Page 2 of Satan's Spawn
But this Lord never comes.
And neither does my daddy. He’s just as invisible as the man mommy prays to.
The one she reads about in her book every night, calling it the word I need to live by if I want to be “saved”.
“Why do you hate me?” I ask her, my eyes growing watery so I wipe it away.
“This is not hatred, Isaiah. This is the work of God. You have to be purified. You are Satan’s spawn, full of sin and need to be washed of it.”
I tried telling her to let me use her soap more often if that’s the case. I will clean myself extra if it’ll make her happy. But she says it’s not my skin that’s the problem.
It’s my soul.
And no amount of body wash can rid the devil of it.
“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” I try to plead one more time, even though I know it’s useless.
She never listens.
“No, you won’t, Isaiah. Not unless I ensure it.” She slides the broken bowl closer to me with her bare foot. “Now do as you’re told and eat.”
So I do—I lick up every last bit off the floor and swallow each drop, even the pieces with tiny hard flecks in it. All in hopes it will be proof I’m not as bad as she thinks.
That I am not Satan’s spawn, just my mother’s son.
A son whose mother has a deeper love for an invisible being than the flesh and blood she made inside her.
A few minutes pass after I’m done eating and ridding the floor of the bowl. I look down at the tips of my fingers to find them bleeding because I wasn’t careful enough with the pointy pieces.
Mommy doesn’t bother trying to clean my hands, instead she says in her calm tone, “To your room, Isaiah. Now.”
I do as I’m told, my head down as Mommy walks next to me, pulling her long white hair back in a tie.
My arms are already tingling by the time we get to my bedroom door, but I ignore the feeling, even though it usually takes longer to start my fall to sleep.
“I do all of this to test your strength.” She straightens her shoulders, her blue eyes not meeting mine as she adds, “To see if it comes from good or evil.”
“I’m not evil, Mommy. I’m just a kid.”
She peers down at me as if I just said a bad word. “Born from sin!”
My shoulders slump as we cross into my room and approach my bed, the stench coming from it has me holding my breath.
My sheets are stained with so much yellow it’s hard to tell they used to be white. I wish she would at least let me use the bathroom before she makes me sleep.
Mommy orders me to remove all my clothes as usual, so I do so lazily as she places a rag inside the large bowl of water on the nightstand.
“Lay down, son.”
My eyes are heavy as I blink at the dirty mattress, my feet growing unsteady. “I don’t want to.”
“You must. So I can know if the Lord is finally willing to accept you as his child.”
“The pastor you watch on TV says we are all God’s children, so why would you doubt me?” I ask, not that it matters, because if this is what he wants my mom to do to me to earn his love, I’d rather not have it. “I don’t want to be his child. I want to be yours.”
“You can never be mine this way.” She pushes me onto the bed, and my weakening body leaves me no choice but to collapse on the pillow. “My only prayer is that he takes you this time, so I know I have not been forsaken.”
“Where is he taking me?”I don’t want to go.
