Growing up in the Bushes

The transition from a boy to manhood should never be a flight. This story is true in all its shame and horror.

 

          One of the strongest forces in the world is the one that we call fate. It demands of us our control. It may seem to be only the Capri of time, or the intensity of events, or just the play with each person’s appearance in place and time, bring fate into existence and change the order and shape of the future.

            I believe in the mighty hand of God, who orders all things good. He will not be satisfied unless fate’s end is as it should be and matches His will. He but speaks and all creation obeys. Yet we are not privy to His comings and goings. We are bound to this humble existence, and unaware of most things going on around us.

            This story is true, the events happened almost as I relate it. I may never have told it before, only because it always waited a sympathetic ear to hear. The transition from a boy to manhood should never be a flight. It should never happen to a boy of eleven.

           

The Awful Change

A Sharp Contrast

The Lost Innocence

Favorite Bubbles Burst

Imaginary Friends Lost or Left Behind

Cruelty Unmasked

Violence Riding with Fear

Treasured Memories now Meaningless

 

The Child Cries, “Enough!”

 

"Growing up in the Bushes"

 

 

          The boy could not control the curiosity that drove him into the woods that day. Playing a game in his own mind, being secretive and lurking about in the shadows, hidden from all humanity. Had he been aware of the tragedy that awaited him, he would no doubt have been more hesitant. But, truth be known, his curiosity would eventually have drawn him into her web.

          About midday the boy’s ears picked up a faint mewing sound that had been nagging his subconscious thoughts all morning. Right away came to his mind their missing cat. She had been large with litter and had disappeared to have her kit in peace and quiet. All the family had searched the grounds and bordering scrub woods to no avail. Now less than fifty yards from the edge of their property, the boy was aware that some emergency called to him. Casting around the boy put his wood-lore experiences to good use. Trying to determine direction was the most difficult part. Sometimes the sound would be loud as if something were experiencing pain. But most times it was almost impossible to hear anything. Less than a quarter mile away there was a large shopping mall, hammering out a constant stream of noise. It took the boy over a half hour searching under bushes and rocks. Crawling most times through the bracken and bramble, stopping often to listen and adjust his course if possible.

          Suddenly, the boy found what he searched for, but not what he sought. No longer would he see family pets the same. His cat was no more. Lying unmoving on her side the cat’s head hung at a strange angle. Her once sleek coat was matted with the blood that had spilled from her nose and was now crawling with flies. The evidence was plain that some larger animal, probably a dog, had torn the cat while she was weakened in her pregnant state. There was an odor of death and horror in the air, and the smell of it caused to boy to want to run and relieve his lungs before his stomach left without him. Though he could not take his eyes from the tragedy before him, he hurriedly got to his feet and began to back quickly away. It was then that he heard the mewing sound again. But what and where was it coming from, the cat never moved. Yet something was moving! From under the leaves and matted grass a small form moved. Could it be – A kitten! Forgetting his horror and discomfort the boy carefully moved forward again. With a stick he prodded the leaves aside and he saw them. Three small kittens lying in the dirt. One wasn’t moving. The mewing came from the small brown one in the middle. Carefully the boy slid his hands under the kitten and lifted it out from his brothers. It moved gently at his touch and struggled to roll over in his hands, exposing its opened underbelly. The fly maggots were freely moving around inside the kitten, making it look like his entrails were writhing and alive of themselves. The boy dropped the kitten in horror and jumped back, shaking his hands and retching sideways into the bushes. Involuntary tears began to run down his face, not for what he had just handled but to see the small animal already dead but still crying for life. Spying a large rock close by, the boy’s first instinct was to destroy what could not survive, what should not survive. With more tears flowing, blinding his vision, he carefully lifted the rock and let it drop hard on the head, covering the entire small body of the kitten.

          Lurching to his feet, the weeping boy began to stumble thru the bracken toward his home. He had almost reached his property when he remembered; there was still one more kitten alive! Collapsing on the ground under a tree, he wrestled with his conscience. He knew he had to go back. He could not leave the last kitten to that same fate. He had to see if it was still alive and well, even though it meant he had to become the same heartless monster and kill another kitten. Slowly he retraced his steps. Cautiously he approached the cat with her remaining two kittens. The brown and white kitten was struggling to squirm around on its stubby weakened limbs. Slowly working along the mangled soft underbelly of his mother. Seeking milk from paps without any life. Gently the boy picked up the small kitten, turning it slightly in his hands. Praying silently that this one would survive. The kitten was fine! Without a sound, it seemed to want only its meal. The boy had been given a reprieve. He was no longer the murderer of helpless kittens. He had been able to save one from certain death and had struggled right along with it for life. Carefully, oh so gently, with his hands cupped he slowly walked back toward his home. Just then the small form began to struggle violently in the boys hands, and in horror he watched as a large wasp crawled out thru the anus of the kitten, pulling with it some small tendril from the inside of it. “NO!” Cried the boy. His last hope and vestige of mercy dissolved and reformed the monster again. Carefully he lay the kitten on top of a fallen log and placed his ball cap on top of it to hide it. He found another stone. As he stood over the remaining form, he wondered what he had done so wrong that he deserved to have to do what he still had to do. He did not carefully aim his last rock. But he knew it had landed with enough force to end its life. He also knew he would never play silly games in the woods again. There was no point in it.

          The End, but just The Beginning.

Author's Note

Its always been my little buried secret, forgotten mostly by me. I dragged it out while trying to assess what makes a man grow up from a boy. Since that time we have had many animals, and I have outlived them all. As they each reached that stage where their suffering became more unbearable than my fears. I would take each one on our last walk together in the woods. Internally, it always fell to me to end our friendship. I felt it to be disrespectful to involve the convenience of a Vet. just to save my pain. It was during each of those times that this story's remembrance came back to haunt me along with the ghosts of each gentle fellow I had to ease out of life. I believe it to be the pain, love, and compassion that separates us the most from all the rest of creation. And the man it makes of the boy is the better for it.
Lar

Reviews

[Lori]

Such a tragic story. You write in such a compelling way that I was just propelled through the story. You have a good pacing and a perfect details. I think this is a genre all its own. A sort of prose poem, which has to be extremely well written to keep the reader engaged. You succeeded! I attempted a prose poem, too, which was also based on a real-life experience in my poem "Connie's Flowers".

[Kathy Van Kurin]

'Growing up in the Bushes'
LSS,
Things within are meant to come forth eventually. I think you needed to write this. What a awful experience for an eleven year old. I can see your kids reading this story and having more questions too. Thanks for sharing this sensitive and what must of been difficult to relay.
Blessings,
Kathy

[selfportrait]

Goosebumps when I read this story. And I actually cried because i love cats. LSS This story is so tragic, i hope not that these details were real for you because then i feel great sorrow. I hope that this doesn't haunt you, and I'm glad you've finally shared it. Let it all out.

You are great.