Now, back to the tale.
There I lay in my lower bunk bed and strained to hear what my mother and
father were saying to each other down the hall. Neither of them sounded too
happy with each other. Having just come back from the hospital, I was sure that
now, wasn’t the best time for me to go and ask how my injured brother was. I lay
there looking at the bottom of the bunk above me. Sagging a little under the
weight of my next youngest brother who appeared to be comfortably sleeping. I
started wondering about my injured brother. After all the last image I had of
him was his entire head and face drenched in blood, as I carried him back from
the park, thinking he was dead in my arms. There was so much blood, but then, I
had not realised how much a head wound, even a minor one, could bleed. And too
be honest. I was in shock from the blood, never actually seeing the injury
itself. I got better at recognising the difference as I grew older, with the
witnessing of many subsequent accidents and injuries. But then, in my youth I was focussed on
the blood. Now I lay there wondering about the future , not just for myself, as
no doubt my father would be making that decision shortly, but also for my
brother.
Regardless of the severity of the head injury I had
accidentally inflicted, he would probably have some form of a scar. That could
be important, as he grew older. If it was terrible looking scar, he could
become the coolest, or, the most feared kid at school. We had heard and read
great tales of scarred hero’s, Beowulf, Legend’s of King Arthur’s knights and
the battles of Lord Fitchley. In particular, the duelling scar of Lord Fitchley
was much admired by the ladies of the time, and, made him quite the figure of
the romance period. But then there was the other possibility. If the scar was
too vivid and terrifying, he would probably be shunned by all the other
children as he grew up. He would end up alone, wandering the streets of the
neighbourhood. A legend could grow of the ‘monster of the valley’. The tales
would spread of the fearsome creature, severely wounded. Probably as legends go
it wouldn’t mention the actual accident as it occurred, but it would become
some terrible tragedy of misfortune (you could see what period of film styles I
was showing an interest in at that age, mainly based on the ‘B’ movie posters,
as it wasn’t that often we got to actually see any movies). My imagination was
racing away on a tangent, until I was pulled back to reality with the sudden sounds
of my fathers steps coming down the hall towards my room. I did the only
possible thing I could. I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
(Continued tomorrow)
*I should mention (at least
that was what the email also suggested)
“that this fearsome, wooden spoon
wielding female power of authority (see yesterday’s blog), was only 152
cm. tall weighed approx 71/2 stone (47.63Kg) and loved you all, no matter how
you all tormented the life out of her? (see blog July 12 2012 for example)”
All I can say is she must have put all of her weight into every strike….
But, she finished the request with an XX
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