Read Online Living in Darkness (Bloodbreeders) by Robin Renee Ray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robin Renee Ray
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washed my hands, and started scooping handfuls of water
into my mouth. I drank until I was full. I sat up, savoring the crisp taste of
the fresh water, and enjoying the way it felt to my mouth. My lip was far
better tonight than I thought it would be, but the water was still especially soothing.
My stomach, on the other hand, was a different story. The contents of my
stomach were not only churning, they were coming back up. If I hadn’t still
been kneeling, it would have put me back down.
I began to heave, and didn’t stop until I was empty. The pain had
returned, worse now than before I drank. It didn’t matter. I struggled to
stand, and forced myself to walk, telling myself, One foot in front of the other . I knew the farm was less than a
mile from where I was, and I had to keep going. No way could I have come this
far only to stop now. I found an easier way up the bank, and before I knew it,
I was on the little dirt road that led to the farm.
I approached quietly, trying not to get too close. After seeing my
grave, I knew I couldn’t be seen. I moved as silently as possible, trying not
to spook the animals. They could make an awful ruckus, and knowing that when my
father heard his chickens, I treaded lighter. He would come out the door with
his shotgun within seconds of hearing the chickens. He always said, “I know
them critters need to eat too, but they can darn well do it elsewhere.” Mother
would just smile, shake her head, and say, “Come on back in here, pa. You’re in yer bare feet. Don’t worry them coons won’t take yer breakfast.” My father would laugh heartily, swing the
old shotgun over his shoulder, and say, “Okay, Ma, but I want buttermilk
pancakes with honey and butter, if they do.” Before she’d let him in, I’d always
hear her say, “Be sure and clean yer feet before you
crawl back in my sheets, Mr. Crocker.” “ Yes’m ,” he
would say, smacking her on the behind as he passed her in the door. Every time,
without fail, she would let out a little yelp, and I am positive she blushed. I
remember laying in my bed on many a night, dreaming of having the life my folks
had.
One thing is certain. I can forget all that now. I would never again
hear my folks joke, or see my brothers and sister frolic around the farm. This
was the last time I would be able to lay eyes on the life I once had. I was
about twenty yards from the house when the front door flew open, and out
stepped little Johnny. My precious, little Johnny. Like I said, I often felt he
was as much mine as he was my mothers. I was around as much, if not more, than
she was, with helping my father selling the farm goods and all. He was on his way
to the outhouse, no doubt. My heart grew warm as I watched him yawn, and
stretch his little arms towards the heavens. He bounced off the porch, and on
tiptoes, ran to the outhouse.
If this was my last time seeing him, I had to get closer. I wanted,
maybe even needed, more. I made my way around, and got up right next to the
house. Johnny unexpectedly flung open the door to the outhouse, as I attempted to
duck behind the wood pile, but it was too late, I had already been seen.
“Renee? Is that you?” Johnny called out.
All I could do was nod, and try to imagine what he must be thinking. Mud
and filth were caked all over me, and my hair was a tangled rat’s nest. He
stepped out, and shut the door. I didn’t want him to fear me, because it would
kill me. But my fear of his thoughts about me being dead, were soon taken away
when I saw the look on his little face, and it brought tears to my eyes.
“You ain’t dead with Grandma in heaven?” he
asked.
“No, baby, I’m not,” I said, but before I could say another word, he
was running full speed towards me, his arms spread wide. He jumped into my
arms, and wrapped his around my neck.
“I knew you’d come home,” he said cheerfully. “I just knew it. Now mama
can be happy again.”
“I can’t stay, baby,” I said, stroking his
into my mouth. I drank until I was full. I sat up, savoring the crisp taste of
the fresh water, and enjoying the way it felt to my mouth. My lip was far
better tonight than I thought it would be, but the water was still especially soothing.
My stomach, on the other hand, was a different story. The contents of my
stomach were not only churning, they were coming back up. If I hadn’t still
been kneeling, it would have put me back down.
I began to heave, and didn’t stop until I was empty. The pain had
returned, worse now than before I drank. It didn’t matter. I struggled to
stand, and forced myself to walk, telling myself, One foot in front of the other . I knew the farm was less than a
mile from where I was, and I had to keep going. No way could I have come this
far only to stop now. I found an easier way up the bank, and before I knew it,
I was on the little dirt road that led to the farm.
I approached quietly, trying not to get too close. After seeing my
grave, I knew I couldn’t be seen. I moved as silently as possible, trying not
to spook the animals. They could make an awful ruckus, and knowing that when my
father heard his chickens, I treaded lighter. He would come out the door with
his shotgun within seconds of hearing the chickens. He always said, “I know
them critters need to eat too, but they can darn well do it elsewhere.” Mother
would just smile, shake her head, and say, “Come on back in here, pa. You’re in yer bare feet. Don’t worry them coons won’t take yer breakfast.” My father would laugh heartily, swing the
old shotgun over his shoulder, and say, “Okay, Ma, but I want buttermilk
pancakes with honey and butter, if they do.” Before she’d let him in, I’d always
hear her say, “Be sure and clean yer feet before you
crawl back in my sheets, Mr. Crocker.” “ Yes’m ,” he
would say, smacking her on the behind as he passed her in the door. Every time,
without fail, she would let out a little yelp, and I am positive she blushed. I
remember laying in my bed on many a night, dreaming of having the life my folks
had.
One thing is certain. I can forget all that now. I would never again
hear my folks joke, or see my brothers and sister frolic around the farm. This
was the last time I would be able to lay eyes on the life I once had. I was
about twenty yards from the house when the front door flew open, and out
stepped little Johnny. My precious, little Johnny. Like I said, I often felt he
was as much mine as he was my mothers. I was around as much, if not more, than
she was, with helping my father selling the farm goods and all. He was on his way
to the outhouse, no doubt. My heart grew warm as I watched him yawn, and
stretch his little arms towards the heavens. He bounced off the porch, and on
tiptoes, ran to the outhouse.
If this was my last time seeing him, I had to get closer. I wanted,
maybe even needed, more. I made my way around, and got up right next to the
house. Johnny unexpectedly flung open the door to the outhouse, as I attempted to
duck behind the wood pile, but it was too late, I had already been seen.
“Renee? Is that you?” Johnny called out.
All I could do was nod, and try to imagine what he must be thinking. Mud
and filth were caked all over me, and my hair was a tangled rat’s nest. He
stepped out, and shut the door. I didn’t want him to fear me, because it would
kill me. But my fear of his thoughts about me being dead, were soon taken away
when I saw the look on his little face, and it brought tears to my eyes.
“You ain’t dead with Grandma in heaven?” he
asked.
“No, baby, I’m not,” I said, but before I could say another word, he
was running full speed towards me, his arms spread wide. He jumped into my
arms, and wrapped his around my neck.
“I knew you’d come home,” he said cheerfully. “I just knew it. Now mama
can be happy again.”
“I can’t stay, baby,” I said, stroking his
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