Red livinG

I am small now, I can feel her towering above me, not stood with me as she has been most times. I can see her waist, perhaps I am on my knees. I know what is coming, I know, I have felt this before and the scars on my bones tense in anticipation and I feel sick, tense, angry, afraid, deserving. I knew I should not have pushed this hard, I should have learned that lesson by now. I can add up my sums and babble my spellings, but I cannot learn this lesson. Have not learnt this lesson.

I wither as she surges towards me and I am grasped by my collar, pulled from my perch and lolling unsteadily on my feet I fall and the carpet burns at my thin legs. Tossed onto the ground I lift my hands to my head, expecting the flurry of arms to descend from on high, the punitive judgemental king, vengeance from heaven. Well I am hardly an angel. She kicks me. She kicks me again. Surprise. A useful tactic, she is booting me to where she wants me, which things to tidy, to expunge, but we both know it is not the room she wants to be tidy, it is me. I am the disturbing element here, not the papers or the toy. I, that which cannot be predicated of anything positive, which cannot be pushed into my tidy bed on a night to sleep restful sleep. I am hauled away again, this time I manage to keep on my feet, just, as I am dragged down the stairs, and I know if I fall I will career into her and it will hurt me. But I remain standing. I cannot see my father through the spaces between the banister posts, but he is echoing somewhere, sitting around on the periphery, an unreliable ally. He rarely joins our war, he is best at patching up the wounds. I am dropped again, like a dog, onto the floor at her feet, and we begin again, sharp, direct orders punctuated with stabs of pain. I obey without resistance, I know that is easier, why can I not apply that knowledge before now? Do I forget each time what is was like before? My bones protest at that idea. Perhaps I am just odd, perverted, perhaps I need this, perhaps I expect this? But even now I know that is untrue. Hope? That�s there somewhere, springing ever eternal, but we both know the answer. I am too pushy, I reach for what I want. No self control, no discipline. She has left the room now, it is tidy enough to be removed from her consciousness. I wonder idly if I ever shall be. It is odd, I cannot remember the clothes she wore, nor even the shoes on her feet, I cannot be sure she wore them but for the fact bare feet would have hurt her too. But I can still feel her anger, and only one thought abides with me. Like a dog, like a dog, like a dog�

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