Read Online Soft Apocalypses by Lucy Snyder - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lucy Snyder
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mostly Jesus. In the biggest piece above the entryway to the living room, he’d portrayed Christ with a square jaw, fierce eyes and flowing blond hair, as though the Savior was some Viking conqueror. He even had a sword tucked in a studded belt.
My gaze fell on the closed sewing room door. My heart started pounding again. Funny how one old brass knob and plain wooden door could be so thoroughly terrifying.
I was eleven and Leanna was fifteen when our father went from religious eccentricity to predatory insanity. After her birthday, he found a card from a boy in her book bag, and he was furious. He made her take a purity pledge at church, but that wasn’t enough. He started going into her bedroom at night to make sure she hadn’t been “sinning”.
I knew what he was doing to her. I should have comforted her. I should have tried to protect her. I should have gotten the rifle down from the mantel and blown the sick bastard out of his boots. But I didn’t do any of that. I pretended I couldn’t hear him violate her, couldn’t hear her weeping afterward.
Nobody in the house was surprised when her belly started to swell. But I feared the worst. I was scared he’d take her out in the woods and I’d never see her again.
But our father’s whole attitude changed. He was ecstatic and spoke of “miracles” and “gifts from God.” He pulled Leanna out of school but he treated her like a little country princess. And, somehow, he convinced us all it was for real. Convinced us that his sudden rages and violent fits were history and he was gentle again. Even Leanna seemed to believe he’d changed. He turned the sewing room into a nursery, all painted in pinks and blues and teddy bears.
He and my mother delivered the baby themselves, and despite Leanna never seeing a doctor once in the entire pregnancy, my little sister was born pink and healthy. I knew she was the fruit of a horrible sin against Leanna, but I fell in love with the baby right away. She was a little blonde angel who looked up to me, me of all people, as someone important. I mattered , finally. I had never been so happy as when I got to feed her and hold her.
Father let Leanna go back to school, riding the bus with me into town. She was relieved to be out in the world again. I couldn’t wait to get back home to play with the baby.
Yet one day, we got home and ... the nursery wasn’t there. The crib and toys were gone, replaced once again with my mother’s sewing machine and cabinets of cloth and thread. In the space between morning and evening, pink and blue walls had become a flat, mute green. To this day, the smell of fresh paint makes me nauseated.
I ran to my mother with Leanna close behind and said, “Where’s the baby?”
And, God save her soul, our mother wiped the dishwater off her hands, looked me dead in my eyes and said with a gasping little laugh, “Don’t be silly, dear. There’s no baby here.”
Our mother stepped closer, lowering her voice to the faintest whisper. “There was never any baby here, understand? That’s how this has to be.”
Leanna wilted. In her dry eyes I could see her soul collapsing, and she simply went to her room and shut the door like a good girl.
My brain completely short-circuited. I lost all sense of self-preservation. I ran into my father’s art room where he was sketching yet another Aryan Jesus and I screamed, “What did you do to my baby sister?”
He got up from his chair and with a priestlike calm punched me right in the face. I went down like a sack of wet sand, my lip and nose bleeding, teeth feeling loose in my aching jaw.
He stared down at me like I was something his coon hound vomited on the carpet. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to me again, girl. Get to your room and don’t come out ‘til you’re called out.”
I went to my room and wept for hours. When crying wasn’t enough to release the horrible black ocean in my soul, I started tearing the room apart, screaming and
My gaze fell on the closed sewing room door. My heart started pounding again. Funny how one old brass knob and plain wooden door could be so thoroughly terrifying.
I was eleven and Leanna was fifteen when our father went from religious eccentricity to predatory insanity. After her birthday, he found a card from a boy in her book bag, and he was furious. He made her take a purity pledge at church, but that wasn’t enough. He started going into her bedroom at night to make sure she hadn’t been “sinning”.
I knew what he was doing to her. I should have comforted her. I should have tried to protect her. I should have gotten the rifle down from the mantel and blown the sick bastard out of his boots. But I didn’t do any of that. I pretended I couldn’t hear him violate her, couldn’t hear her weeping afterward.
Nobody in the house was surprised when her belly started to swell. But I feared the worst. I was scared he’d take her out in the woods and I’d never see her again.
But our father’s whole attitude changed. He was ecstatic and spoke of “miracles” and “gifts from God.” He pulled Leanna out of school but he treated her like a little country princess. And, somehow, he convinced us all it was for real. Convinced us that his sudden rages and violent fits were history and he was gentle again. Even Leanna seemed to believe he’d changed. He turned the sewing room into a nursery, all painted in pinks and blues and teddy bears.
He and my mother delivered the baby themselves, and despite Leanna never seeing a doctor once in the entire pregnancy, my little sister was born pink and healthy. I knew she was the fruit of a horrible sin against Leanna, but I fell in love with the baby right away. She was a little blonde angel who looked up to me, me of all people, as someone important. I mattered , finally. I had never been so happy as when I got to feed her and hold her.
Father let Leanna go back to school, riding the bus with me into town. She was relieved to be out in the world again. I couldn’t wait to get back home to play with the baby.
Yet one day, we got home and ... the nursery wasn’t there. The crib and toys were gone, replaced once again with my mother’s sewing machine and cabinets of cloth and thread. In the space between morning and evening, pink and blue walls had become a flat, mute green. To this day, the smell of fresh paint makes me nauseated.
I ran to my mother with Leanna close behind and said, “Where’s the baby?”
And, God save her soul, our mother wiped the dishwater off her hands, looked me dead in my eyes and said with a gasping little laugh, “Don’t be silly, dear. There’s no baby here.”
Our mother stepped closer, lowering her voice to the faintest whisper. “There was never any baby here, understand? That’s how this has to be.”
Leanna wilted. In her dry eyes I could see her soul collapsing, and she simply went to her room and shut the door like a good girl.
My brain completely short-circuited. I lost all sense of self-preservation. I ran into my father’s art room where he was sketching yet another Aryan Jesus and I screamed, “What did you do to my baby sister?”
He got up from his chair and with a priestlike calm punched me right in the face. I went down like a sack of wet sand, my lip and nose bleeding, teeth feeling loose in my aching jaw.
He stared down at me like I was something his coon hound vomited on the carpet. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to me again, girl. Get to your room and don’t come out ‘til you’re called out.”
I went to my room and wept for hours. When crying wasn’t enough to release the horrible black ocean in my soul, I started tearing the room apart, screaming and
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