Under My Beautiful Flesh: unraveled

Excerpt

The Night of the Katydids

While sleep was an ephemeral recess, it was paper-thin. One eye open. An ear to the ground. Waiting. Listening. Contemplating. Planning. An accurate working crystal ball would have been an essential asset—marking time for my father’s next caustic emission. A heads-up beneficial in giving a favorable advantage due to his volatile and heinous state of mind. 

What I feared most: my father's murderous crusade—the more positive I was the time paced closer. Growing up, oftentimes, I envisioned that dreaded night. Apprehension pilfering the air from the room. Struggling to stay awake. My eyelids increasingly growing heavier while listening for his car to pull around the rear of the house. The back door creaking open. His unfaltering footsteps making their way toward the bedrooms. The sound of two gunshots quaking the cloak of night. One for my mother and the other for Stephen while they slept. Unquestionably, Sandra would be next unless he spared her for himself. I was sure—I would be last.
 

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Ownership: James Randall Chumbley

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019919020

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