Page 1 of Satan's Spawn
PROLOGUE
ANOTHER LIFE AGO…
“It’s time to eat, son.” Mommy places a bowl of oatmeal in front of me on the table, a sweet smile spread across her face. I don’t like this look of hers.
I know what it means.
“I’m not hungry.” I lie, pushing the bowl away even though I haven’t eaten anything since last night. Every time she offers me oatmeal, it makes my tummy burn and has me falling asleep.
“You have to eat your food,” she insists firmly with that scary smile still on her face. “It’s important, you know that.”
“I said no.” I throw the bowl onto the floor, making it shatter, and the oatmeal spills out in sticky globs.
I'd rather get in trouble than feel that pain and sleepiness again.
“Isaiah, this is the work of the devil!” She grabs me by my Spider-man t-shirt, which is the only one I have left that isn’t ripped or smells bad, and slams me down on the floor. The smile is gone, and in its place is the mean one that’s always waiting to come out.
My nose is inches away from the mess when she says, “Now you’ll clean this up with your tongue.”
“No!” I whimper as she holds the back of my head to press my lips against the floor. I can feel the stickiness of the cereal smush against my face and the sting of broken pieces cutting my lips. It really hurts.
“There’s sharp pieces in it, Mommy, please stop,” I mumble, but she doesn’t ease up.
“Before any salvation, comes obedience!” Mommy presses my face harder into the floor, and I can feel my skin cutting.
I cry out in pain. “I don’t want to do this anymore! Please!”
I’ve seen her putting weird stuff in my food for a long time now, and when I don’t see it I can feel it after.
“You will do what the Lord commands!” she scoops up oatmeal from the dirty tiles in the kitchen with her hand, lifts my head back and shoves it into my mouth.
It’s usually sweet, but this time it’s like yucky sour candy.
“Why does it taste like this, Mommy?” I try my best not to spit it out.
“That’s the devil leaving you, Isaiah. Now, keep going and don’t stop.”
I wish I could tell someone what she’s doing to me.
And everything else she’s done for as long as I can remember. I tried once with a neighbor in our building but they didn’t believe me.
And it’s not like she sends me to school where I can tell a teacher. Mommy wants me all to herself, she says. That I’m her punishment to deal with, no one else’s.
Her wrong to right.
And all I need to learn is what her religion teaches.
The only time she’s nice is when she comes into my room at night to pray over me. Asking her God to release me from my fate of the burning pits of hell.
But this feels more like that hell she speaks of.
“Eat your dinner.” She shoves me before standing. “Every last drop.” Mommy sits down on one of the chairs, waiting.
“Please don’t make me,” I beg; eating off the floor is gross.
“You need a cleansing, Isaiah. To learn obedience to your mother and to your Lord and savior before it’s too late.”
Mommy always talks about this Lord and savior, but I’m still waiting to meet him. For him to rescue me from her.
