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Here is a story I wrote for a writer's group that I belong to. It's called "Ten Cents." I hope you enjoy it. It's a good five minute read, I think.


**
I had never thought of myself as anyone who was blessed or different. I just knew that from day one I would never get any slack. Not an inch. My pa had been a preacher. He was born of lust and decided that to atone for the sins of his parents he would sacrifice the livelihood of his children. Day in and day out we were told of the serpent, told of the evil that is inherent in all men. Pappy had told us that Ma was a sinner and when she met her death at the hands of her John that she went straight to a burning land. A land that smelled of burning flesh and sulphur. I like the smell of hamburger and smoldering matches. Hell can't be that bad.
I was five-of-seven, as our pa had called us. He never referred to us by our Christian names. Just our number. The only time he called us by our birthname was when we were either in trouble or about to be praised. I had been praised once, if I reckon correctly, and it was probably the first time I can actually remember him calling me by my name.
"Joseph," my pa had said "why don't you come down here and get your nickels for doing well at the schoolhouse."
I shot down the stairs in a blind flash. Littluns' can run fast and I was no exception. I snatched those nickels and awed at how large they was. I had held a nickel before and had seen a quarter, but nothing I could call mine. This was mine. But not everything you get stays with you.
A few days later my pa called me again. He said the magic word: Joseph. I was like a dog who always gets the scraps when he hears his name. Looking back now I can only think that I ran to my pa the same way an eager young soldier runs at the blazing barrels of his enemy. I was ten feet tall and bulletproof. Of course we all have to learn at a young age that just because you's is bulletproof doesn't not mean that a quick shot of the arm and the stone hand attached to it can't hurt you none. Because they hurt dearly.
"Did you enjoy church on Sunday, boy?" my pa asked me in a hushed tone. I knew that the walls of our kitchen held a surprise for me in their greasy, yellowed faces. They was all dimmed and I knew that I wasn't gon' get no money. Not even a penny or a metal slug to fool the chicle-gum machine with.
"I was at the church, pa." I said as only a stout youngin' could say. Shit eating grin plastered on my face, hoping that my mouth full of gaps would let my pa know that I was grown and that church wa'nt no big thing to me, but I still respects Jesus and his Ma. "I was happy that we got out a little early cause last week sermon was so long."
My pa had a way of looking right through us. No. Not through us, but into us. It was look that could stop a clan of chillens right in their path and make them pray that Jesus kept the punishment swift and painless. "Do you still have your nickels?" pa asked of me. I knew there was no way out of this. If I didn't have it, pa would ask me where I spent it. I can't lie to him and say I gave it to the church because he was right next to me and when he passed the plate my way I gave it to Mr. McGinty. But he would also scold me for spending it on some gum and marbles.
"Yessuh pa, I still have my nickels." I said and I drew them from my pocket. I ain't changed my overalls since pa had given me the nickels. I was fraid I'd lose it so I made sure to sleep with it. I only took em off when it came time to scrub clean.
"Why do you still have your nickels?"
"Because I wanted to save it until I had enough to buy my new car. My old wooden one is about done with and the string on the front keeps breaking cause the back tires lock up when I run with it too fast."
I loved my old wooden car. I'd had it since I was three and I was eight when I got the nickel. But I wanted a tin car. Like the boys at the Ridgemont School have. They have new shoes and stuff that pa can't afford, well, not anymore since he had taken up the bottle and stopped giving sermons. The church gave us what we needed and they let pa stay and work as a janitor but the money was not much when compared to what he was making before. When school started all seven of us had new clothes, at least two pair of dungarees and a pair of overalls. We even had new shoes. Two pairs! One for church and school and the other for play. Then ma died and pa washed away his sorrows. Away with his sorrows went our clothes and such. We had to start using the hand-me-downs. Even the clothes that Jimmy wore were hand-me-downs from the church. Most people couldn't believe it. The oldest boy had to wear other peoples unwanteds. It was a disgrace, but I guess everything about our family was. And here I was with pa in the kitchen, ready to cept a little bit more of the disgrace that would follow.
"Joseph," my pa says again "did you know that church needs a new window to replace one broke in the hail storm?"
I always wondered what that had to do with me. Even as I got older I always wondered why he brought up that damned window. So I pulled away a bits "Yeah, I know the rains leak in some and the wood gets wet cause the window ain't there no more."
"So why do you still have your nickels?" he jabbed at me. I knew he was liquored up but I thought that might give me more time to scape from him cause he was slower when liquored.
"I told you it's because," and that's all I said.
I guess the liquor didn't hold him too strongly, or maybe I was just too scared to move. But his fist came crashing up at me. Like a baseball bat to an orange. He was hard and I was just a hollow little kid but he didn't seem to mind. He made sure I was sorry for not giving the church my money. I was colored blue and purple for my sin.
I didn't eat nothin' that night or the next day. It hurts to eat or drink, smile or talk when your jaw's swelled up like mosquito who was just on your arm.
It wasn't the first time I received a whooping and it wasn't the last. I got whooped for all things. If I was bad I got whooped. If I was talking foul I got whooped. I got caught with Missy Jordan in the back of her pa's barn when I was fourteen and I got whooped. But I got off easy. My younger brother Paul had a kink in his arm where pa threw him against the wall and it broke in three places. Of course pa said that he fell off the motor-car and everyone believed him.
But it was my sisters who got the worst of it all. They were whooped when they was younger but as they got older they didn't get whooped so much. I guess pa didn't like to see black and green marks when he called them into the room. They stayed in his room for two or three hours and then went to their room and shut the door.
I only had one younger sister and she just got the beatins'. But my other three sisters were all older than I was. Annie was four-of-seven and she had a good two years on me. Of course that ended when she tried to run away. The next week she was put alone in the livery to sleep in the hay. Pa decided that she couldn't get out of the barn when it was locked up and such. For three days he went to that barn and let her know where her place was. He was pa and she was Annie and she would do as he said. He hadn't thought to remove the dressin' knife from the barn though. Annie put the knife to use and found her way to God.
Pa locked himself in his room when this was done. He told the law that Annie was a loon and that he tried to help her but she was too into marijuana and liquor to be saved. The lawmen took pity on pa. They said he was a strong man and that he was doing a good job with us.
Maybe pa did too well with us. Years of beatings and whoopings can take the soul out of a boy. And when I got older I still had my soul but it was dark. Even now, as I sit here in my chair I don't feel bad for what I'd done. He had it comin' to him. He made me the man I am and I don't feel no shame. When the judge asked me why I slit his throat and gave him a bloody grin from ear-to-ear I told him my story. I could see that he felt bad for us. But the law is the law and the law says I done wrong.
The newspapers had a heyday with me though. To some I was a cold-blooded murderer. Others saw me as a kid who had had enough and saved my family from any more torment. My brothers and sisters only saw me as the one who had the gumption to do what we all had wanted to do and that was just to make him stop.
So now I see the men with their hand laying on the switch. None of them want to pull it but one of them will have the courage to do so. That reminds of me and my siblins'. We all had the power to stop our pa. It could have stopped way before me. Maybe when Jimmy was nineteen and ready to leave he could have done us all a favor and put it to rest. I would have only been twelve. But it's better this way. Jimmy's a preacher now and he is raising his son proper.
So now all I can see is the darkness of my hood. I hate the way the leather around my wrist is making it all sweaty on my arm. The only thing I can think about right now is pa sitting back in his chair. Looking like a bloody, withered jack-o-lantern. Ha! Even in death he's scary. I always hated the pumpkin heads and the way they glowed. Gives me the heebie-jeebies for sure. But his eyes couldn't glow, even if they wanted to. The two nickels over his eyes was blockin' any light that may have wanted to pass.