from ancients on and on

Since Roman times everyone knew those kinds of dreams foretold hard hard times like dying of hunger Great Depression and wars that killed to death innocence…”

 

by jerry vilhotti

 

The mother told this Johnny, see-er of globs of substance on top of eggs thinking the moving film were streams of snot oozing from noses on cold Burywater winter days, she had dreamt of babies that very early morning and as everyone knew — she emphasized the point by pressing down on each word with a finger — that since Roman times everyone knew those kinds of dreams foretold hard hard times like dying of hunger Great Depression and wars that killed to death innocence; fueled by those who truly believed that the wealth accruing from the latter brought them great wealth and a self-worth that had been missing from them and for a few well spent dollars in the purchasing of medals given to young soldiers who had died could and would wipe away all the tears from those left behind to mourn moments that would never become alive again. And she meant real innocence — not like a whoring country saying they once again lost their innocence with legs spread wide open to conquer the world.

The eight year old pushed away the eggs and then began to peer into the old fashioned kind of oatmeal with little specks of black angry eyes looking back up at him and he thought again: if dreaming of babies was an ancient nightmare, did that not make all babies — including those of the wealthy — become potential fullers of empty stomachs too? His words came out so: “Drumming lil bobbies intooo embtybullies!”

“That’s not true! I did want you to become and it made no difference that another mouth to feed during the days of little food made no difference to me and I also wanted your older brother Tommmy Tom Tom to be born whole though God put a bad sign on him when he was six months old giving him polio and God also took our Nina when she was four years old fourteen years before you were born of the poor peoples’ disease called diphtheria,” she said.

He pushed the bowl away while saying: “Alob. Lurching atch me!” “Eat! There are babies starving –to the delight of the sadists who laugh at such suffering — in this mean hateful world that all the Gods put together could not make whole and people pray to their different Gods to have what you have! Did you see that image of that so-called mother beating that four-year-old girl? Well that’s the picture the rest of the world has of us, what’s so great about a Great Britain and those who claim they were God’s chosen people? Well that’s not my God! It must have been the one that always needed prove he was loved!”

The boy looked again at the specks that now reminded him of sad baby eyes and asked: “Wwwwwhhhhhhyyyyyy much they beeeeee?”

“Because there are crosses like shadows on the souls of haters who are afraid of dying and living!” she said, wishing it were a better world for him and all the others who were for all the arrogant blood-drinking leaders just nasty looking film on eggs.

“Maaaaaammmmmaaaaa!” he said.

Originally published:
Issue Sixty-Four
July 2012

 

(illustration: kurt eisenlohr)

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