He grabbed the shovel and swung. My brother flinched away. The shovel missed its target and the beast bellowed as the weight of the shovel and the missed blow nearly toppled him.
I watched as he ordered my brother to hold still. “DON’T MOVE,” he would yell. But really he was commanding to him to fight his instinct to flee.
My brother took his chances and ran. I let my breath out, never realizing I had been holding it.
My mother often was victim to this psychological torment. What else is a mother’s instinct if not to protect her offspring. Wild animals will fight until their demise to protect their young.
My mother tried to stop it but was told if she interfered he would only do worse. And so my mother watched. And when she could not bear to see anymore she left us.
With God, she would convince herself.
Nay, it was with the devil himself.