Fingers (Part 3)

Fingers (Part 3)

A Story by Marcel Grant
"

Dylan

"

3.

 

 

Dylan knew that every Monday morning Don burned his trash in the back yard. The old man threw two bags on the pile of leaves and wood he had raked in. The trailer park was surrounded by trees; at this time of year, a constant downpour of leaves, pine, pinecones and twigs fell like rain. It was perfect material for burning garbage. Don was sixty-three. He followed this routine for over ten years, every Monday morning.

 

The child walked barefoot as he made his way to Don’s wooden shed in the backyard. The door was wide open, not enough to light up the shed. It was small and dark; Don kept all his yard supplies packed in there, making it difficult for even someone little like him to get inside. The orange cat had walked inside, maneuvering past all the tools easily. Dylan followed, watching as the cat moved to the very back where the paint cans and brushes were placed on shelves along the wall. The boy climbed over a riding lawn mower, on top of a wheelbarrow and down to the dirty ground. Underneath the lowest shelf, the cat had curled itself in a ball in the corner. Dylan lowered himself to the floor, and stretched his arm out to the cat.

 

He couldn’t reach.

 

The cat wasn’t worried, slowly opening its eyes to give an unconcerned gaze and then shutting them again when Dylan made a little too much noise. He wanted to play. He was bored, not even allowed in Don’s house anymore. He didn’t know why. He wanted to play with Morgan but she was eating lunch inside.

 

He turned his attention to his left and noticed a large spider in its web to his right. It moved furiously, stretching its legs out, making it look more intimidating then it was. Sitting up in surprise, the boy banged his head on the shelf before shuffling backward. His palms pressed down against the cool floor, he finally noticed the insects and dust around him.

 

He’d need a stick to get rid of that web.

 

“Dylan!”

 

He heard Don’s sudden voice, but didn’t move.

 

“I want you out of the shed, you hear me?” the voice was firm and commanding. Dylan still didn’t make a noise. He knew Don wouldn’t do anything. Not to him.

 

He heard a few things being picked up and scraping sounds as Don moved rakes and shovels around. Then he heard the sound of swishing. Gasoline, Dylan knew.

 

After the man left, Dylan stood up slowly and made his way to the door as silently as he could. Two cats suddenly ran past him, a black one and a gray one which caused him to the stumble and trip over a nearby shovel. The cats ran out of the shed leaving Dylan on the floor. He rolled over on his back and pushed the tool aside. He walked over to the door and watched Don standing over the pile of leaves and trash.

 

Turning the can over, he poured the gasoline all over the mound.

 

Dylan glanced over his shoulder and saw the large shovel he had left lying there on the ground. He reached for it.

 

Don reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Bringing up one to his mouth, he lit it. A moment later, a large cloud of smoke expanded around him. Then he threw the stick on the trash, setting it all ablaze.

 

 

 

***

 

 

-@#$52

 

 

!CV$#T#$^@#$^BJ&I**&WE()Gqwfq2&31$!!!

 

OPtPIug)gP^*5*675875O864ouf^75^9O(*&)89)_9IOhyYR7FVgtFR45IhNHBYF&U*IHOYFT&IY^54%678(iJHUgytfr$%67*UJhgft&8yu9ijFTD%RFTGYHUIJOU(T&6fygHUIJOIhugytd5eT&HIUVYTFY&*IH-!!!

 

 

Don walked into the kitchen floor, the old cheap vinyl bending under his weight. He didn’t notice the small puddle of apple juice he stepped in or the crumbs from the crackers he left for Morgan.

 

She sat at his plastic table, swinging her legs back and forth underneath the chair. Morgan noticed Don walk in. She grabbed her cup and took a sip of her juice.

 

Wordlessly, the man took a seat beside her.

 

***

 

Dylan knew it was the hottest part of the day, but it’d cool off soon. It had been like this for days now. He wasn’t allowed inside anymore, his mom said. So he kept cool under the shade of the large pine trees. Until his mom got back, he played with sticks and used them as swords, threw pinecones at trees and threw stones in the lake.

 

He wished Morgan was here though.

 

Tired from the heat, he sat down and fell back into the grass. The sun was blaring, but it’d only be for about thirty more minutes. Then the sun would start to set. He sighed. Bored.

 

Light glared into his eyes whenever the wind shook the high branches and leaves above. Even when he got tired and closed his eyes, it was too bright. Sweat started to drip down his forehead. He couldn’t sleep.

 

It was too hot.

 

His breathing became long and deep. He raised his arm up over his eyes, blocking out the sun. Drops of sweat fell from the small hairs on his arm onto his face. Very warm, but he was thirsty.

 

***

 

Morgan sat quietly.

 

It was like this every day now. And she had stopped reminding him what he had forgotten. There was no homework on the table. He always remembered it himself.

 

Don stared at her for a long moment. Then his face sudden jolted, like he was reminded of something.

 

He stood up from the table and walked out of the Kitchen.

 

Morgan didn’t say anything. She wasn’t supposed to leave because she was supposed to do her homework.

 

Mom said so.

 

Don walked back in a moment later. In his arms he held two text books from school and in his hand was a cup full of markers and pens and pencils. She only needed the pencils though.

 

He sat down beside her again, and placed the two books in front of her. One was from school; her teacher had given it to her at the beginning of the year. It was full of math equations. The other was Don’s book. He reached into the cup and pulled out a pencil for her. He held it out.

 

“I’m tired,” she complained and brushed the brown hair from her eyes.

 

He rapped the pencil on the table.

 

“Morgan.”

 

She reached out and took it.

 

***

 

 

Dylan awoke with a start. He had just let his mind begin to blur when he felt pressure on his chest.

 

He heard a purring sound and opened his eyes to see a cat staring back at him, sniffing his face. He grabbed the cat by the sides and lifted him off. The boy sat up and yawned. But then felt the discomfort. His head hurt and his face felt flushed. He stood up slowly, the world spinning just for a moment.

 

He planted his feet firmly to the ground, steadying himself. A cool breeze moved past him and as he looked down, drops of sweat dripped on the grass. One hit the cat on the forehead.

 

I want water…

 

And he would get some. Enough was enough, as he set his sights for Don’s trailer.

 

***

 

Morgan didn’t try to think about his hand. But it always started off the in the same spot. Right on her leg.

 

Don always placed a hand on one of her legs where she sat, and she never asked why and never made eye contact with him.

 

But it was always unnerving. She didn’t want to do homework today…

 

She glanced up toward the kitchen window and saw how the sun had turned orange again. Her mom would be home soon. Then she could go home.

 

Reaching out for her cup of juice, she sipped on it-

 

“Morgan. Do your homework.”

 

She frowned and put the cup back down.

 

3 x 50 = …150…

 

She always wrote down each number like her teacher taught her, one on top of each other, and then multiplied them one at a time. So 3 x 0 equaled 0. She would write in 0 as an answer, and then 3 x 5 was easy too, and she’d write 15 next to it. Most of the time she got it-

 

She flinched as his hand moved. Down her leg, to the knee cap.

 

Up her leg.

 

She ignored it. She had to do her work. She messed up writing the 5, so she erased it and rewrote it. She brushed off the eraser shavings, and looked to the next problem.

 

4 x 50 = Q#V6y@!!!

 

Morgan flinched and twisted in her chair. Don moved his hand away and she placed her own where his was.

 

She didn’t know what to do.

 

She didn’t know what to do.

 

She didn’t know what to do.

 

She didn’t know what was going on.

 

But every day…

It was always the same.

 

She followed the next problem. It was easy when she thought about it.

 

4 x 50 = 200

 

Sweat dripped down her forehead. Don reached up and wiped it away. He moved his fingers through her hair. Down her cheek. Down her neck-

 

48^@&$%8245!!!

 

She flinched again. She didn’t need to see him frown, but knew he was.

 

“We should do some science now,” he said, his voice very monotone. Morgan didn’t move.

 

“It’ll help you get into a good college.”

 

Don always said that.

 

He stood up and reached for the second text book he had brought in, much larger than the math one. It was thicker and older, the pages yellow and smelled of mold. It smelled like her trailer, but not in a good way. He pushed the math book to the side and opened the science book.

 

It was always on a random page. It was never in the same spot as last time.

 

“Ready?”

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

“I didn’t get it at first either. Come on, read it.”

 

“I’m not good at reading that.”

 

“…”

 

She looked at him.

 

“I ain’t good at it!” she yelled at him.

 

“Come on, you need to try,” he replied in a calm tone.

 

She pulled herself closer to the table and looked down. She couldn’t get any of the words…

 

“Out loud.”

 

“’An… a-av-erage n-n-‘” She hesitated. She could read that one. She could never read them, not all of them.

 

Don looked at the book and brought his finger to it. He placed a hand on her back.

 

“Neuron.”

 

“’An average neuron, in the h-hu-human brain has some. Where. Between…’” she paused. “’A thousand and …’ I forgot, what is that?”

 

“Ten thousand.”

 

“Ten thousand… S-s-s1@#%12-”

 

“Synapses.”

 

She couldn’t say that. Tears started to well up in her eyes. She wasn’t that smart. She didn’t know what that was. She never read thi- @#512^*2!

 

She flinched. Hot tears streamed down her face. This wouldn’t end until she was finished reading.

 

“…with nearby n-neurons, some of which are… re-re..sponsi-able… for think-ing, some of which are re-sponsi-ble for moving…” she paused taking in every word as she knew how. Thinking about how the words would form in her mind. All of it, she read at a slow pace. “And some of which are … for better or for worse, s-s-s…” (“Simply,” Don explained.) “Simply, blank. When a nerve im- (“Impulse.”) reaches the sin-sin (“Synapses, I told you this once before.”) synapses there to jump, across, to the ad… ad… (“Adjacent.”) nerve cell… it’s given a nudge, along by an electric (“Electrically.”) trig-gered squirt of a chem-ical. Some chem-icals (“You got that word right.”) en-hance, others inhabit (“Inhibit.”); ditto pain-killers, transq- (“Tranquilizers.”), and re-cra (“Recreational.”) drugs. The adjancent (“Adjacent.”) nerve cell reacts acco-”

 

It took too long. What did it all mean? Why couldn’t she get all of th- 2&2*@(AQ!!

 

“I…I…I…”

 

 

“I don’t want to read it anymore!” she screamed moving out of her chair and standing up. She couldn’t feel him near anymore. She wasn’t shaking when he was far away.

 

“You need to read!” he screamed back at her, rising out of his chair.

 

It was like this every day. She couldn’t figure it out. She wasn’t smart enough.

 

Silence.

 

 

 

Wait for mom to get ho-

 

And then they both heard, past the sound of their breathing and her sniffles, a muffled call that distinctly sounded like the name of a girl.

 

“Morgan?”

 

She turned to see her brother at the opened backdoor, staring into the kitchen.

 

He looked red and he was sweating. But she had never seen him look so mean. Never seen his eyebrows bush together like that, staring Don down with a tense body. His stained clothes flapped against his skin as a gust of wind blew into the house, turning the pages of the books on the kitchen.

 

Morgan felt something she had felt sometime before. Scared. For some reason, she was scared that someone else watched her do homework. She was scared like she was at the lake. She was scared that she’d someday find herself covered in worms.

 

She ran toward Dylan and rushed past him to get outside. She never wanted to see either one of them again.

 

***

 

Dylan turned to his sister as she ran past, her knees wobbling down the steps of the back porch and nearly tripping over herself as she hit the grass. She sprinted to their house.

 

He ran after her.

 

“Morgan, you get back here you piec-”

 

The door closed and he didn’t catch the rest of the sentence. He made his way down the three steps and booked it as fast as he-

 

He tripped into the dirt as a cat ran from underneath him, hair up and frightened at the noise. Dirt smeared against his shirt. Morgan didn’t want to talk. She never told him all the things that happened to her all the time. But he always knew. It was just that… they never believed him if he said something.

 

They never believe me…

 

They never believed me…

 

…1#keCp*%^QQF…

Even when I told them.

 

***

 

When Sue pulled into the driveway she knew something wasn’t right. Things should have been okay, but Morgan never waited for her on the front porch.

 

Sue smiled.

 

I love you too kiddo.

 

Easily she stopped the car and put it in park. It had been a nice day at work. No real problems and no annoying customers. A couple good tips… he even showed up today. It had taken her a little time to get off work because he kept trying to decide what to order, making a big show about what he wanted. She thought about how he asked her to come back a little later when he made up his mind.

 

He was so cute.

 

It was a little later compared to when she normally got home. Not completely dark yet, but the sun had nearly set and she had turned her headlights on.

 

And now her daughter was waiting for her.

 

“Hey hey!” she called out, a grin on her face as she exited the car. “Guess what I brought home?” She reached back in and over to the passenger side, pulling out a big pizza box. “Get your brother and let’s eat.”

 

Sue carried the box awkwardly in her hands and could smell that pepperoni. It filled her car and she was tempted to take a piece before getting home. But she could wait. Her shoes picked up dirt as she moved from the pebble driveway to her front porch. Morgan sat down in a chair with her head down.

 

“Hey, you sleeping?” she casually asked, pulling out keys to open the door. She peered over at her daughter, who didn’t make a sound.

 

Shrugging, the woman entered inside.

 

Making her way into the kitchen, she placed the box on the wooden table and opened it up, letting the entire aroma fill the air. Then she moved her way through the cabinets until she found paper plates, napkins and silverware. The plastic fork and knife were for Morgan, who still burnt herself by eating pizza to fast. She grabbed a plate and reached out for a slice of pizza. With a plop, she threw her piece on it and sat down.

 

She licked her lips and the tip of her thumb, getting all the grease.

 

Sue waited just a moment, about to dig in…

 

And Morgan still hadn’t walked in.

 

Sue paused, and for the first time since she got home, frowned. Her stomach growled and whined, but she ignored that and watched the opened front door in the other room. Just like she left it… but no one at the door. No one coming inside.

 

Not even a little hungry girl.

 

Putting her plate down, she uncrossed her legs and stood up, moving with slight annoyance to the front door, but also restrain. Maybe her daughter found another dead cat.

 

“Morgan?” she asked softly, bringing her head out the door and seeing her daughter still sitting silent in a chair. “You okay sweetheart? You hungry?”

 

Nothing.

 

She smiled and moved right in front of her daughter and got down to her knees, at eye level. She reached up and wiped the tattered and messy bangs away from her face and tucked them behind the girl’s ears.

 

She flinched. And her eyes were red and puffy.

 

“Baby?”

 

Now she felt a slight stone fill her stomach. Her hunger started to ebb away.

 

Something had happened.

 

“Honey… what is it?”

 

Her daughter started to move her mouth, and then she shut it. She opened it again, and shut it. She started to cry some more.

 

 

***

 

“Dylan!”

 

 

“Dylan!!”

 

 

He could hear his mom crying out for him. But he didn’t respond. Not yet. It was too dark to see her, but he knew she was on the front porch of their house. Maybe she could see him, if she looked for him. He was near the fire. Don’s backyard, in the night.

 

And this was the only time to do it, since it was night. Morgan might find it again, so he had to do it now.

 

His arms throbbed as he moved toward the fire, cuts and scrapes up his arms. Dirt too, and that stung. He had gotten used to that. He took in a deep breath and could smell the smoke, the flame thriving on trash and wood. Sweat dripped down his forehead, smearing all the dirt on his face.

 

Blood ran down his arms, down to his hands.

 

No one ever believed him. No one ever believed that people would hurt him. And now they wouldn’t believe that people hurt Morgan.

 

Dylan!”

 

He ignored that shout too. But in the distance, he could hear noise, alarms and horns going off.

 

Dylan breathed in and out, and looked down into his palm, fingers grasped tightly.

 

A cat in his hand, mouth opened and fur all messed up and filthy. He held it by the back of the neck, where his blood was beginning to fill in the fur. Orange hair and blank grime were built up in his fingernails. The cat had struggled a lot. But that shovel he found in the shed helped him reach.

 

If Morgan hadn’t found the last one, he wouldn’t be doing this. But he didn’t want her to get scared again. But he didn’t want to stop either.

 

This was the only thing he could do to hurt that man.

 

Around the large fire, he could see some distant blue and red lights shining against the trees. He could hear car doors opening and closing. His mom was shouting again.

 

Years from now, he wouldn’t remember everything that happened that day. He would forget what it was like when the police rushed toward him and picked him up. He wouldn’t recall all the questions they asked him; his mom at his chest crying and grasping his shoulders.  He never saw Don get dragged out of the house and into a police car. He didn’t remember ever seeing Morgan, or speaking to her for a long time afterward. And he never saw what his appearance in a mirror, so he never knew what he looked like.

 

But he would remember one thing.

 

With a gentle toss, Dylan watched in silence as the cat started to sink silently into the trash. And with a sudden crack of wood snapping and ash filling the air, the animal disappeared completely into the flames.

 

 

 

 

(For the tortured.)

© 2015 Marcel Grant


Author's Note

Marcel Grant
I don't know if this was written well, and I feel like the pacing was really off. But I wanted to write this.

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I have finally gotten back to returning your review and I figured I'd read all three parts and review only once because I don't know... It made more sense hehe. Any who, I must say I'm impressed but a bit confused.

The plot was intriguing, and it really interested me. It kept me going through the 3 parts and I finished without once thinking "It's not over yet?" It was twisted enough to satisfy my taste, but at the same time it wasn't "too much" (A term I sometimes like to believe doesn't exist). And the end was a complete surprise and if I recall correctly I think I gasped a little. Morgan's point of view made it even better because of it's innocence. She though it was okay, she was just doing homework.. like every other day. Besides that, your vocab was good. I appreciated the use of "nonchalant" (that's always a good one). Also the switching view points made it beautiful, reading everyone's thoughts as they lived specific segments of their lives made it more personal.

But I must say that it all seemed a little rushed and certain parts had me thinking, "what?". The part where she's sitting on the porch or whatever doesn't seem clear to me and honestly I thought she was dead (but maybe that's what you wanted?). However, were you to completely write this all out, with details and a more complex plot, you'd have a novel, not a story. In that case, you did a great job of keeping it short yet giving away enough information to make me want more. The ending was good though, and I liked how you executed that. It was probably one of my favorite parts.


What kind of disturbs me is that, from what I've gathered, this seems to be a true story of sorts. I couldn't imagine such a thing and it must of been hard to write (in the case that someone you know went through this.) It really leaves me feeling uneasy, knowing that people like Don exist. Disgusting.

Also, I'm not sure what fingers has to do with anything... I feel like "cats" would of been more appropriate but hey, that's just my unimportant opinion. :p

Nonetheless, now that I've written you a novel I'll say that I don't regret reading this and you may or may not have sparked a little flame of inspiration in me. Thanks :)

Posted 9 Years Ago


Marcel Grant

9 Years Ago

First off, thanks so much for the review I really appreciate it. I'm glad you liked it too and thank.. read more
Mirjana Ilic

9 Years Ago

Damn, horrible. But yes the ending was great and the story itself decently thought out... and I must.. read more

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Added on May 14, 2015
Last Updated on May 14, 2015
Tags: Tragedy, Mature, Child Abuse

Author

Marcel Grant
Marcel Grant

SC



About
I'm 22, and have always loved reading since I was a kid. I've been writing since I was fourteen and really enjoy it, though I doubt I'm any good. If you get a chance, please read some of my work an.. more..

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