Mordant Pyre

Mordant Pyre.1

I glance out the window and the sun’s just rising. It’s a lucid morning, about half five and the world is still sleeping. Not a sound stirs from the outside world, as if its inhabitants have forgotten to touch it, and it celebrates wildly to this event. The grass growing among the weeds, the blossom erupting from the trees and the birds singing their song of sweet sorrow unfazed by the waking sun greet my eyes and ears. The smell of neoteric flowers rises to my window and slaps my face hard as if to wake me up. I breathe it in, and vow to keep that scent inside my heart until the end of time. The day the world slept soundly, letting nature take its serrated path.2

Each cotton cloud allowed to move by its own pace, each flower allowed its own cycle to grow, each squirrel allowed its own epoch to harvest its food. The whipped cream clouds, not the dark irascible ones that threaten us with their revengeful rain, the candid flowers unaffected by the poisonous chemicals we destroy them with and the fortuitous squirrels dodging the traps we set them. Spring has arrived for a rare day inside a world of winter. 3

As the sky turns from its gentle pink to blue, I turn around and face the world that is mine. The world where darkness peeks from every corner, where the sun turns to thunder and peace turns to war. Though inwardly I am calm from the miraculous sight I have just seen from my window, my heart turns to lead as I fall quickly back to my own bedroom from the surreal reality I was in a few seconds ago. Feelings of immorality flood me from the tip to the toe and I place the mask that I am so familiar with over any thoughts, feelings, opinions and personalities that can be hurt. There are only so many words that can describe sorrow, and there is only so much chagrin that my heart can stand for.4

My mind fixates on the wall opposite to where I am laying. Fresh red paint runs of the black wall, painting a picture of two people entwined together, both fighting their hurt with knives and both bleeding down to the ground. Circling them, a single phoenix above them, with one silver tear falling onto their heads. Two words are scribbled across them: Mordant Pyre. 5

Mordant Pyre, bitter fire. The fire that will never go out, tainted with hurt, lies, guilt, abuse, death and jealously. The color-coded conscience of mine splashed across the wall of my bedroom, dimly lit with the rising sunlight being thrown from the window. The light illuminates the various buckets of paint standing at the bottom of the wall. Every color known to man, every rainbow known to humans, every shade known to nature stands next to my wall, ready to be toyed with before being used to paint a picture of the heart. 6

A firm believer of self-expression, my mother allowed me to keep my bedroom walls all black only with the promise that I would buy my own materials should I wish to use the wall as my outlet. That was when I was first adopted into this household at the age of 8. Things happened in care that made me so grateful for this house that my father and mother had given me, that I ignored what type of people they were.7

I close my eyes and memories come flooding back.8

My mother died at the age of 24, murdered by my father, though he was never found guilty. A simple suicide they said. A simple murder I said. They did not know I saw the murder happen in front of my very eyes. It had only been 3 weeks after I had moved in, that my father looked me square in the eyes and told me, it was a mistake and he hated me with the deepest loathing but there was nothing that he could do. So now he was going to make my mother pay as it was her idea in a vague hope that the authorities would take me back as he would be a single grieving adult. Out of his pocket, he unraveled a gun from a cloth and loaded up the bullets as my mother talked to me. She told me that they’d already discussed the matter and she was not scared. She told me to take care of myself. She said that it was a mistake to bring me here, but she did love me and now it was her time to go.9

As my father handed her the gun, I turned to face anything but her fierce determined eyes, but he grabbed me and made me turn around to see the bullet going through her head, and the blood bursting from her head, and she fell into a heap. My father did not directly kill her, but he drove her to her so-called suicide. His plan backfired however and I was forced to stay with him until the age of 18. It was that night of my mother’s murder, that lit the fire inside my heart. The fire of Mordant Pyre. 10

I open my eyes to find my father standing at the door. It is as if he has known what I was thinking, as if he has caught my thoughts of revenge and hate for him boiling in my skin thicker then the blood. A tall man, 6 ft 4” in height and fairly handsome means that he catches the look of anyone wherever we go. With the air of someone who is deeply annoyed, he marches across my bedroom to me and pulls me by my hair to my feet. He says not a sound, and nor do I, because sleeping against the other wall, is his real son and to wake him would be unthinkable in my father’s eyes. He walks out still dragging me by my hair and leads me to the landing outside.11

“What is Chaise doing in your bedroom? You are lucky I found out where he was before his mother was awake. You know she would have gone mental. You are not a part of this family; you are only here because I can’t get rid of you, and you know you are not to converse or make any form of contact with us unless needs be. I don’t want to catch Chaise in there again, or there’ll be trouble…” 12

“Yes sir.”13

“Don’t be smart with me, you little shit. Get downstairs and get my breakfast, Kirin’s feeling ill.” 14

“Ill? Kirin’s only ill if you’ve been hurting her you bastard…” I murmur.15

“Get out…just get out” I find it quite funny as he goes bright red. I know he’s wishing he could hit me, but he lost that privilege. I can see his fists tremble, and his teeth grind as he thinks about the many ways he could hurt me. 16

As I walk forward, he sticks his foot out, and I go flying down the stairs and hit my head on the table. Through blurred vision I see him at the top of the stairs laughing at me. I curse, get up and walk towards the kitchen. 17

Little does he know that Chaise has always slept on the sofa in my bedroom since he was able to walk, and considers me his brother even if my father deems us not related. He is my life, and without him, I would not be here, I would have walked out of this house that isn’t my home, long ago. Chaise is only 7 himself, and I can’t abandon him. And as for his mom, my dad’s wife for the previous six years, she wouldn’t have minded though she would have made a fuss in front of my father. Kirin trusts me with Chaise much more then she does my father, but she likes to pretend that their marriage is still going strong…so she pretends to hate me in front of him. Kirin is the latest punch bag for my father, but she makes sure that Chaise is with me at all times as she doesn’t want him getting hurt. Yet no matter how many times her so called husband hits her or hurts her or rapes her, she will not get help. She insists she loves him18

Every night when I get back from school, I find her almost left for dead, and I help her sort herself out and listen as she tells me what new punishment she has been through the day. Its only been a year or so since I punched him back for hurting me, and since then he started to pick on Kirin as he got bored with me. My father doesn’t start work till 1 and comes back at 8 which gives us him plenty of time to hurt her in the morning. I come home at three, and I walk in the house, not knowing what sight will greet my eyes. If she’ll be alive, or if she’ll be dead. If she’ll be bleeding, or if she’ll be vomiting. Yet there’s nothing I can do. She gets annoyed with me at around 4 as I constantly beg her to leave my dad, so I leave her to herself, and go out. I try and stay out as long as possible, because I have no home to call my own, nothing else I can do. I drag Chaise along with me, though he’s always reluctant to leave Kirin. 19

The toast pops up and I butter two slices. One for me and one for Chaise. Screw my dad, he can get his own damm breakfast. I scoff mine down, and leg it upstairs into my bedroom. I slowly walk in, and see Chaise is crying. I put his toast down and go and sit beside him. I see he’s holding my phone, and shaking…This can’t be good.20

“Hey…Morning. What you got there?” He turns towards me and looks at me with deep reproachable eyes.21

“Promise you won’t be angry…”22

“I won’t be. What happened?”23

“I saw mom come out of the bathroom, and she…she…was cut across her tummy…and she was bleeding…so I called the police.” He tenses himself up as if he expects me to hit him for doing something like that. I guess he learned that of Kirin and me because I don’t think my dad has ever touched him. He thinks of Chaise too highly. I touch his shoulder lightly, showing him I’d never do that, but he flinches…This isn’t right. He looks at me guiltily, and my minds gone blank. My hands are shaking, as I unbutton his nightshirt to see why he flinched. And there I see a multitude of fresh bruises, which are just coming up. These have only been inflicted today or yesterday. 24

“What time did you call the police Chaise?” I barely hear my voice speak the words.25

“When it said 43 on the clock…” he whispers. I put his shirt back on him, and look at the clock myself. 8:07 the clock says. Shiite. That means he called them nearly 20 minutes ago. They’ll be here any minute, and I have to get him away from here. 26

“Okay, c’mon, we have to go. Quickly, get your stuff, get changed…It’ll be okay, I’ll sort it out don’t worry…He’ll never touch you or Kirin again okay Chaise? But we have to go now.”27

“You’re not angry with me though are you…?” His eyes show fear, as if the only thing to make him happy would be my approval of him doing the right thing. 28

“Nah course not mate, you did the right thing…but lets get going yeah?” 29

“Yeah”30

I stuff a few clothes of his and mine into a bag and take all of the money I have saved for this day. It wasn’t much, only a few hundred, but at least it would keep us going for a bit. I get changed myself and open the door to check that coast is clear…and I get the shock of my life, as I see Kirin propped up against the doorframe breathing heavily. I forget to breathe and realise that there’s a tight pain going across my chest. I breathe out.31

“Kirin…what happened…?”32

“Not now. Just get Chaise away from here, I heard him call the cops from the phone in my room. Your dad’s in the garden, so go now.” She looks at the bag I have in my hand full of our clothing. “Where are you planning to go?”33

“I’m not sure…I have a few friends, I was planning to go to…if not we’ll find somewhere.”34

“Take this…take care of him and yourself okay?” she forces a wad of money into my hand. I go to disagree, but the look on her face tells me not to object. Against my will, I pocket it. 35

“Okay thanks…will you be okay?” 36

“Yeah…I’ll be fine. Just go.” She stumbles back into her own bedroom, and I find there are tears in my eyes. Something pulls my shirt, and I look down to see Chaise ready to go, also with tears in his eyes. I give my painting on the wall one last look knowing I will never see this room again, and then turn around pick Chaise up in my arms, and walk into the landing closing the door behind me. I silently slither down the stairs, careful not to make any of the steps creak, and I get to the door. Chaise undoes the lock and pulls the door open. Where two police men stand. My heart skips a beat. I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the ground.37

“Hello there, we recently received a call from this address to do with two members of your household being abused. May we come in sir?” I look them square in the eyes. Mordant Pyre. 38

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