Souls Unfractured

The flames under my skin burned like fuck, they fucking scorched me from inside. Tipping my head back, I roared and screamed out loud. Isaiah. They fucking burned him. The fucking Pastor and Elder that tied me down, and filled my poppa’s head with all the snake shit, hid my brother’s fucking death.

Holding my knife, I slashed it across Poppa’s chest, the tip cutting the surface of his skin. My poppa cried out, then before he had time to scream again, I demanded, “Why eleven? Why eleven times? Why was everything always eleven?”

His teeth gritted together at the pain, and taking my blade, I placed the tip at the top of the slash I’d just given him and began dragging it down. “I said, why fucking eleven?”

Poppa gasped and cried, “There are ten commandments, eleven is a mockery of all that is pure. It’s for disorder and sinners. You have evil in your veins, darkness in your soul. Eleven was fit for the sinner you are!”

I stopped and, unable to catch my breath through rage, hit my head. “I wasn’t a fucking sinner. I was fucking different. I am fucking different. My head doesn’t work right, like others. But it wasn’t a fucking sin, I wasn’t fucking evil, I was different. But your fucking church told you I was evil. You thought everyone was evil: me, Mama, Isaiah. When it was you. You were the one that was fucked up!”

I blew out a loud breath. That breath turned into a fucking scream, and I slashed my blade across his stomach. The blade didn’t cut deep, but the fucker sure felt it. He felt the fucking sting of my blade.

“You are a sinner, Josiah. Look what you’ve become. What you would’ve always become,” he choked out. “An evil fucking retard with flames in his blood. The retard with evil in his veins.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped. I pointed my blade at his face. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!”

His dark eyes watched me. Then pointing my knife at his face, I growled, “You put me in that fucking cellar.” I pointed to the cellar’s hatch I knew was there. “You cut me with a blade, night after night, for fuck knows how long. You starved me. You left me in the fucking freezing cold.” Then my body tensed as I forced myself to say, “You raped me. You fucking raped me.  You sick fucking cunt." I paused to gulp in more air, then continued in a deliberate voice. "Mama, Isaiah… you fucking ruined them. They died because of what you did to us all. You and that fucking church.” 

This time he said shit back to me. He just stared. Stared at me with those fucking dead eyes. It incensed me. My body heated and the fucking blades in my hands felt heavy. I looked up to Viking, who had gone as still as a fucking stone, and commanded, "Keep his arms held down.”

Viking forced my poppa’s arms down. Standing above him, I turned the blade in my hands, then sliced down his arm. “One,” I growled, seeing blood pour from his wound as he sucked in a sharp breath. I sliced again, “Two,” and hissed when his teeth gritted together at the pain. I sliced again and again and again, my cock hardening at the sight of every spray of blood that hit my face. “Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten…” I slowly counted. The cunt’s arms were ripped to shreds, blood flowing to the floor. Then, with my pulse slamming in my neck, I slashed the blade over his thigh, and roared, “Eleven!”

My old man sagged on the table, eyes dazed.

Then, fighting sickness, I moved in closer and asked, “Why the fuck did you rape me?”

My poppa froze on the table. I pressed my blade to his cheek, and repeated, “Why the fuck did you rape me?”

My blade pressed further into crepe-thin skin the longer he was silent. Then he suddenly said, “To rid your flesh completely of sin. To punish you for taking your mama away from me.”

I stayed still, my blade pushed into his cheek, then I moved back. He was a sick fuck whose time was up.

I looked to the back of the room. I pointed to the hatch and ordered, “Vike, drag him over there.”

I stormed forward, then came to a complete fucking stop. I stared at that fucking hatch and, as I did, I couldn’t move a damn inch. The wood was scratched and worn through years of use. The lock was rusted, but still tight.

“Fuck, man,” Viking said beside me. “What kinda fucked up shit did you go through down there? I’m already wanting to snap this pedo’s neck. This cellar shit’s gonna tip me over the edge. ”

Not answering, I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Bending down, I forced myself to unbolt the lock and ripped the fucking door open on a snarl, its old rotting wood easily coming off at the hinges.