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12-14-2015, 04:27 PM
I have carried my father's shed skin from the isles to our home. It hangs from between my lips even when we arrive: a tangled, torn vestige of the bridle he once wore with deadly pride. I understand through silence that it is mine to keep. I understand through something deeper, the eerie glow that it emanates, that I should never dare to put it over my face.
Something about that old leather is cursed.
Neither my father nor I have the education to understand the strange coincidence of the tear--the left side break that matches the one sported by its owner before my father. Once there were scars beneath the material and now there is nothing but the entrance to my mouth.
I listened to father, I followed his commands. I met his eyes. Now we are home, back in the falls, and I hear my mother calling. As if drawn forward on the wind I drop the bridle. It is not so important, not. I stumble forth to greet my mother: I have to see my mother.
Father's magic leaves me and my eye returns to broken gold. When I find her I reach for her, exhaling a soft, comforting sigh. Something terrible has happened, something I will never forget, but I know that my mother cannot yet see it. Before she must, before father works his magic on her, too, I will give her the comfort she needs to go on.
When father falls again I do not look back. I hear the quiet thud of Manhattan's body. Dog. She's gone, now. I understand that, I think. The body is here but the soul is lost. I don't think I'll ever forget such a thing.
""
I am not sure if it is
BETTER OR WORSE
to know all that I do
BETTER OR WORSE
to know all that I do
