Read Online Sing Fox to Me by Sarak Kanake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarak Kanake
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were the parts Jonah really didnât understand.
After heâd finished reading, he sat twirling the papers mindlessly between his fingers. What did his dadâs words mean? Jonah had never liked poetry, even when David had tried to explain it to him. He liked novels where everything was laid out in front of him. He didnât like puzzles â they were confusing. He stuffed the pages back inside the satchel and shut the flap. This time it stayed closed.
Samson lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about his dad. He turned over. The bedsprings groaned. Jonahâs bed was empty. The sun pushed through Jonahâs window and across the floor towards Samson, like legs on a giant octopus.
Please donât hate me .
Samson closed his eyes. He wanted to get out of bed. He wanted to walk down the hall and into the kitchen. He wanted to make toast with vegemite for breakfast and eat it with his mum while they watched Saturday morning cartoons, but she was gone and his dad was gone, and Samson didnât know where his granddad kept the toaster.
Samson rolled over and faced the wall. His blankets rolled with him, exposing his back. He knew it was cold, but his extra chromosome was heavy, and it always took his skin time to understand things that his mind already knew.
âYour skin is just a bit slow,â his mum always said. âYouâre a bit different, is all.â
She often said he was different, so Samson had catalogued how. His fingers were stubby, he knew that, but he also had strong wrists from making words with his hands. He had deep creases like empty riverbeds through the middle of each hand, and almond-shaped eyes. His skin looked older than it was supposed to, but his mum said that was ânormal for you, Sammyâ.
Normal for him, Samson figured out, was not normal at all.
He knew what Downâs Syndrome was. He knew he wasnât like everyone else â he had an extra 21 chromosome. He had often tried to explain to his parents that the extra chromosome was heavy and sometimes slowed him down, but no one seemed to understand.
Please donât hate me , his dad had signed hours before, but because of his extra chromosome, Samson hadnât understood until now.
His dad was gone.
Gone , he signed to himself.
Soon after that, Samson felt the cold shiver across his exposed back. He didnât move or try to cover himself. It was normal to be cold. This was what normal felt like. Slowly, Samsonâs breathing changed. It grew jagged and shallow, pushed up when it should have pushed down, and rattled inside his throat like a seedpod.
His extra chromosome was panicking.
Only one person was strong enough to help him.
The Other Samson, Other Samson, Samson, Samson ⦠âMy name is Samson too,â he whispered, and his lungs expanded, his breathing widened and his body filled up with more air than he could ever use. His breathing slowly returned to normal. âOther Samson â¦â he whispered.
The Other Samson was a hero from the Bible. Even though his dad said no one from the Bible had ever actually existed, Samson knew that the Other Samson was real. He had lived a long time before Samson and Jonah, or their dad or even Clancy. He was tall and fast and strong, with super strength stored in his long, long hair.
The Other Samson never cut his hair, so Samson Fox didnât either. Just in case.
Samson knew all the stories of the Other Samson. There was the story of the roaring lion and the belly full of bees, the story of finding a wife and the burning foxes. The story of Delilah cutting his hair and pushing down the columns of Nineveh, the story of his tricky riddle, his birth, and plucking a mountain from the ground like a carrot so he could hurl it into the sea.
Samson rolled onto his back and imagined that the hands wrapped around the mountain were his. His fingers squeezed. Dirt fell from between them like brown rain. Some dissolved
After heâd finished reading, he sat twirling the papers mindlessly between his fingers. What did his dadâs words mean? Jonah had never liked poetry, even when David had tried to explain it to him. He liked novels where everything was laid out in front of him. He didnât like puzzles â they were confusing. He stuffed the pages back inside the satchel and shut the flap. This time it stayed closed.
Samson lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about his dad. He turned over. The bedsprings groaned. Jonahâs bed was empty. The sun pushed through Jonahâs window and across the floor towards Samson, like legs on a giant octopus.
Please donât hate me .
Samson closed his eyes. He wanted to get out of bed. He wanted to walk down the hall and into the kitchen. He wanted to make toast with vegemite for breakfast and eat it with his mum while they watched Saturday morning cartoons, but she was gone and his dad was gone, and Samson didnât know where his granddad kept the toaster.
Samson rolled over and faced the wall. His blankets rolled with him, exposing his back. He knew it was cold, but his extra chromosome was heavy, and it always took his skin time to understand things that his mind already knew.
âYour skin is just a bit slow,â his mum always said. âYouâre a bit different, is all.â
She often said he was different, so Samson had catalogued how. His fingers were stubby, he knew that, but he also had strong wrists from making words with his hands. He had deep creases like empty riverbeds through the middle of each hand, and almond-shaped eyes. His skin looked older than it was supposed to, but his mum said that was ânormal for you, Sammyâ.
Normal for him, Samson figured out, was not normal at all.
He knew what Downâs Syndrome was. He knew he wasnât like everyone else â he had an extra 21 chromosome. He had often tried to explain to his parents that the extra chromosome was heavy and sometimes slowed him down, but no one seemed to understand.
Please donât hate me , his dad had signed hours before, but because of his extra chromosome, Samson hadnât understood until now.
His dad was gone.
Gone , he signed to himself.
Soon after that, Samson felt the cold shiver across his exposed back. He didnât move or try to cover himself. It was normal to be cold. This was what normal felt like. Slowly, Samsonâs breathing changed. It grew jagged and shallow, pushed up when it should have pushed down, and rattled inside his throat like a seedpod.
His extra chromosome was panicking.
Only one person was strong enough to help him.
The Other Samson, Other Samson, Samson, Samson ⦠âMy name is Samson too,â he whispered, and his lungs expanded, his breathing widened and his body filled up with more air than he could ever use. His breathing slowly returned to normal. âOther Samson â¦â he whispered.
The Other Samson was a hero from the Bible. Even though his dad said no one from the Bible had ever actually existed, Samson knew that the Other Samson was real. He had lived a long time before Samson and Jonah, or their dad or even Clancy. He was tall and fast and strong, with super strength stored in his long, long hair.
The Other Samson never cut his hair, so Samson Fox didnât either. Just in case.
Samson knew all the stories of the Other Samson. There was the story of the roaring lion and the belly full of bees, the story of finding a wife and the burning foxes. The story of Delilah cutting his hair and pushing down the columns of Nineveh, the story of his tricky riddle, his birth, and plucking a mountain from the ground like a carrot so he could hurl it into the sea.
Samson rolled onto his back and imagined that the hands wrapped around the mountain were his. His fingers squeezed. Dirt fell from between them like brown rain. Some dissolved
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