“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Once more.”

Her son slid down the wall onto the hallway floor. He saw what they did.

‘Oh, God.”

“Jesus.”

He was helpless.

Helpless – while the woman who bore him was laid out with chest exposed and shocked with paddles by men overfilling their pale blue uniforms.

# # #

Helpless – while the woman who walked him to school, who intervened at school, who repaired his injuries, provided inoculations, taught him how to use a spoon, throw a ball, speak in public, who worked third shift to support him, visited him in confinement, never condemned his behaviors; his one constant amid the turmoil he created; as that woman who was never helpless was laid out on the floor, surrounded a stranger who said,

“Again.”

Silence. 

“Again.”

Silence.

“Stop.”

Then, lifting the paddles, said,

“Time of death…”

# # #

Thomas Elson’s short stories, poetry, and flash fiction have been published in numerous venues such as Calliope, Pinyon, Lunaris, New Ulster, Lampeter, among others. He divides his time between Northern California and Western Kansas.

Photo: Tadeusz Lakota