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Quantum Musings

by Raymond Coulombe, Michael Gallant, Timothy O. Goyette

by Timothy O. Goyette


by Timothy O. Goyette

“You haven’t killed him.”

Gees, mom won’t even let me get in the door.  It’s like living with a parrot that only knows one phrase.  Screeching it day and night.

I look away.  I know mom’s looking down like a self-righteous preacher calling a guilty child to repentance.  Listening to her verbal condemnation is nothing compared to the contempt of mom’s glare.

“No, you haven’t, I see.”

I kick off my muddy boots and shuffle off to the bathroom.  I know she is following.  Not like she has anything else to do but berate me.

I could almost hear her lips pulling back into a sneer.  “Of course not.  Why do I even ask?  Every day you go out and every day you come back and he is still alive.”

Her voice cuts through the sound of the water pouring into the sink.

“You were always the bad son, the poor son, the one that would never amount to anything.  Can’t even do one little thing.”

Like mom ever tried killing anyone. 

“Now Benny, he had promise.  He loved his mother and would do anything for her.  You don’t deserve to live in the house he was raised in.”

Her precious Benny.  I’m tired of hearing Benny this and Benny that.  If he’s was so good, why did he die trying to kill him.  Yeah, she never brings that up. 

“I’m so ashamed that something like you came out of me.  We should have drown you when you were born.  You weren’t potty trained until you were five.  And wetting your bed!  Benny never had a problem.”

Benny, your golden boy, hated you.  I was the one who took care of you.  He just breezed through and smiled.

“After all I’ve done for you, you can’t do this one little thing for me?  Sorry momma, forgive me momma, I’ll try harder momma, please stop beating me momma.  You are such a cry baby.”

Like growing up with her has been a joy.  With hands now clean, I wash my face.

“Nothing to say to your Mother? Can’t even raise your eyes to me.  Come on, say it.  I’ve been a very bad boy and need to be punished.  You are not too big to be locked in the closet, or to break a couple fingers with the red hammer, tap, crack, tap, crack.”

While the sink fills with water, I spread the shaving gel across my stubble.    I’d like to break her fingers.  If only she’d give me a break.

Taking out the straight razor, I hone it on the strap.

“It’s your father’s fault, really.  He gave me defective DNA to produce a turd like you.  I should have aborted you.  Ungrateful brat.  Can’t do the littlest little thing for the woman who bore you, for the hands that shaped you.  Just kill him already.”

The razor is clean, shiny steel, perfect and quite.  The water lay still below it.  Dipping the blade in causes gentle ripples.  Calm like a lake.  I squeeze the handle and tremble at her words.

“Weak, that’s what you are.  Weak and stupid.  Weak, stupid, and inept.  Why are you still breathing, when Benny is not?  You who are the dirt under his toenail.  Why does your heart beat?  It is a crime against nature.”

I struggle to block out her words but they burrow like worms through my ears into my mind.  Competing with the thundering beat of my heart. I snap back at her. “Just give me a minute’s piece!”

“You want! You need! Yes, every little thing is about you, never caring for anyone else, certainly not me.”

Submerging my hands, I break the calm of the water. Before I realize it the blade is at my wrist.  A trickle of blood spreads from the tiny cut.  Pulling it across would end all this torment.  I could be at peace like the water.

“That’s it,” she sighs.  “Yes, kill him. Free the blood and let him die. It is only what you deserve you walking perversity of human creation.”

“A moment’s piece!” I yell.

“Peace is what you want? Never. You’ll never get an instant as long as I’m here.  It is my mission to end your miserable life.”

“Shut up!” I rip the blade from the water and slash it through the vaporous form of Momma. 

She laughs.  “Not again. You can only do that once. That’s why I’ll always be her for you, like a mother always should.  Reminding you of what a failure you are.”

I cry, my tears falling into the sink mingling with the water, which has a slight rosy tint from my blood.


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Books by Quantum Muse contributors and friends.
Quantum Musings

by Raymond Coulombe, Michael Gallant, Timothy O. Goyette

by Timothy O. Goyette

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