Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 114247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
But I didn’t want to go. I shuffled as far back into the corner as I could, all the time holding out my arms.
He grabbed my wrists. He began pulling me from the corner, but I fought back. I kicked out my legs, I hit out with my arms. He only squeezed my arms tighter. It hurt, but I kept on fighting to get free.
“No! Please!” My mama cried from beside me. “He’s not evil. He’s not—”
But he threw back his hand and caught my mama across the face. “Get back! Get back and see to your other son that’s crying. The son that, God-willing, will not be anything like this one!”
My mama stumbled back, then suddenly, he slapped my face. It hurt so much that I slumped to the floor. He picked me up by the collar of my shirt, and put his face next to mine.
“There’s an evil living inside you boy. An evil I’m gonna make damn sure is exorcized. Make you normal. Make you right. No more looking through me when I talk. No more weirding people out when you walk into the room. Making us fucking embarrassed to have you as a son.”
He dragged me out of the house. I looked for Mama, but she was at the back of the kitchen, nursing my baby brother. She looked to me as I passed, and tears were streaming down her eyes.
She never cried. Why was she crying?
“Mama!” I called out, but on a sob she turned her back.
He strapped me tight in the back seat of the car. I fought against the seatbelt. I didn’t want to go to the church.
My head throbbed. Eventually I stopped moving. I couldn’t get out and he wasn’t letting me go. Because I had evil inside me. Because I had flames flowing in my blood.
Lifting my fingers, I put them on my arms and began to dig in my nails. I thought of fire, of flames. I thought of their colors—orange and yellow. I thought of their heat. But I couldn’t see flames in the veins on my wrist. They looked normal. But they weren’t normal. He said that was why I didn’t understand what people wanted from me. Because of the evil bringing the fire in my blood.
I knew I was different. I knew I didn’t understand what people wanted from me. I knew I didn’t react right to some of the things people said. That was why I didn’t speak to anyone anymore. It was why I had no friends. It was why I didn’t answer people’s questions. Because I knew I wouldn’t do it right. I wouldn’t know what answer to give. And people would get angry with me. They would cry. They would walk away. They would leave me alone, and I wouldn’t understand what I’d done wrong.
And some people would laugh at me—they were the worst. They would point, and laugh and call me a 'retard'.
Then I would feel sad. Their words made me sad. And I wouldn’t sleep. I’d lay awake thinking of their faces, their faces when they laughed.
The more I thought of the people’s reactions to me, the more I dug my nails into my flesh. Glancing down, I saw blood begin to trickle from the vein. I hissed at the sting of pain my nails brought, but then a warm feeling filled my body. Because the invisible flames, Hell’s fire living in my body, was being released.
And he said that with the flames gone, I might be normal. I might be right.
The car came to a halt and I looked out of the window. We were on a quiet country road. At the side of the road was a small white building—our church.
I struggled to breathe, my chest tightening, as I stared at the church. Then the door opened, and Pastor Hughes walked out with Elder Paul. They were big men and they frightened me. They would handle the snakes in the church. They would give people the poison to drink, to test their faith.
He got out of the car and I watched him approach the men. His hand ran over his head, then he looked back at me and shook his head. I couldn’t hear what was being said. But he must have been telling them about the flames in my blood. He would be telling them I had evil in me. Panicking, I stared at my wrist. I scratched at the veins, digging my nails in. But my nails weren’t sharp enough. They couldn’t get more blood out.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walking to the car. The Pastor and the Elder of the church walked back inside the building. He opened the door next to me, undid my seatbelt and took my arm. He didn’t speak as he dragged me out of the car. I held up my wrist to show him I was trying to get the flames out. That I didn’t need the church, that I could do it myself. I could get the flames out myself, if he would just let me try. But he just hit my wrist down, then struck me on the back of my head. My eyes stung from the pain.
I swallowed hard when we arrived at the wooden door. I could hear the Pastor talking inside, then he hauled me into the church.
We stood at the top of the aisle. Pastor Hughes and Elder Paul were at the altar. I could hear rattling. I could hear hissing. My stomach dropped.
Snakes. They had the snakes.
He made to walk forward, pushing on my neck the whole time, but I planted my feet firmly on the wooden floor and reached out to grab a pew. He stopped pulling, then moving in front of me, backhanded my face. Pain exploded in my head. My hand ripped off the pew and I could taste blood in my mouth. But I was scared; my blood contained evil and flames. I spat the blood on the floor of the aisle, coughing so much that I vomited.