Chapter 6 - The Roots Beneath the House
From the absolute blackness of the hole, something moved.
A small cloud of dust drifted upward into the natural light of the living room.
Then, a hand emerged.
It was a child's hand.
The fingernails were packed thick with black dirt.
The knuckles were scraped raw, weeping clear fluid.
The small, trembling fingers reached up and curled over the jagged, splintered edge of the floorboard.
The man froze, his knees locked against the wood.
He leaned his weight forward, bringing his face closer to the hole.
The camera angle shifted, looking up from the cold, damp darkness of the crawlspace.
A boy’s face materialized in the shadows.
He was perhaps seven years old.
His cheeks were hollow, streaked with mud and dried tears.
His eyes were massive, adjusting painfully to the sudden intrusion of daylight.
He stared up at the man in the grey Henley.
The boy's lips parted.
They were cracked and bleeding in the center.
"Daddy..."
The word was weak, carrying the rasp of severe dehydration.
By the sofa, the woman stood completely paralyzed.
Her hands were still clamped over her mouth.
Her jaw hung open behind her fingers in a silent, unending scream.
The baby in the yellow overalls crawled to the edge of the hole.
He looked down at the dirty boy.
He looked up at the man.
"You planted a brother."
The baby patted the floorboard.
"But you forgot to water him."
The man slowly turned his head.
May you like
He looked at the woman backed against the sofa.
The gold-headed sledgehammer rested quietly on the floor between them.
