Friday, February 25, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (2)

- Chapter 2 -
Death And Abilities

Some would call me lucky, others blessed. I prefer to say that God gave me life for a purpose. My mother died during childbirth yet I somehow survived. Knowing what I know now, I would have much prefered death to living a life with a spiteful, alcoholic father.

The blame started early on. It was my fault, of course, that my mother died during labour. The blame eventually turned to anger. I would often come home and receive the back hand across the face, the lashes of his leather belt. His hatred ate away at his soul, tore him up from the inside until he couldn't take it any longer.


"There you are Jesus. I was looking everywhere for you." Mrs. Hanover said, grabbing the boy by the hand and walking back towards the big yellow bus.

He was resisting, pulling away as she pushed forward. Mrs. Hanover stopped in front of the rows of evergreens and kneeled down in front of Jesus. She grabbed both of his hands and stroked them tenderly.

"Is something wrong, Jesus?"

He shook his head sideways without looking up at his teacher. He had a frown and his brow was messed up. Later, Mrs. Hanover described it as "something out of a horror film, you know, those Japanese ones". The elderly woman looked away for a second and when she brought her attention back to little Jesus, he was all smiles. She raised her eyebrow in surprise and rested her hands on his shoulders. His long curly blonde hair tickled her frail fingers.

"Where were you, Jesus?" She asked. She could see he was troubled, bothered.

"In my happy place. With mom." He answered smiling.

He shrugged and walked past Mrs. Hanover. She looked on in confusion as she watched Jesus board the bus to head home. As the big yellow bus rolled past her, she spotted Jesus waving at her, a large grin plastered on his face.

Jesus waved goodbye to his friends on the bus and gave a special hug to the bus driver before walking down and out of the bus. He strolled slowly through the garden, picking at the strawberries. He sat down near his favourite tree and rolled up his jeans into shorts. The spring sun had warmed up the valley and sweat beads had formed in the back of his knees. He looked up at the house that created so many memories for him. He didn't think much of the funny feeling inside him. He always associated it with something he ate.

As he listened to the wind carry the tune of spring, Jesus was in complete denial of the power that manifested inside him. The little boy could only imagine his father drunk, hurt, but his denial prevented him from seeing what was actually waiting for him inside the Murphy Family home.

A beautiful orchid-coloured butterfly fluttered past him and he followed it towards the house, watching it fly in every direction. He felt as though the winged creature was guiding him home, telling him he needed to go in now. He smiled and pushed his long hair back and stepped inside the house.

"Daddy, I'm home!!"

Jesus closed the door behind him and ran towards the kitchen. His big blue eyes rested firmly on the deceased body of his father and tears swelled up inside them.


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