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You open the periwinkle door slowly, your heart heavy, your
mind confused. You tug on your blond plaits, head cocked to the
side as you hear the sound of clinking glasses and raised voices. You
walk into the kitchen and pause in your tracks. Your mother spies
you and swoops in, her eyes bright, cheeks rosy. She caresses your
cheeks, lifting your face to hers, taking no notice of your disconcerted
expression.
“Look, darling!” She points to a newspaper lying open on the
wooden dining table. “Your daddy did this! The big new bomb he
made dropped on the bad guys!”
You freeze, the back of your eyes seared with terrifying images of
human skeletons. Of course you know there are bad guys but all you
can think of are the people, dead, dead,
dead
, and you wonder what
they did to deserve such a hellish fate. You look up at your father,
for once home by midday, your body trembling, your trenchant gaze
burning. He does not look at you, but instead chuckles loudly, a
joking reply to a statement made by one of the many men standing
around the table.
Your mother walks behind you now, lowers her head to your
height, mouth level with your ear.
“Be
proud
,” she murmurs, and the pride she feels is evident in the
unsuppressed jubilance of her tone. But for you, it does nothing.
Be proud
? You want to say.
Of what?
A killer?
But you don’t. You are
obedient
, and right now your family is happy, so of course, so must
you be. A translucent ghost of a smile passes over your face, and
you nod.
’
The twisted metal can is thrown across the dirty cobblestones, but
today you do not run. You simply stare, your mind awash with the
horrors of a bigger world. One of the redheaded twins grabs you by
the arm and drags you away, away from the so-called danger. Your
chest feels tight, your head pounding.
Be proud be proud be proud
is
screaming in your head and you press your hands to your forehead,
squinting your eyes shut. When you open them, the boy is staring at
you expectantly.
“You’re my hero,” you’re supposed to say, “my knight in shining
armor.” But today, you don’t. You stare at him in shock–
Be proud be
proud be pr– No
.
A moment’s hesitation and you have already been forgotten: the
Worse Games
To Play
10