Metamorphosis

His rigidity raised an iron wall between me and my sister. We have never met since he forced me to leave.

She takes me to the room where his open casket fills the room. The nauseating scent of lilies is heavy and laden with self-righteous anger. We both endured his eruptions… only I escaped. 

Did he ever cease tearing up newspapers or yell at the TV? I’m not crying but still, take my sister’s hand as we look at him. 

Through the wrong end of the long telescope of time he has shrunken to a frail little man; withered into a husk of my monster.

‘He asked for you daily since you left’
‘But he never bothered to call’ 
‘Still… ‘
‘I’m sorry Sis… but I couldn’t… I can’t’

Finally parted with childhood I leave her alone, content that he cannot hurt her… or me. 

Metamorphosis by Wojciech Siudmak

Today we write prosery at dVerse, Kim hosts and she wants us to include the line

We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time

from the poem ‘Humming Bird’ by D.H. Lawrence. Prose should be maximum 144 words in total.

October 12, 2020

29 responses to “Metamorphosis

  1. The ache, the sadness mingled with other emotions as one parts with a certain individual, a chapter in life, is drawn so eloquently here. The image of “the nauseating scent of lilies,” is particularly poignant! 💝

  2. You chose an amazing drawing to go with your touching piece, Björn, which sadly reminded me of my mother’s metamorphosis. I never got to see her in her casket, though, which was up to my sister, not me. No lilies either, but some self-righteous anger.

  3. sadly far too many have such experiences … you take us right there without too much detail but enough grasp of another dysfunctional family

  4. “The nauseating scent of lilies is heavy and laden with self-righteous anger. ”
    Say so much for the relationship between the brother looking out for his sister even at the time of the father’s last farewell. This is sad

    Thanks for dropping by my blig today Björn

    Much💛love

  5. Bjorn, your story resonates deeply and I get a sense it’s not all fiction. We must thank the heavens for moments of clarity like this:
    “Through the wrong end of the long telescope of time he has shrunken to a frail little man; withered into a husk of my monster.”
    I’m glad the MC went back, even if only for the funeral, just for that shining light.

  6. Yes, you and I are on the same wavelength (odd for such a light-hearted poem). In that one sentence – ‘Did he ever stop…?’ he’s there – and the poet’s guilt and sister’s forbearance. Such a lot in 144 words.

  7. Awesome telling, Bjorn. Your closing line truly blows me away, as (not for the same reason) I’ve recently had to say the same to my sister.

    Survivorship…

  8. Bjorn, your words are so powerful throughout but this moment of realization grabbed me the most: “Through the wrong end of the long telescope of time he has shrunken to a frail little man; withered into a husk of my monster.”

  9. You’ve crammed a lot of emotion into this short piece, Bjorn. The telescoping of time really comes through, as the narrator returns to scenes from his childhood following the monster’s death. I like the picture you have used as well.

  10. An excellent and realistic tale. Sadly, there is far too much abuse that leaves children battered psychologically for life. Some are lucky to escape the physical abuse but the emotional scars are hard to erase.

  11. What a powerful story Bjorn. If it’s true story you have my deepest sympathy. I can relate completely. For me it was my adoptive mother that made my childhood a bit of a nightmare, along with her mother who lived with us. I essentiallyMoved out of the house at age 14 to live in a house with the band which I was performing with – I was the lead singer and they welcomed me. They were older guys end knew my situation. My adoptive father however was a saint. It was his love in guidance that kept me sane and helped me become a reasonably good human being. He and I kept in Constant close touch. I would come home late at night on many nights, even spend the night, unless it got unbearable between my mother and I. Then I would go sleep at the band house. I never saw my mother buried in as much as I simply could not be around her, I still wish it had been different.Again if that is your experience that you’ve laid out in words my heart goes out to you.

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