Straightjackets and Flower Pedals

How many days has it been now? Do mother and sissy miss us? Are they going to be alright without me and dad around? Why can’t we seem to get these hands clean? No matter how many times we scrub them, we can still feel it. Oh, looks like Mrs. Droopy Eyes is going to the room again today. We wonder why she doesn’t ever smile. Every time we see her she looks sadder and sadder. Poor Droopy Eyes. Do we have to go in the room today? Sure hope not. Doctor Specs always makes us wear the strange white outfit and then suddenly, boom! Blanked out. Clean. Please clean. Caged birds? Yes I suppose we are similar to a caged bird. They’re beautiful, yes they are. Even when they’re caged.

         “Grub,” It’s Mr. Scruffy Beard dropping off our afternoon meal. How kind of him to be thinking of us. Every day he drops off three meals through that small little hole in the door under the small glass window. Such a kind man. Yet we always forget to thank him. Forget to thank the Lord. God? Ah yes I do recall we believe in God. Yes we love God and therefore we must be sure to keep our eyes on the ball. Don’t miss it or he’ll kick our ass for sure this time. It looks like today must be Thursday as the meal is poorly cooked chicken, mashed potatoes and soupy corn. How strange. I’ll eat it once these hands are clean. I can’t have that precious food contaminated. After all, growing boys like ourselves need our eight hours of rest. Sleep doesn’t come often however, seeing as we’d rather not contaminate this innocent bed with these filthy hands. Let’s put this meal in the back right corner with all the other ones so we can eat it once we’re clean. Lean it against these white foamy walls. Oh to be clean again, I can’t wait for the fair. What about you? Joyous times of carnival rides and hot dogs on sticks and heavy hands. We didn’t mean to father, promise. We tried our best daddy. Daddy, how we miss you. How we long for these hands to be clean.

         I wonder if it’s raining outside. What do you think? We miss the rain. It was raining that night, do you remember? That night with daddy.

         “God Damnit you fucking freak! Get a hold of yourself!” Daddy’s fist came slamming into our cheek. The pain, so much pain. No pain no gain. No gain no pain. No flame no shame. No game no Jane. These memories.

         “Don’t hit him!” Mother screamed out. We were in quite the daze weren’t we? Yes we were, I do believe it’s true. We still managed to see what daddy was doing though. Blurred.

         “Shut up bitch! Don’t tell me how to raise this retard for a son!” Daddy’s Bud Light bottle went smashing into mother’s face. Mommy, you looked to be in so much pain. Retard. Daddy was talking about us. Mommy fell to the floor as the blood began dripping from various parts of her face. Mommy’s face. A mother’s love. Hold me tight mommy, it’s so warm. Sissy, I wonder how much of this you saw. Scrub. Scrub these hands. Water. We need water to scrub these hands.

         “Please! Not the room again, anything but the room! I’ll do anything!”

         “Kyle please, just come with us, we promise nothing bad will happen.”

         “I’m not going! You won’t make me! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!”

         “Sedate him!”

         Mr. Skin and Bones must be acting up again. He always seems to hate the room the most. But the white coats always get you in, don’t they Mr. Skin and Bones? You’ll scream till the boom though, you always do. Ha.

         We don’t like the closet daddy. The chair’s so cold and we have nothing to do. Please not the rag daddy, we promise not to make any noise this time. No noise. Quiet. Peace. Echoes, always echoing in here, yet never speaking. Always in here. This blank, dark space behind these cold blue eyes. We often search for something, don’t we? Something we lost, yet never had to begin with. Lost. Like the time we lost our favorite Spider-Man action figure. Heroes. Daddy. Please don’t hit us again daddy. We promise to be quiet this time. All we ever wanted was to be like you daddy. Daddy. Daddy. No daddy.

         The knife looked so peaceful and innocent, lying on the floor like it was. Didn’t it? So loud that night. Lots of screaming, we don’t like screaming do we? No we don’t, I’ll have you know. We often hear them, don’t we? The screams from the night. It was raining that night. Lots of rain. Lots of sadness. Tears. Mostly mommy’s tears and we don’t like mommy’s tears do we? No we do not, not one bit. Gleaming. Almost like it was calling out to us, wasn’t it? So loud that night. The screams from the gleaming knife didn’t help. What was it saying to us? Something we knew, yet couldn’t quite figure out. Something loud and yet so very quiet. So quiet. Daddy was screaming so loud, and mommy was crying more than she normally would.

         Scrub. Scrub these filthy hands. Over the scabs and peeling skin. So much scrubbing, if only we could get these hands clean again. They’re so dirty though, aren’t they? Filthy. We can’t go back to mommy and sissy with these disgusting hands. So many hands. Mostly fists, colliding with young flesh. This flesh. So pale and dry, yet still full of so much life. Not like daddy’s skin that night. It was the only time he hugged us, yes it was. 

         Uncontrollable thoughts. Our head was pounding that night wasn’t it? Poor mother. So much beauty. Red glass. Red flesh. Red mommy. Poor mommy. Don’t hurt my mommy. Please daddy, don’t hurt mommy. Sissy. Run sissy. Daddy drank the devil’s blood again. It’s not your fault daddy, I forgive you. Sissy was crying and being loud. Please don’t hit sissy daddy. Hit us instead.

         “Keep those things most precious to you, close to your chest.” Mommy would say that to us wouldn’t she? Yes, she would indeed. Most precious to us. Mommy, sissy. Yes, I do believe so. The rain falls, connecting our heart with the sky. The sky. Unreachable. Untouchable. Uncontrollable. Don’t touch us. Not with those hands. But please, just one hug before you go daddy. We just wanted to be like you. We just wanted to do what you did. Did we make you happy daddy? Can you love us now? We did it just the way you did to mommy all those times. We thought you’d be happy, but you never said anything. Silent. It’s overwhelming. Breathtaking. The way the silence seems to consume us. Wrapping us in a warm blanket of uncertainty. Of loneliness. Although we never felt alone for long, seeing as we have each other. One another. Me and you, who is also I but not quite me. Us. Together.

         The knife was so inviting. Seductive. Full of lust. Lust for these hands. These dirty hands. Scrub these filthy hands you fucking retard. Fucking freak. We are not. Don’t say it again. Say it again freak. Please daddy. Not again. May 28th. Mommy took us out to a flower garden. It was so beautiful. Millions of flowers stretching as far as these cold eyes could see. It felt tainted, once these arms grazed their beautiful pedals. It was before these hands became filthy, yet still this body infected the innocent and pure flowers. This body, wracked with some much sin. Those poor flowers. Red flowers. Red flesh. Red eyes. Gleaming lust. Lust for red skin.

         Snap. Endless thoughts. Bad thoughts. The snap was clearer that night than most wasn’t it? Yes, I do believe it was. Daddy was over mommy, punching her tummy so many times. Get off of my mommy. Beautiful mommy. Daddy please, I just wanted to be like you. I tried to do it like you, like I’d seen you do it so many times before. Your back was turned. Daddy. I’m sorry, forgive me. We didn’t want it to be that way. We didn’t want to see you like that. But you were hurting mommy. We remember the red as it seeped through your wife beater. Pooling around the knife in your back. Seductive knife. It called to us, so we answered. We wanted one last hug daddy, so we wrapped your arms around us. You were so heavy. Cold. Your skin was so cold. Snow. Daddy was silent wasn’t he? Red lips. Red chin. So much red from daddy’s mouth. It was a cold hug daddy. You held us there remember? Until the men in blue came and took you away from us. Then the men in white.

         The room, looks like we’re going again. They must have heard us screaming.