Clarkson hates his identical twin brother, his mother demonstrates her love for his brother in this novel, which is the first in a thrilling trilogy.
Farren was sitting adjacent, my hand moved to hers. I apologised to look good and Farren was approachable. We ate steak and fries with milk; the food restored my flagging spirits.
The Pit Stop
Rhea graced the production unit, she sported knee-length boots her legs were long and slim. Next to Rhea, Farren appeared rangy, her hair was spiky some spines had flattened. Rhea studied me hopefully. She consigned her arms around my middle contact was unwelcome, principally when in company. Bending over the hood, I persevered with the work. Rheanna departed from the gas station. Turning the engine over, I wiped my hands on my coveralls the car was running well. I sloped to the spare yard, by the small tree I worshiped, conversing with the tree I told it about the concerns.
"Where have you been?” Farren asked.
I said nothing, but I collided into her, she fell to the ground corresponding to a heavy stone.
“Clarkson pushed me over,” Farren said to Perry.
“You are mistaken and you need a coffee,” I replied.
Grinding the tablets, I mixed the coffee with a measure from the sleeping powder. I disguised the bitter taste with plenty of sugar. Drinking the potion, she commenced to yawn. Farren struggled to keep her eyes open I could see her leaving the premises.
“I cannot work now,” she said.
Farren departed from the workshop and she did not return it was another victory.
Charlenson dialled Hanson was in the hospital, I wished she would leave me out of Hanson's affairs.
“You must go and see him he has cancer, if it was you they would come and see you.”
“Yes, I agree they would come to gloat.”
Adamant Sis pushed me, I did not want to, because she was the elder of the three of us, Sis managed to get us to do what she wanted. Perturbed, the deliberation about spending time with Hanson and Mother was daunting, Charlenson was not with me and I wished she had come, but she was unwell, I considered her actions were intentional.
“Keep cool,” the Narrator said.
“It will be hard.”
“We know you can do it,” the Orator replied.
Finding the area, Mother presided over the room, large and it seemed as if she was the only person in it. Mother’s silvery-blonde hair was held up by a silver-clasp. She opened her mouth and the abhorrence erupted.
“I hate you.”
I could smell the same perfume Mother used when a kid. Seeing Hanson in pain, I examined his face, my visage was the same, but his skin was tight. Remembering the past, my brain travelled to when Mother singed my boy-tool with her death-stick, I quailed. Straddling and raping me, Mother moved in rhythm with the music inside her head. Fear juice masked my small body, I swore I would repay womankind for the pain inflicted physically, mentally and emotionally. I quieted the screams that threatened to tear from my tortured soul. The black-angels sang songs of sorrow.
“You cannot scream in here,” the Presenter said.
Mother clutched my arm with her fleshy hand she detected the terror. I reeled from Hanson’s room I leant against the wall fright on my face. Straggling back in Hanson’s room, reflecting on those things haunting me, she could not punish me now, except with the whip from her tongue, and the cut lashed me to ribbons.
“You are despicable,” she said.
Swearing again, silvery-blonde-haired women would receive the reprisal, because of torment inflicted, and it caused me to feel better. Leaving the hospital drained, the encounter with Mother had taken its toll.
“We knew you could do it.”
“Yes, but it is not you facing the monster that is mother.”
“No, but we are proud of you.”