Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: WOUND (11/26/20)
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TITLE: Deeper on the Inside | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
12/03/20 -
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The rat in the corner waggled its whiskers in expectation. I’d often dropped a morsel or two just to keep him coming out for company. There isn’t a cobblestone floor cleaner than mine. Perhaps the sweeping helps my sanity but it is a work ethic I learned along the way. I really thought I was on my way up – despite the chaos of my early life.
Sometimes, when you’re part of a dysfunctional family, the nightmare never ends. A blended family only complicates the mix. I actually had it good as the youngest of 12. I was clearly the favorite and flaunting that status may have been a weakness. The beatings I’d taken and the abuse of being shipped out of the house was a good recipe for bitterness.
Two cockroaches racing along the brick walls draw my attention and more than anything I want to flatten them in response to what had happened to me. I looked for my tattered sandal in the corner. If I slammed it on those bugs it might just fall apart. I let them go.
Our family had a faith most people could see from a distance. It seemed a little blurred from the inside. Dad boasted of several religious experiences along the way but deception, favoritism, and anger had deep roots in the way life expressed itself through relationships. There were always promises but they never seemed to turn into reality.
I think I might know how an orphan feels after a dozen faces look him over and pass him by. I think I might know how the woman who is used in the darkness and discarded in an alley might feel. I think I understand the mangled beggar desperate for a look, a nod, a word even more than a coin.
Some people live to work – I worked to live and my first boss seemed to approve of my efforts. I could tell he trusted me. I was so busy soaking up the adulation of the others around me that I got blindsided by someone I didn’t expect. I had learned to treat women like sisters. She wanted more than I could give and when I refused, she accused me of things I couldn’t prove wrong.
So here I am, forgotten and forsaken. Unshaven. Unwashed. Unwanted. Without a prayer.
I’ve never figured out whether being wounded on the outside is better than being wounded on the inside. Outside might leave scars. I see a few on my ankles and my wrists from brothers who tied me up and ignored my cries for help. There’s the few lines I’m sure are on my back and legs from that monster whose arm gets stronger with every stroke. If only God knew what this all felt like.
But why talk of temporary markings when deeper welts rise on my soul. The twisting of thoughts that rework your story night after night – wishing that the ending might be different than it is. The vexing of spirit and gnashing of teeth – determined to avenge then releasing the emptiness of pointless planning. Life is harder than it seems when you know you aren’t in control and will never have a chance to be.
Oh, of course, you would rather I focused on happy thoughts. You have enough wounding of your own. You too have family scars and friendship losses. You too have disappointments that cut you to the core.
I think having your hopes raised and dashed over and over has got to be a significant trauma. I helped some men in trouble a while ago and one of them was so positive he’d help me out that for a moment I thought all of life might just work out. Empty promises. I’ve had them from the beginning.
If only you were real and not someone I’ve conjured up to pass the time. Oh, great! Did you hear that? Someone’s coming. Figures. Even the rat ran. It’s the warden. Head down. Feet flat.
“Joseph, Pharaoh wants to see you! Get up! Get washed! Get ready.”
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I was trying to figure out the era of your story when you wrote, "If only God knew what this all felt like." And I half-expected you would reveal that He does know what it feels like.
You had me fooled right up until the ending paragraph.
I love stories that surprise the reader.
I hope you place high with this one. You described so well what it must have been like to be Joseph in prison.
Well-deserved for your powerful piece!