| Task 4: A Scene With Tension |

The hole is getting bigger. Even with the rain letting some of the dirt slide back in. A puddle was starting to form at the bottom and it caused a little splash when I stabbed it with the shovel. Shifting dirt from the ground and turning it over onto a large pile beside it. That’s the noise it made as I bit into it with the shovel. Not ‘dig’ but ‘shift’. Shift… shift… shift.

How long are you going to be digging that hole? a voice in the back of  my head asked me. I ignored it and watched the rain dripping from my face and remerging with the rest of the rain before hitting the ground, helping fill the hole with more water. Do you think it’s deep enough? It was deep enough to fit a body in it. Whose body? Although not so deep it would never be accidentally uncovered. Six feet under, isn’t it? I was covered in mud now. Who are you going to put to bed in here? I can hear it in the back of my head. Me? I can hear her screaming at me. A muffled scream because of that eternal cigarette placed between her wrinkled lips. Your mother? And then I hear the sound of a belt. That one got you good. I can smell the alcohol. I’ve been smelling it for years. There’s no way someone could put it in front of me and I wouldn’t know what kind of beer it was. So your father then?

I stopped digging and looked at the edge of the hole. It was up to my chest now. My pockets were empty. That ‘older sister’ had taken the last of it. Did she put it up her nose this time? I start digging again. Whose body? How many lashes does it look like I have on my arm now? Some of those are scratches. Like when a cat tries to get away. Only… it wasn’t a cat, was it? Sh. Why? You know as well as I do. Are you angry? You’re so angry and yet you dig this hole with a steady heart. There’s a moment of silence. Whose body? I don’t answer. Whose-?

“Sissy?”

I look up out of the hole to see big, brown, puffy eyes looking at me from under a raincoat. His hands are together and he’s trying to look at me properly through the rain. He’s got a fresh bruise on his face and if I look hard enough there’s snot he’s trying to sniff back up.

“Sissy, what are you doing?”

I look at the shovel and then the hole and then up at him. He’s rubbing his hand. “She burn you with a cigarette again?” He doesn’t say anything. Whose body? “He smack you with the metal roller again?” Nothing. Which one?

“Why are you diggin’ the hole?” he asked through the rain again. He hiccupped a little. He was recovering from crying.

He’s sad. He’s so sad. Pick one. Pick one and make him happy.

“Did you lose somethin’?” His lips are trembling. “Sissy. It’s scary. Sissy… say somethin’.”

That’s right. You’re always there to comfort him. He calls him a bitch and she calls him a bother. And what just the eldest one say? ‘Not… my… problem’. He’s so small. So fragile. I know this. I’ve always known this. Sometimes I’ve wondered how he’s survived the beatings. Perhaps like me? Perhaps he’s going to get used to it and become like me? That’s a good thing. Like each other, not like them. Pick one. Whose body? Suddenly I can’t stop smiling. It’s a stretched grin as my eyes widen. Whose-?

“Come here,” I say to him. I beckon with my smile. “Come here. I’ll show you,” I coax. What… what are you doing? I start to shake as he walks toward me, trusting. “I’ll protect you down here.” I’m laughing when I grab his little hand. It’s so small, so soft and cold from the rain. So small.