Birdsong

The music almost kills me today.

It is a childhood memory. The song that would play as my father hunted and brought local wildlife to the garage. It would play as I cried for my mother, begging her not to go to work. Terrified of spending time with this hulk of a man.

Today the song comes on the radio again. I can smell that garage. Hear those birds.

My subsequent tears almost cause an accident on the motorway. When I pull over onto the hard shoulder I sit for twenty minutes, thinking about my mother.

25 thoughts on “Birdsong

  1. You’ve written a powerful story about the lasting influence of childhood abuse. You don’t spell out the detail, but you don’t need to. It’s obvious that the abuse was violent and prolonged, and quite probably caused the death of the narrator’s mother.

    Like

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