed the fact that my dad was busy and did not want to be disturbed. After some back and forth the farm hand relented, against his better judgement and mixed the 2 herds.
I was just arriving back at the veranda, all out of breath trying to explain to my father that the worker was confused by the instructions. He couldnt understand why we wanted to mix the herds. My dad looked down to the fields as the last cows went through the gate and the worker then closed the gate.
My father roared in anger and grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragging me up the veranda stairs and into the dining room for further discussion...



After being punched to the ground everything else happened in a kind of super fast slow motion. I barely hit the floor when there was a shocking hard pain in my ribs. Then there was the feeling of suddenly moving forward, my body was flying through the air! While the room walls and floor flashed past. I could hear screaming somewhere, another jolt of pain in my back and suddenly I'm rolling through the air past the dining room table to land in a confused heap of arms and legs. A flash of steel cap and my shin explodes into pain. I roll over as another boot hits me in the head. Again and again all around the table, into the walls. I could feel hands trying to pull me away and stop the blows. To no avail.
Thick fingers gripped clumps of my hair as I was lifted body and all into a standing position. Pain in my neck and ear from a heavy slap. So much pain! And screaming, screaming from all over the room...
I spent a week in bed, hardly able to breath and move. My body was covered with golf ball size lumps that gradually morphed into larger raised purple blue bruises. Which eventually spread and fanned out with colourful yellow edges.
Luckily I did not have any broken legs or arms. Some fractured ribs probably, a painful spine along with a dizzy head and my chest hurt. Right in the middle, my heart felt like a burning rock in my chest. I could only take very shallow breaths before the pain became unbearable. My heart-beat was all over the place, one moment beating wildly, then tottering around like a drunk horse or sometmes skipping beats.

Its been erratic ever since, some days better than others. It felt like I was dying.
I spent the week watching the fantastic colour display that used to be my skin. With nothing but constant pain as comfort I listening to my heart-beat, trying desperately to heal myself and speak to my heart and body on some spiritual or psychic level.

That's when I mentally wrote the following poem called Pulse. I managed to get published in a local poetry competition at age 17.

PULSE

I read in many religious text
That every moment predicts the next.
If so, then God grant me the wisdom to see,
even if it means total insanity,
Because the Spirit of the world calls me
every moment of every day, relentlessly.

And Like the flower finds the bee,
I know the truth will eventually find me.
So I lose myself to the music and song
of the Eternal rhythm that has been all along...

~wb~
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DATo
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Post by DATo »

That is a powerful, powerful story. Difficult to read and difficult to stop reading.
“I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed reading accident. I hit a book mark and flew across the room.”
― Steven Wright
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Mmeyene Ekpo
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Post by Mmeyene Ekpo »

:eusa-think: Nice story,though some dads can be tough :wink2:
Peter Chanda
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Post by Peter Chanda »

Nice story, though you had a bad experience.
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