"Although I wasn't there."
1973
After his fathers death due to an explosion down the mines Norman stepped into his fathers boots as a miner, not out of admiration of course. But because it felt inevitable, like the weight of his fathers pathetic legacy was pressing down on him even beyond the grave. Like if he didn’t he’d wrap his cold, rough hands around his neck and throttle him.
People would tell him that it was painless.That The flames erupted quickly and he died without a whisper. Norman was a smart boy who knew that wasn’t true. He’d hoped it wasn't true. He secretly wished in those meer moments of his death he experienced ten times the pain that he’d caused him throughout his childhood. Though he didn’t wish it on all of them.
11 workers died that day.
Thomas Blackwater, a close friend of his fathers, also perished. If the saying, opposites attract, is true it certainly applies here. Thomas was a kind loving soul who provided for his family and was rightfully respected by the community.
Growing up, everyone thought Norman would marry his daughter Twill. She, like her father, was quiet and sweet, though Norman secretly found her dull. But it's what his father wanted, and although he despised his father he was scared of him. He was so scared of him. His fathers temper was a storm and he didn't dare stand against it.
He would have done anything for his father, when he was alive. So when he died he lost something, a purpose. As he didn’t want to marry Twill and his father wasn’t around to pressure him into doing so . He thought it was only right to please him and continue the family tradition and become a miner.
Growing up, Twill was a fragile, sickly child. Diagnosed with sickle cell disease, few believed she would live to see adulthood. Yet, her parents held onto hope, often fantasizing about a future where she would walk down the aisle with a respectable man,someone like Norman.
It was a bittersweet dream, especially since Twill was mostly confined to her bed. No one expected her to live a vibrant life, let alone marry. But while Twill remained indoors, an unexpected bond grew between Norman and her younger brother, Antony.
Only 11 months apart in age, the two boys were inseparable, sharing a love for climbing trees, catching flies, and wandering the countryside.Their friendship went beyond childhood antics. Norman’s home life was anything but happy. His father’s temper was harsh, and his punishments often left bruises and cigarette burns on Norman’s arms.
Antony’s mother, a nurse, was quick to notice. Whenever Norman came over, beaten and battered, Antony would quietly disappear into the cupboards, emerging moments later with the perfect ointment. Together, they cared for Norman in ways his own. For Norman, Antony’s home became a sanctuary, a place where laughter softened pain, and kindness eased the sting of cruelty.
“I can’t see…”
His voice barely above a whisper. Rain was pelting down on him, blood mixing into the puddles rapidly gathering under his feet. His hand ghosted over his injured eye where a shard of glass had been brutally lodged in with such force it made him dizzy to think about.
“I can’t see.”
He was hyperventilating now, his breaths leaving his mouth erratic gasps. Rain poured into his open mouth and he choked on the freezing water. He was drowning. His cries were lost in the peels of thunder until the door creaked open and a glowing light enveloped his face.
“Norman..?”
His eyes adjusted to the familiar comforting light.It was Antony who had answered the door.
“What the fuck- Your eye! Jesus- come inside.”
Norman wobbled dangerously walking into the small house, his party hat still perched on his head. Antony was looking at him with such intensity it made his good eye throb.
“Come sit, I'll be right back.” Antony babbled under his breath, riddled with nerves and practically ran out the room. Norman half collapsed onto the antique floral chair he’d been offered. He’d thought, in the back of his mind that he probably should’ve picked a less expensive one, he had no doubt bled all over it. But it hurt to think. He leaned his head back in a daze as he listened to the rummaging in the other room trying to tune the blaring noise out . Antony came back clutching bandages and some sought of medicine he didn’t recognise.
“Uhm, this is Twills medicine when she’s in pain, just drink all of it there's not a lot left.” He handed him the bottle of medicine and watched him with the same intensity as before as he drank it. “And this will hurt,” he said, handing him another bottle.
Gingerly, he opened the second bottle and swallowed the minty liquid. He should have savoured the feeling of the cool liquid pouring down his throat but it was too late.
He bit down on his sleeve to muffle the screams as they began to tear out of him. When Antony tore out the piece of green glass he was almost disappointed he didn’t pass out, the pain was excruciating even with the medicine.He wrapped up his wound with care and begged him to stay but he knew the wrath of his father couldn’t be put off, it was , like most things in his life, inevitable.
Antony wasn’t at their usual spot next to the oak tree, the following afternoon. He didn’t see him for a week after the incident. Apparently Antony had mistaken the medicine for another and given him one Twill, really really needed. No wonder he was in so much pain. With her required medicine gone, Twill didn’t make it another night. She succumbed to her illness and Antony was taking the blame.
He found this all out from his milkman. His father no doubt knew every detail, being Thomas’s best friend since childhood and all. But behind closed doors he couldn’t give a rat's ass.