I done gone an’ punched him – Part I

Posted: February 11, 2014 in Short stories, starts & writing

I done gone an’ punched him as hard as I dosh-garned could, right on the chin, an’ the big man didn’t but flinch even a little!
I knew right then I was about to die. And, Dad burn it, I knew it was gonna hurt worser than no beatin’ ever hurten afore.

He just showed me his cracked setter yellow teeth in a real evil grimace an’ raised his big right paw in the air like he was reachin’ up to picker invisible apple. He held it up there an’ looked up at that apple.
An’ then he crushed it to pieces in his giant fist!
And I swear I could almost see the juices, I tell you, an’ smell the sweet pulpy flesh all squashed ‘n’ invisible, runnin’ down his tree-trunk arm an’ all I could thinker was how I missed my Pappy, him sittin’ on the porch with a jugger cider, watchin’ Mother hangin’ the washin’, an’ smell his big old pipe an’ that ripe old hat o’ his.
And then I remembered Mother cryin’ at the kitchen table, holdin’ the hat an’ breathing in her memories of Pappy.
And it done brought a prick to my eye thinking about it, it did.
And then “Tang!” an’ I was flat on my back an’ I could see my own cheek outer me left eye an’ all I could hear was this roaring red whistling noise.
That big man stepped out of the fog above me with that evil grimace still on his face an’ the crushed apple oozing in his fist.
I had a mind to try to kick the big son-of-a-gun, but I didn’t have no feeling in no parter my arms or legs an’ my cheek was looming up at me outer the corner of my eye an’ so was the big man looming above me in the fog an’ so I suppose I kinder muster just lie there starin’ up at the sky.

Starin’ up at the sky

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