Pain seared through George's body, it burnt like hot embers. He felt his muscle rip like a piece of meat being torn apart, the skin stretch then finally tear in short, sharp, jagged fragments of agony. His scream was trapped in the back of his throat, because his breath had been forced from his lungs by the strength of the man's hand as he was pushed across the table. When it did come, it cut through the air in a long sharp screech; a train braking and skidding on cold steel rails.
"Shut ya mouth ya fuckin' shit." The hand pushed George's head hard against the cold smooth timber. "Ya keep yeself still until I's finished wid ya, ya little bastard." The man drove himself deeper into George's body.
George heard the man's breath being sucked in and his moan of pleasure as he thrust harder. He closed his eyes, his fingernails clawed at the table's top, tearing them from his skin. He no longer screamed. Hatred scorched his brain as the man kept pounding and tearing into his body. George took himself away from that moment. He concentrated on the feel of his cheek rubbing against the hard timber of the table's surface, as his body was involuntary being rocked to and fro. Through the tears in his eyes he watched as the black and white cat lay crouched in the corner of the room its body ready to pounce. The cat's tail swished ever so slowly like the pendulum of a clock. The mouse, which was cornered there, waited for its doom. Time seemed to stand still until with one final thrust it was finished and George was thrown from the table.
The blacksmith was at his face holding George's chin in a vice like grip. "And ye'll keep ya mouth shut. Ye tell anyone and I'll eat ya balls for breakfast."
Nausea overwhelmed George. His body shook in an uncontrollable spasm. Tears blurred his vision of the blacksmith's face. George didn't need to see the face. He knew and hated everything about it. It's fat puffy cheeks and bulbous nose, the pitted skin and large blood shot eyes, teeth that were rotten and a stench that never ceased.
"Ah you're a weak little runt. How ya whore of a mudder ever thought ye could become a blacksmith is over me head." Saliva dribbled down the blacksmith's chin. "Go on now and clean ya self, ya filthy little bastard and bring me some food!"
"Where is that man?" Mary thundered as she came through the back door.
Jessica was sitting at the kitchen table polishing the cutlery. "Who, Mary?"
"George of course, a person can never find 'im when she needs 'im," Mary was curt as she flustered around the room. "There ain't no fire wood, will you go fetch 'im from the barn, Jessica, I'm sure he must be there an tell 'im I needs fire wood."
Jessica jumped at the chance for a break from her task. Polishing silver was something she hated most.
George waited until the blacksmith was asleep. He crept across the room and seized the butcher's knife from its block. It was old and dry blood was encrusted on its yellowing bone handle. The blade was sharp, it glinted in the moonlight. George's small hand clasped it tightly. He let it fall to his side as he approached the sleeping man. His head pounded, filled with the knowing of what he was about to do. He lifted the knife and held the point to the vein that pulsed under the greasy white skin.
"Wake up you filthy pig!" He waited until the blacksmith registered what his fate would be then sank the blade deep into his throat. George watched as the blacksmith gasped for air. He grasped the blade with his second hand and twisted until the vein split and an eruption of hot blood spouted like a fountain and streamed across his hands. Its touch burned his skin. Tears streamed down his face. Exhausted George stepped back wiping away the tears with his blood stained hands. Fierce spasms caught at his stomach. He fell to his knees and vomited violently.
"You'll never touch another ya filthy pig," George screamed at the dying man.
When Jessica entered the barn no one was there. One horse snorted and stamped its foot at her arrival. Jessica loved horses and was a very capable rider. Without thinking she entered the big chestnuts stall and proceeded to rub her hands down its neck. The horse nudged her.
"You're a pushy one aren't you?" She giggled.
When it nudged her again she was forced to take a step backwards, bumping into someone. Thinking it was George she turned saying, "George, Mar..." but she stopped in mid-sentence and looked up at Louis. "Oh," she ended looking to the floor.
He was a man now and his hands held his opponent by the throat, his mind raced and flicked with the memories of his childhood. George looked into this man's eyes and saw the blacksmith. The chanting crowd, who were cramped into the old warehouse, called for him to end it.
"Out! Out! Out!" Their fists held high in frenzied excitement. Sweat crawled down George's face. It streamed into his eyes and blinded him. The chants continued. The crowd waited in anticipation. "Out, knock 'im out!" They roared.
George pulled his fist back then took one more look at his now victim's face. The man was dazed and groggy from the punishment he had already endured. George let his hand drop to his side.
The crowd booed and hissed, "What are ya? Take him!"
George turned and faced the crowd. He lifted his hands, their palms facing upwards and shrugged his shoulders. He smiled then turned back to his opponent, who was still on bent knees, and pushed him lightly with one hand. The man fell backwards, unconscious. George raised his palms to the crowd once more and tilted his head to the side.
The crowd began to laugh, they cheered and applauded. George, they knew was no snake in the grass, if he was going to pound a man into oblivion, he wanted that man to know about it and to remember it.
"What are you doing here?"
"Sorry, Master." Jessica kept her head down.
"I did not ask for an apology. I asked what you were doing here."
"Mary has sent me to find George, Master," she whispered.
"Look at me when you speak to me," Louis growled.
Jessica remained with her face to the floor and said nothing.
Louis sighed. "So we do battle again do we, Jessica?"
Still she kept her eyes to the floor.
Louis reached for her chin and forced her head upwards. "Look at me." His teeth were clenched, his voice deep. When she kept her eyes focused downwards he added, "Now!"
Jessica tried to pull away from his hold, but his grip was firm. When he felt her pull against him, he tightened his grasp even more, the pain made her wince, but she refused to succumb.
"Why Jessica? Why do you refuse to look at me?"
Jessica raised her head and looked straight into Louis' eyes. She let her gaze burn into his and said, "Because I can!"
Louis stunned, smirked sarcastically. "Touché!" He released her chin with a slight shove of his hand. "Get back to the house."
She came to him while he was cleaning the blood from his hands. She was young and sweet. The only connection to what was truth and softness in his life. Gabrielle wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head against his chest. George tilted her face upwards. He could see the tears he knew would be there, filling her amber eyes.
"Why do you do this?" She whispered.
He bent and gently touched her lips with his, then wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb. "You know why I do this," he murmured.
Gabrielle nestled her head against his chest once more. George lifted her soft brown hair to his face and rubbed it against his cheek. He sighed and then pushed her tenderly away from him. "Gab; let me clean up, you're getting yourself dirty."
She nodded and watched as George undressed and washed his body clean from the sweat and blood of his night's bout. She knew when they got home to their room; he would want her body naked and close to him, and that he would cry out her name in his moment of total oneness with her.
Louis ran his hands through his hair and walked in a circle, a smile on his face. A feeling of admiration filled him, she was not only beautiful, but she was clever too. He knew now how he could get closer to her and involve her more in his life.
They walked through the dark back alley to reach their home she clung to his arm, feeling safe and protected. Two men stepped out of the shadows and called his name, George pushed Gabrielle behind him.
"Hey, Georgie that's a nice bit of skirt ye got there. How about ye share, we ain't 'ad any skirt for a long time." The two men sneered and looked at each other.
George saw the knife as it sliced through the sleeve of his coat. He pushed Gabrielle out of the way. "You'll run, Gab when I tells ya, and you'll not stop till you get home, ya hear?"
She did not answer.
"Ya hear!" He yelled and she nodded. George stepped forward. He felt blood run down his arm and drip from his fingertips. "Run!"
George watched them from the back of the barn. He saw the way Louis looked at Jessica. He knew and remembered the way he had once looked at the woman he loved. George smiled. Tears filled his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks.
When they found him, he lay sodden in blood. His left eye had been almost ripped from its socket. The man lying next to him was dead. A knife plunged through his heart. George woke in the prison infirmary. Gabrielle seated next to him. Her face was red and swollen. Her lips trembled. She was holding his hand. He squeezed hers; she looked at him with relief on her face.
"Did they hurt you?" He whispered. His throat horse and sore.
She shook her head and began to cry.
George touched her hair. "Why are you crying?"
"You killed one of them George, and though I know the sod deserved to die, they have charged you with his murder," she blurted. "George," she whispered. "George they're going to take you away from me!"
She visited him many times while he was in the hulks waiting to be transported. Each time she came her stomach had swollen a little more. The week before he was moved to the transportation ship she brought him a son.
George never saw them again.
Copyright © 2019 Donna Fieldhouse. All rights reserved.
Sorry it's been a while. Thanks for sticking with me. xoxo