FOREIGNERS GOD , peaky blinders

001,

FOREIGNERS GOD
ACT ONE, 001

TO BE BORN A SHELBY IS TO BE BORN WITH TRAGEDY IN YOUR BLOOD. from the day I entered this world, in the living room of the home I would go on to grow up in — my fate which I knew would resemble more of a Shakespearean tragedy had been written out for me. And the ink had dried before I would even have the chance to change it.

I'd grow up oblivious, with a doting mother and caring father ( who was only caring when he had a bottle in his hand). With three older brothers to protect me and an older sister to make sure I wasn't as naive as she was once. An aunt and cousins to play with, and eventually a younger brother too. And it would be good, it would be a life worth living.

Until, the first domino. Which was the death of my mother — a woman I believe I use to think of fondly and yet I can barely conjure up any memories of her as I pass her photo which frays with each passing moment on the mantelpiece of my aunts home.

The only memory I do have being the last I would ever share — the way she would ask for ' her Frannie' and in the midst of the people who had gathered to watch her draw her last breath. I'd be pushed to the front. Me looking to my brother Arthur who would nod his head that it was ok. 

The memory of holding her hand, the way everyone sobbed as we gathered around the bedroom that smelt stale but everyone was encased in their own grief to open a window.

The way I was naive  to what exactly was happening, looking for my mother in the hope I'd find comfort in what was happening. and after scanning the red blotchy faces of my family i looked back and she was already gone.

And then it would be my father, who lost his ability to be caring towards his children when it meant he had to drink less. It would be waking up one morning and no adult being there, left in the care of my older siblings until Polly would find out.

Our aunt still mourning the loss of her own husband and subsequently her children who were taken away — and in the light of the darkness she'd still find the time to take care of us.

And then, it would be the war — the letters sent to my three older brothers in recruitment. It would be standing on the train platform as I waved them off, not knowing if I'd ever see them again.

But maybe that was just the Shelby way. To have fear perpetuated so deeply into your bones that you confide in another other worldly entity to try and protect us from the tragedy.

But that's why I do it now. even though it's been a year since all three of my brothers returned safe from France. I will still get down on my knees and push the palms of my hands together and pray to whoever does reside in the sky. if anyone  actually does.

Squeezing my eyes so tightly shut that it begins to hurt, then again the thought that I am trading my pain in protection for them so they don't feel any.

The wooden panels of my bedroom floor sends chills on my bare legs. I'm still wearing my nightie, — either praying the first thing in the morning or the last thing at night.

My brothers tease me, that I still do it when they're home and safe — I don't really understand why I do it either, most likely the idea that if anything would happen to them, the guilt would fall onto my shoulders.

My hands push together and I rest my elbows on the mattress of my bed— looking up to the small light that bleeds through the gaps of the curtains.

Exhaling as I squeeze the eyes I've only just opened back close.