Chaos England wuz a full head taller dan most mens. His shoulders wuz wide as a barn door. His skin wuz as black and as smooth as de obsid’an arrowhead he wore as a amulet ‘round his thick neck. In de year 1899, Chaos got my Mama pregnant wit’ me and nine months later, I wuz bone.
Yep, dis here monster wuz all I could claim as a Paw!
De earliest sound I can ‘member, is my Mama cryin’ and sobbin’ in de dark of our lil’ three room shack. I wuz too young, at dat time, to have any ideas ‘bout what wuz goin’ on in de front room of dat lil’ rickety shack, ‘specially late at night, when Chaos would come in from gamblin’ and carousin’—drunk as David’s sow.
As I got a lil’ older, I could figure out mo’ and mo’ ‘bout what wuz goin’ on. I could hear de scufflin’ and de sound of dat rawhide whip of hiz’un, as it whistled through de dank night air ‘fore strikin’ Mama’s soft, sweaty flesh; causin’ her to whimper like a scairt puppy. I could hear her retchin’ from cryin’ so hard.
I later learnt from talkin’ wit’ her, dat she had wanted to scream out to God above for de whippin’ and de pain to stop, even if it meant dat God would release her tortured spirit from its sufferin’ on dis earf under de heavy hands of Chaos England, but she had swallowed de screams. She had swallowed so many painful screams ’til her belly ached pretty much all de time. She had swallowed dem screams to keep from wakin’ me up to de nightmare dat she was livin’.
One night–I think I wuz ‘bout six year old–I wuz waken from sleep by one of dem screams of pain and fear dat Mama had not been able to swallow. It had escaped her throat and come flyin’ out of her mouf, like a frightened bat out of de gapin’ mouf of a deep, dark cave.
De sound cause me to sit up so fast dat I hit my head on de beam which crossed over de ceiling ‘bove my bed in de loft. I rubbed my head at de point of de worst pain where I could feel de knot already risin’ and de sticky heat of my own blood, oozin’ from a cut dere.
please review Eliza I and II