Malachai

My name is Malachai.
I am not like you.
I am torn inside.
I do not feel or have any emotions,
For I was not born for that.
I was born for a different purpose.
My father thinks I am useful.
My mother is my world.
I have elder siblings.
Only one was born for the same purpose as I.
But he failed in that purpose.
Now my Father thinks he is worthless.
Pathetic.
Useless.
Not worthy of life.
He wants to dispose of him.
But my mother will not allow it.
My mother loves her first born.
He loves her too.
The second born is a girl.
She is my Father’s favorite.
She does not have a crude purpose like me.
She is there in case my mother’s life runs out.
She is to replace my Mother.
But she never can.
My mother is kind.
My Father is cold-hearted.
But my mother loves my father.
He is her world.
She is useful to him too.
If she ever disobeys his orders,
She’ll be punished.
She has been punished before.
I have not seen it yet, but elder brother has.
Elder sister does not care.
She once cared for mother, but now she does not.
Mother does not care either.
Though, Sister does want mother’s care and attention.
My mother does not think it is
Appropriate for sister to have such love.
I finally saw mother get punished.
It was horrid.
So much blood.
So many tears.
And yet she still loves father.
He beats her.
He hits her.
He cusses and tells her how pathetic she is.
And she still loves him.
She still wants him.
She is still useful to him.
Abusive.
That’s what uncle calls it.
My uncle is in love with my mother.
He wants her.
He doesn’t think she should be with my father.
But I don’t care.
She is where she’s most happy.
My uncle has raped my mother before.
He says its how he expressed his love.
Is love pain?
That’s what he did to mother.
He made her scream and bleed.
He calls that love.
So does father.
Father and Uncle are very alike.
They both inflict pain on mother and calls it “Love.”
Mother doesn’t care.
She doesn’t mind the pain.
She says she once loved Uncle and that’s why she doesn’t mind the pain.
Is this true?
Or is it a lie?
Uncle has a wife.
But he still “ express his love” for mother every other night.
I hear her scream.
I hear father helping hurt mother with Uncle.
It keeps me up at night.
Elder brother says to ignore it.
Elder sister gets scared.
When morning comes I check on mother.
She seems dead.
She never breathes after a night like that.
When I get in bed with her she wakes up.
Her eyes look without a soul.
I hug her.
Nothing on but the torn cover she lays under.
When father walks in I leave.
I hear the noises again.
Her screaming.
Him yelling.
Telling her what she wants.
He always says he’s not trying to hurt her.
But is it nothing but lies?
He always hurts mother.
Elder brother calls it “pleasure.”
But I thought it was love.
I guess not.
I don’t know which one it is.
Pleasure.
Or Love?
Auntie has a husband.
Mother goes with him sometimes.
To a house.
They do nothing together.
But there is a guy there.
He hurts mother too.
She minds the pain.
She doesn’t want this pain.
But there is nothing she can do.
This man is stronger than her.
He’s a scary man.
There are many men where auntie’s husband takes my mom.
But only one hurts her like that.
Elder brother tells me that Auntie’s uncle has raped mother too.
He tells me that its just what men do to pretty girls like mother.
They strap her down to a bed.
They bond her mouth shut with tape.
So no matter how much she moves or scream no one can help.
Father says he doesn’t care.
He calls her a Whore.
Bitch.
Slut.
Ho.
He knows she likes it.
Mother says she doesn’t.
So why does she always go back.
Oh yeah.
She is forced.
She is their sex slave.
If she doesn’t go they’ll kill her.
Or that’s what that man says.
I feel sorry for mother.
She can do nothing.
Father doesn’t care.
There is no one to help her.
Poor mother.
I’ve met most of the guys who have raped her.
They are mean.
They always cuss.
Except for one.
He’s nice.
But he says he can’t resist mothers body.
He calls it passion.
What is it?
Pleasure.
Love.
Or Passion?
Now things are very confusing.
Cause now elder sister has gotten the same as Mother.
She has been raped.
She cries.
I don’t care though.
She brought it upon herself.
Or at least that’s what elder brother says.
He says sister is a slut.
Mother has been kicked out.
In the rain.
She has no where to go.
No one will take her in.
Father is mad at her.
For what reason?
Why is he so mad at her?
He’ll go after her.
He always does.
He always goes after her.
He can’t live with out my mother.
None of us can.
She comes home after a few days.
I bring her home.
She was at that house.
With all those guys.
Being forced into pleasure, love, passion.
Whatever one it is.
I walked in on this.
It was a weird sight.
Mother was half bare.
She still had on underwear.
But the men didn’t.
Why?
Why when they seen me they got away from mother?
What am I?
I ran to mother.
Her eyes.
Her eyes were like they are
Every time uncle and father makes her scream.
Soulless.
A different color.
Not blue.
A worn out purple.
Is this mother?
I hugged her.
One of the men pulled my hair and got me away from her.
She was covered in white ooze.
It was gross.
Mother.
Mother.
I wanted my mother.
I wanted her back.
This wasn’t my mother.
This was some female that feeds off of pain.
Pain.
Is that what it is?
Love.
Pleasure.
Passion.
Pain?
Which was it?
Where is my mother?
They put a collar around my neck.
“Your Mother belongs to us now.”
One said.
“We’re gonna make you watch.”
“That’s not my mother.”
I said.
Mother looked at me with her soulless eyes and tears drop.
She was crying at what I said.
Or was she crying because what’s happening.
Her tears were fake.
They meant nothing to me.
A guy holds me down to the ground.
They make sure I keep my eyes open.
They hurt her.
They all had there chance to hurt her.
She screamed.
She cried.
She got cut in the process.
So much blood.
So much ooze.
But I didn’t care.
Did I?
I don’t know.
I wanted them to stop.
But there was nothing I could do to help.
Nothing anyone can do.
I came to get her.
And now I’m like this.
“Do you want to help your mom?”
One asked.
“I don’t care.”
I said.
Mother.
Mother.
An hour past of nothing but this.
When they were finished they left her there unconscious.
Not breathing.
Unconscious.
She could see.
She had her eyes open.
But she was unconscious.
Covered in blood and white ooze.
My name is Malachai.
I am not like you.
I am torn inside.
I can not feel.
I have no emotions.
Love.
Pleasure.
Passion.
Pain.
.
.
.
.
.
Sex.
I finally know what this is.
And now my mother is dead.