Jul. 9, 2009 - Chapter 4
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I HAVE DONE IT! I will now post not one, but TWO Chapters of Six Feet Under! Ah it feels good to write again!
*WARNING*
The content which is to be displayed is extremely graphic. It Also contains a scene of extreme child abuse. Before I recieve any cristicism on this I would like to note that this is crucial to the book, and I hold anyone who abuses a child in very low reguard (meaning I feel they should be punished for their actions unless they shape up and become responsible) If there are young children reading this right now please take them away before continuing. Reader Discretion is advised.
Chapter 4
1993…
Kevin woke up from the shock of another nightmare. Just as horrible as the last three he had the past week. It seemed as though over and over he was being haunted by images of his mother. The sun streamed through the boards on his window in the attic. His sister Beth was just waking up. Beth. She was with him through thick and thin all these years. Those brown eyes, that red hair and wonderful smile made it almost tolerable when he was whipped for making some minor infraction.
All they had was each other. Morning ‘till dusk, dusk ‘till morning they could count on each other to survive. Most people, if they saw they way these children were treated, would say that the father was a monster. In some ways he was. Brent was a distraught man, shattered since his wife died at the birth. As many do after they loose a loved one or encounter a tragedy, he took up drinking. Of course he cared for the children dearly, but the pain was greater, as was his anger. He wasn’t very abusive until they reached the age where they could do things.
Constantly he would have them do chores around the house and in the fields; plowing, planting, taking care of the garden and crops, working around some of the animals, cleaning, all sorts of manual labor. Brent was always depressed, and so did little but drink heavily and occasionally cry in agony. Even if one thing wasn’t done right he would lash out at the children, sometimes blaming them for their mother’s death. They had an old broken down shed which he would use for whippings. Rarely would he strike one of them.
Day by day the children learned to fear their father, but still the whippings continued. Kevin didn’t see why their father tortured them so, but how is an eight year old boy supposed to understand? All he and Beth could do was survive each day. The whips their father used had a different meaning to each of them. There were three; one which was just a plain bullwhip for minor infractions, a homemade cat o’ nine tails, which had small picture nails and bits of rock and glass in it to increase the pain for infractions bigger than the minor, but not bigger than the severe infractions, the third and most feared whip was the “Master Whip”. This whip was very special. It had a gold handle, though the whip itself was only two feet long.
But this was only a minor detail, for it was made out of a chain, a chain that had serrated links specifically crafted by Brent for the most severe infractions, namely steeling an egg, trying to run away or breaking something when they were cleaning. He had never used that whip on them, but they feared the pain it would bring should they disobey. Each time he took them to the shed to be whipped they trembled as his had floated over each one. It was a psychological trick to make them think he might choose the Master Whip.
Kevin wiped his eyes and sat up. He heaved a sigh of sadness and went to the small box that held his clean clothes. He discarded the ones he was wearing into the other box and began dressing. Normally one would think that siblings would dress in separate rooms, but because the attic had no such rooms, and their father would punish them if they went into separate rooms to dress, they tolerated each other in the process. The best time to dress was when one of them was not awake yet, or willing to look the other way.
Kevin dressed himself in a small plaid shirt and a pair of farm jeans. He knew that today was the day he had waited all year for; the day that the calf was to be born from their only milk cow. He knew that if he was too excited his father might do something drastic, but he wasn’t sure what. Not only that, but he wasn’t sure what condition his father would be in, and if he would even be ready to help their cow give birth.
Kevin crept down the stairs to the living room and looked in. There he was. His father was laid out on the couch, fast asleep. The old alarm clock sat next to his head, ticking away. All of the sudden it rang and his father jumped up from the spot he sat in, holding his head in agony. Kevin knew his father had a very bad hangover, and his heart sank. In a blur of plaid and white his father grabbed the alarm clock and threw it out the window. Letting several expletives fly he went into the kitchen and soaked his head in cold water.
Unsure of what to do, Kevin cautiously entered the kitchen and began to make some coffee for his father. He reached up to the highest cabinet to get the coffee can that his father always used, when he was sober at least. His fingers brushed against the can, but he couldn’t quite reach it. Kevin got a grip on it and began to pull it forward. As Kevin pulled it down, he lost his grip on the can and it came crashing down to the kitchen floor, causing all the grains of coffee to spill all over the floor.
Brent’s head came out of the water like a flash to find out what the commotion was.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” he said as he looked at Kevin, then back at the coffee spilled on the floor.
Kevin stuttered, trying to think of something to say, but he couldn’t. He wanted to run but his feet were rooted to the floor. Brent advanced on Kevin faster than anyone in that situation could react. He grabbed Kevin by the back of his shirt and heaved him off the ground.
“What did you do boy?” he asked in a menacing voice.
Kevin just stared at him, speechless, afraid of what his father might do if he spoke.
“I ASKED YOU WHAT YOU DID BOY?! LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!” Brent bellowed.
“I…I…I…” Kevin began to stutter.
“You…You…You…What boy? Spit it out!” Brent said, calming down his voice; the aggression was still lingering.
“I was going to make you some coffee,” Kevin started, voice shaking, “but the can slipped and spilled.”
Brent smacked Kevin’s head, not hard but enough to get his attention, “I told you never to go get that coffee unless I say so!”
“But, but, but…” Kevin started to protest.
“NO BUTS!” Brent shouted, “When I say something you LISTEN! Got that?”
Brent was on the warpath, and there was no stopping him when he was mad. Brent took Kevin out to the shed and tied him face forward. He brought out the three whips and set them on the small work bench next to Kevin. Fear was choking Kevin, it engulfed his every thought. He was silently praying that his father might have mercy on him and not choose the Master Whip.
A twisted grin spread across his father’s face. His hand drifted over the Master whip, and then he reached down and picked up the Cat o’ Nine tails.
“Maybe now you’ll listen to me when I tell you something,” Brent said as he raised his arm and then brought it down with the force of a man driving a railroad spike into the tracks.
Kevin cried out from the massive waves of pain that washed over his body, gripping into the very fiber of his skin and then ripping the very flesh off his bones. Tears ran freely over his cheeks. The warm sticky blood dripped down his back, onto his legs and then onto the floor where began to pool. Anguish and pain, pain and anguish; both were weaving their seeds of deceit in Kevin’s mind. He wished his father were not so harsh, yet he still loved his father.
It seemed like hours had passed since his father left him there in the shed. The door to the shed burst open, and he thought his father was back to punish him more. Even the thought of it made Kevin try to hide his head and cower in shame. Cool water washed over his wounds, and when a cloth that held an antiseptic on it touched his skin he flinched, but then relaxed his tightened muscles. The loving hand of his sister washed his wounds and bandaged them. If not for Beth, Kevin would have given up.
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