Unikum 03 Mars NETT

SHORT STORY
But something else flutters in his mind, carrying
the same elusive nature. His endeavors
are thwarted at every attempt to catch it, yet
like the vicious beak of a woodpecker, it teases
him with continuous tapping of remembrance.
What was it?
Fright, pain, tears, starvation, blasting,
death He could not decipher its melody nor
rhythm, and thus it fades into the obscurity of
his trailing mind.
Falsehoods are not befitting to his kind mother,
yet the boy feels compelled to serve them,
nonetheless, cowering behind the excuse of
their necessity. She swallows them whole, asking
for seconds, and once satisfied and full,
leave him to recreation before schizophrenia
her hunger calls for him to cook another meal
in the kiln of lies.
His sister refuses to consume his feed, threatening
to expose the lack of nutrients and substance,
yet her threats are but blanks, fired
with intent to protect us scare rather than to
hurt. His father no he’s not supposed to be
here lacks appetite, never needing his needs
sated, yet always reaffirming the quality of his
son. In this life, we are given one family. That
is a truth he had deciphered. Who or what it
consists of is for us to make, but he already
knows, he would never have given them up for
anything in the world.
And so, the ample, spring day of May 20th proved
to be another perfect day. His family may
not be perfect, but they were perfect to him.
His wonderful, amazing, shattered family.
Fluttering in the mild, spring wind there is
a trace of something. A putrid monstrosity
hiding behind the shell of innocence, a
monster lurking beneath the surface of a
blue ocean. Its victims know its name but
dare not utter it. Because then, like the
mortars that robbed homes and bullets
which splintered families, the delusion of
normality would be shattered, a million
crystal shards scattered on the ground reflecting
what people reject and fear.
Reality.
But while their mouths refuse to speak its
name, it lives like a parasite in their minds,
feasting and festering on their dread, growing
in size and influence of the feebleminded.
And once grown to overwhelming
proportions, the mind crumbles
like the fragile pillars of society.
None can withstand it, a sheer
force of power which still
stands uncontested, yet the
ripples of its clashes persist
in the black ink tattooed on
our pages. For what is the
skin but a blank canvas on
which we etch of past, present,
and future? And if
we are to read the hurdled
writing of frightened
victims, what do
we find scribbled between
droplets of
fear-induced
sweat?
***
War.
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