of violence

You see the Daily Post challenge on your reader, and almost thankful for the inspiration.

You begin to think back to a time when you are very little, you don’t remember how little exactly, and wake up to the sound of a bottle being smashed to bits against the door of your room. Screaming follows. Then suddenly, a strange silence and you can hear her plead with him not to be loud or you will wake up.

In your head, she’s being dragged across the hall and threatened and humiliated. You’re trying so hard to not listen. You put a pillow over your head and begin to sing. Soon, you’re floating above the clouds.

In the morning, you see your father seated in his usual spot and your mother hunched over a thali, cleaning rice. The sight of the blue-brown skin under her left eye fills you up with rage. You pick up a butter knife and walk toward your father. You don’t know what you’re about to do with it, but you can sense that an unpredictable anger is simmering inside of you, guiding you.

He clears his throat, and you move too, flinging the knife at him. It takes both of you by surprise. Of course you’re young and your aim poor; it doesn’t hurt him physically, but you smile as you see his upper lip curl up.

That is the first time you were ever this violent, your mom says.