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Flowering. Approach. Part 18: Maternal Glue

by Thavien Yliaster 4 months ago in Series
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By keeping us momentarily apart, she kept us together.

"Flowering" is a series, just like its artwork, that is a work in progress.

Reader discretion is advised: This series contains death, violence, and sexual content. Flowering is not a lighthearted series. Flowering is meant for a mature audience. It is not my intention to mislead those who read it, thus misleading the perception of the series itself, leading your hearts astray.

Please, "take this lesson to heart." - LaRha and Wetah

By Timotheus Fröbel on Unsplash

Wincing now from the injuries inflicted to his head, Wetah, started to rub his face. “Do you honestly expect me to let him get away with that?”

“I don’t,” she answered him. “I expect you to be the bigger man.” Wetah felt disgusted at the words spewing out of her mouth.

“He struck me with a rock, and then proceeded to beat me with a stick!”

“He struck you with his anger!” She pointed to the rock, “Which you gave him! He would not have struck you at all, had you not given him your anger!” She then pointed to the stick, “He beat you with his anger! Which you gave him a beating, that he would not had wished to returned if you had listened to him in the first place!”

Standing up from the grass, tears in his eyes, throat cinched tightly from anger, Zephyr’s muscles were preparing to strike again. Yet, like Wetah, he was stopped by his mother.

“Zephyr,” her voice was soothing, calming even, yet serious with hints of long-term consequences awaiting him in the upcoming days, “give me your knife.” She had her hand out in front of him.

Looking at it, he knew that he wouldn’t be given the opportunity to drive it through her hand. That would only make things worse than they already were. He knew if he were to do that, his mother would be angry at him for stabbing her, his father would be angry at him for stabbing Mom, and Xelu and Zaria would be angry at him for stabbing Mom as well. Yet, when it came to striking his father, he felt justified, and that he didn’t strike him enough. He wanted his father to feel the pain he felt.

Looking defeated, he still clutched onto the rock, but gave his mother his stone knife. “Now give me the branch too.” A fire grew a lit in Zephyr’s eyes. Looking past his mother, he thought that if he could just get the aim just right, he could strike his father in the eye just like he did with that strange woman in the forest along with the rock. Knowing her son almost better than he knew himself, she said to him, “And don’t you dare throw it.” Utterly frustrated, he looked at the branch, and slammed it into the ground, sending it bouncing off the grass. Stewing from her son’s rebellion, she said to him, “You can either go sit by a tree, or pick some fruit!”

As he turned and walked away, he yelled at her, “Pick it yourself!”

Wetah almost went after Zephyr for smarting off to his wife like that. LaRha had put a hand to his chest to stop him, and mouthed the word ‘no.’ She turned towards him and said, “Go grab the vinegar and start a fire, I’ll fetch some water and cloth to wrap you up.”

Sighing, he grunted and walked off towards the hut. He knew that continuing this would lead him nowhere, but only to more wasted sleep. Tiring of the day, all he could focus on now was the pain in his head.

Still fuming from the interaction earlier, Zephyr felt justified, but there was still something gnawing at him internally. He wanted more. He wanted his father to apologize. He wanted his parents to listen. He wanted them to understand and feel his pain. Yet, even with his efforts, he still ended up coming short.

“I HAVE HALF A MIND TO PUT MY AXE BLADE BETWEEN YOUR EYES!” Those words rung in the back of his mind. Even with the aid of a rock and a stick, Zephyr’s damage was limited. He, in a sense, felt powerless.

Thinking back to striking his father, he didn’t want to kill him, or permanently injure him. He just wanted his father to understand the pain that he made Zephyr feel. Yet, even with all of the consecutive strikes, he still felt like something was missing. Like termites burrowing into a tree, Zephyr felt something gnawing at him, over and over, again and again.

Then he remembered that he had thrown up. He remembered the acidic burn and taste within his mouth. He had forgotten about it since he had been given other forms of pain to think about. With the water jugs being within the hut, he dare not enter, even to quench his thirst. With the anger of his father, and now that of his mother all he wanted to do was just scream and yell. However, he couldn’t even do that lest he give away his family’s location to the woman and any other potential strangers, and since his father needed to be resting now.

Thinking back to the burning sensation in his mouth he grabbed an apple off the tree and went towards his sisters. “Xelu, Zaria, can one of you get me some water please?”

“We can’t go into the forest,” Zaria said, sucking on her thumb.

“Dad’s mad, and I don’t like being near him when he’s mad,” Xelu said. “I’ve learned to not make him mad, or as mad as I can make him.”

“So you won’t get me some water from the jug?” They shook their heads ‘no.’ “Awe, come on. Please?” They continued shaking their heads ‘no.’ “You know I’d get you water from the jug and from the forest. Heck, I brought back food from the river last day.”

“You can eat that,” Xelu said. “I can’t.” Her words bit at him. “Besides, even if you did bring us back water, you wouldn’t enter the hut if you knew that they were in there angry.”

“Daddy’s mean, and Mommy’s scary,” Zaria said.

“Forget it,” Zephyr said, “I’ll just eat an apple and bite at its juices.”

Sitting away underneath the tree, he thought about the strange woman. She was pretty, beautiful even, but all of this started because of her. He was sure of it. If she hadn’t been there in the forest, today, let alone yesterday, he’d would’ve had a great day otherwise. He wouldn’t have gotten spanked, smacked in the head, he’d still have a belly full of mulberries, and have his two apples from earlier that he was planning on setting in his traps. If she hadn’t been such a problem for him, he would’ve had a great time otherwise.

Chomping away at the apple, he had to learn to chew slower, and with more thought. Twice had he already bitten the inside of his cheeks and on his tongue as well. It reminded him of a phrase that his mother told him, “holding onto anger will distract you from all of the most simple and enjoyable things in life.” He wasn’t trying to hold onto his anger, that’s why he gave it to his father over and over again with the rock and stick. Yet, he still felt unsatisfied.


About the author

Thavien Yliaster

Thank You for stopping by. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm a novice poet, fiction writer, and dream journalist.



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