To Grope for Hope (Part 1)

‘There is a certain type of ferocity in a child's curiosity.’

It shone like spun sugar, wound a thousand times until it gleamed. Twinkling this way and that, it's movements mirrored mine. My three-year old brain frowned, puzzled by the sheer novelty of it. It was stretched taut, seemingly suspended on a limbo, caught between reality and illusion. I squinted my eyes to see where it began and where it ended. It was hard to find, and it was only visible when the sun hit it. Two, four, six steps ahead, and it was gone! Two, four, six steps back, and it was back! I let out a delighted squeal at this made-up game. I locked my feet at the precise point where the spider web was visible as day. While my now apricot-sized eyes were making their way through its length, a huge hand forced its way through, tearing it apart, and clenched painfully around my mop of curly brown hair.

"Whatrr ya doing?", it slurred.

Conditioned learning kicked it and spiked an instantaneous bout of fear, ignited by the man that voice heralded.

"D-dadda, I look at pr-pretty things.", I whimpered back. I knew I should act like a brave and strong boy, not for myself but for Mommy. Dadda was always angry at Mommy if I didn’t. But looking at the tattered remains of the web made my eyes well up, and my lower lip to jut out of its own accord.

Gruff, heavy breathing was the only response.

Then came a whopping punch square in the face, hitting the pouted lip in its most vulnerable state. The skin broke instantly and red blossoms bloomed and fell in a matter of seconds.

"Stop that whining and pouting. Boys like you aren't worthy of pretty things."