Let loose the lips of LuciferA Story by ReneeJ Another sample. The opening chapter
When we
entered our new primary school, we had no idea of what to expect in this vast
grey building, as we watched the teachers in tailored suits and faces that I
believe did not smile at dawn. At break we stood and watched with fright and
light headedness as the boys in khaki pants that could no longer pass their
ankles ran past us and left behind the glorious stench filled with sweat and
hormone that defined them as men and leaders of this grey, unfriendly world. We
watched in awe and wonder of how they managed to conquer the school and how
long did it take. Lunch was even
more furious, a man in a khaki soiled with hard work and poverty opened the
gate to semi-freedom. When they rushed past in glee and an uncivilized manner,
he opened his toothless mouth and cursed spraying the air with droplets of the
liquid that came from his mouth. He went on to hit a few raucous boys with his
blackened hat that released dust that spun in the air then settled comfortably
on our noses. My brother and
I watched with careful observation as our school mates fought through the door
of heavenly-playground. We watched how they swung their arms and pushed with
narrow hips, clawed and bit each other until they were finally through. It
wasn’t long before that we mastered this mannerism unbecoming of young ladies
and gentlemen. The dust when
you entered was like perfume and the trees swayed joyfully side to side as they
welcomed us to freedom. Girls spun around holding hands that may never join
again and laughed gleefully at the enjoyment of a ring game. The boys tightened
their faces as they competed for the status of best footballer. My brother
looked on in envy and satisfaction at the commonalities that humans shared. We learnt to
move swiftly when the bell rang, as we were shoved and stomped on as the
creatures fought their way through what became the gates of hell, tears flowed
as desperation to be free from the curse of the playfield that held the reward
of the cane, if you were late for afternoon sessions. My back was
never soaked with the recipe for disaster. Faces twisted into a monkey-like
grimace as the whip slashed the air in vicious sweeps and struck the victim
without care or concern. Mothers were called and tears flowed like a
never-ending stream. The teacher seemed very happy when he did this, as he
placed much emphasis and passion in beating, than he did with the lessons. I
jumped every time the whip came into contact with the skin, and felt my throat
constrict and my eyes blurred when one of my own suffered. I would always
wonder if my brother felt the same way, and I fantasized that behind the walls
that separate us that we both cried for our sufferers. The procedure was played
out every day after lunch, they would cry, twist and bend, but like wild
animals prance unto the dust at lunch time to engage in sweat-drenching
activities, much to the satisfaction of our teachers. I didn’t play;
neither did my brother, because we didn’t gather the courage as yet to request
the participation in a game or a group. I would only watch, taking nibbles of
my sandwich, neatly made by my help, supervised by my mother, she didn’t trust
the rural folks. We could focus
during our primary school years because nobody bothered to talk to us outside
of the classroom, and we never thought to seem desperate to beg to skip around
in the ring or on my brother’s part to even kick the ball when it escaped the
feet of wild boys. It was common
entrance time, I realized that I was no saint when I stopped caring about the
well being of others, and wanted to always be on top. Particularly, I remember
how my brother could not understand his nouns and I sat there under the cool of
a mango tree and watched him suffer, I watched him cry until they turned into
hiccups, while the desired knowledge and explanation, of a not very difficult
topic stayed selfishly stuffed in my brain. I became that
way when I saw my brother with a potential friend, they were sharing lunch, the
thing that we use to do. He was laughing in her face, innocently, but my mind
was way past innocence and I could see my brother’s future, one I created, with
me in the shadows with an untouched, cold sandwich in my hand. I walked away
and became silent; the image of my brother and the girl lingered in my mind until
I isolated myself and became selfish. I didn’t share any stories and he didn’t
ask, so we became distant and cold to each other, without any reason, but I was
the perpetrator, of the cold, hostile world that we were to soon become a part
of. My lips became like those of Lucifer. © 2014 ReneeJAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
276 Views
5 Reviews  Last Updated on June 3, 2014 Tags: friendship, siblings, school Author
ReneeJKingston, JamaicaAboutI love to write short stories and i do a lil bit of poetry more..Writing
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing