The Daggers of Scarlet Hills

You see, where I live, is on this hill, surrounded by many other hills. It’s like a small colony of hills, really. It’s mostly grassy, but there are parts of it that are rigid and rock-strewn. Usually it’s quiet, and sometimes the most scenic place around. You see, in the spring, the hills are covered in these little flowers that spread all over the place… Tiny precious little scarlet flowers. It’s beautiful, breathe-taking in fact, if you ever got the chance to see them in full bloom. It’s absolutely resplendent!1

Not everyone around here would agree, but then again, not all of them can get an understanding of them, not one as deep and meaningful as my feelings towards their beauty. Maybe I should explain… When I was younger, maybe about eighteen, I loved flora, especially those little flowers, and I had this dream of climbing the tallest hill and just looking across at all the other hills, the beautiful scarlet hills. One day, my wish was granted; I remember it’s so clearly.2

My older brother was adopted, and had this mental handicap. My mother was a social worker, and was always so kind to him. She was the one who wanted to adopt him so badly. My father, who happened to be an alcoholic, had another view of him, he discriminated against the “retarded” people, thought they were a waste of flesh and blood. My father had been abusive after my brother, Keith, came to live with us. He wasn’t very patient, and sometimes he even lost his patience with me.3

Growing up, I spent most my time with my mother, and because of that I had the blessing of my mother’s heart; kind, gentle, and loving. Keith, even though biologically we weren’t related, was my brother, and I loved him dearly. He was strange, sure, and sometimes he would really get on your nerves, but I never got mad at him; I loved him too much.4

It just so happened, I shared all my hopes and dreams with my mother, and on the first day of spring, my mother had surprised me with a picnic she arranged, where the family would hike up the tallest hill, and picnic on top of it, where I could be on the tallest hill of all scarlet hills, and see them all from where I stood. I was overjoyed, and with such a happy atmosphere, Keith started screaming joyously, well aware something good happened. He did that a lot actually… He may have been mentally challenged, but boy he understood people’s emotions, even if they were the best at hiding them away.5

I remember my father yelling down the stairs, to shut that boy the fuck up, and my mother had to get him to calm down, before my father came down and made him shut up. She took this basket, and the two of us prepared meals for the whole family. My father eventually came down, and I watched him slip a glimmer of silver into his pocket. I shrugged it off, and the four of us left our home, none of us realizing that it wouldn’t ever be the same.6

The hike had been long, and exhausting, but the view was so amazing it made it all worth it. This hill didn’t any city on it; it wasn’t industrialized at all, probably because it had way too many slopes. We were the only ones up there, and for a moment all was serene and peaceful. My mother and I stood beneath a tree looking across the vast area of hills. Suddenly though, we were interrupted by Keith’s voice.7

“Dud, wus dat?” he wondered, his speech slurred as it always was. We’d gotten used to it, and comprehended him quite well. He’d actually been trying to say “Dad, what’s that?” but his speech impediment made it very hard for people not used to his speech to comprehend. He never could talk right. He was in awe over the sparkling silver object in my father’s hand.8

The moment my mother and I turned to see what it was that had arose Keith to speak, our eyes widened in fear. My father had a flask in one hand, a dagger in the other. He was a hunter, and he always seemed to have a pocket knife or a dagger or some sharp object on him at all times. We could see that look in his eyes, like he was the hunter, and Keith his prey, and it scared us both. I was totally immobile and tears were leaking down my face.9

Suddenly my father lunged forth, his intent to murder my brother, and Keith cringed in fear. I felt mesmerized, like I was in a dream and none of this was real, because everything was suddenly happening in slow motion, and I was dizzy and sick to my stomach. I vaguely remember my mother running towards Keith and embracing him, her back turned to my father, as she played as a human shield. My father was able to stop himself in time, and the one he really hit was my mother.10

Suddenly I felt my world dim, and when I finally awoke, I heard Keith screaming agonizingly, “MUMA! MUMA!” My eyes had traveled to the bloody mess of a woman in my father’s arms. My father at this time was also bloody, and pale, and from what I could tell they were both dead. I scrambled to my feet and ran over to them both, checking for a non existent pulse on both bodies. My mother had been murdered, my father a victim of suicide. I was in hysterics, crying like a madman, pounding my fists into the chest of my deceased father as I screamed, asking him why he did it, why he took my mother from me. Why the time I was done, I had blood on my fists and clothes.11

I turned to Keith, who was still crying, “Wuh-wise muma not moovin’?” he asked me, “Wise she not getsin up?”12

I hung my head, tears swelling up in my eyes once more, “She… She’s gone Keith… Mama’s not waking up any more. She’s sleeping and she isn’t ever going to awaken…”13

“Das not posble, muma knees to wake up! Make her wake up!” He told me.14

I looked back to him, “I can’t!”15

“NO!” He screamed, his face defiant, “Make muma wkae up!” he demanded again.16

“Mama’s not waking up! Mama’s dead! Did you hear me, Keith?! SHE’S DEAD!” I finally yelled. It was the first time I’d ever lost my patience with him, the first time I ever yelled at him, and I regret it so terribly.17

He began screaming, and it was now his turn to be in hysterics. He yelled and screamed and hollers, until he’d made his throat so soar, just talking would hurt. I tried to comfort him, but I needed comfort too, I needed someone to help me forget that traumatic experience. I had picked the dagger up, and on that same tree I’d stood beneath with my mother, I carved the date in. My parent’s blood got on both my hand and the bark, but that was one day that was never meant to be forgotten, and I knew that, as ill-fated at it was to know. Then, and I don’t even know why I did it, I stabbed that tree so damn hard, only the hilt of the dagger was visible.18

My brother and I walked home together, and I went straight to the authorities, and a few weeks later the whole mess was physically cleaned up, but mentally it couldn’t ever be cleaned. I ended up living alone in my house with my brother, and I’ll admit the first few years were hard… Real hard… Time moved on though, and though I never forgot the incident, I guess I’d healed in someway. But, you see, we always go back to that hill, on the first day of spring, every year, and I swear that after that year, those little scarlet flowers had become a deeper scarlet, and they grew livelier, more vibrant and beautiful, and they are always my reminder of my mother. The beautiful, delicate, gentle petals and the way they seemed to make the whole world beautiful, just by simply being there. My mother’s grave had been put beneath that tree I told you about; right below that dagger, buried deep within that tree. On it read her name, and her year of birth to her year of death, and then a dagger is engraved there right by the words “You’re never forgotten.”19

Every year I cry, and Keith too, because I know he remembers, and he misses my mother just as much as I do. Every year we picnic there in that same spot, in memory of our beloved mother, right there beneath the daggers of scarlet hills.