Childhood Recollections

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        I started where I should have to begin with, with Ellanna's childhood. Recalling these fragments was the longest, and hardest part of the process. The only point of reference I had, was the glimpses of Carrie's house that I saw when worrying about her Father's reaction to her ruined Sunday clothes. I saw dark wood floors and dark stone walls. The layout in my mind is a mismatched jumble of these walls intersecting at odd angles, towering over me in the most threatening way. One clear image is one of standing beside a wall, and peeking into the kitchen. In a place that I cannot locate, there was a pot or pan hanging on the wall.
        Focusing on this, I got a very clear image of my parents. My mother was a slight woman, with hair the color of wet red clay, and my father had a huge, fat face, and pale hair that was too dull to be blond, but that was not quite grey. He was always sweating, and my recollections of him were mostly of him screaming at my mother, or hitting me with his belt. I had the sense that I didn't like him, and that he invaded my space a lot.
        I feel that one time, he tried to kiss me full on the mouth, and I didn't like that one bit! (Trying not to draw conclusions, as these memories may have been tampered with). I do know, however, that my mother walked in on us, and saw him doing something that he shouldn't have been doing, but before she could even utter a word, he turned and decked her. I think even Ellanna, in her old age, looked back on this moment with vivid horror. The memory from there seemed to move in slow motion, and I saw exactly how it was that my mother dropped to the floor, and how the light fell on her. I saw the look on her face, and the way her eyes rolled back into her head as she stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. The impact of his huge fist with her delicate features crushed them, and blood poured out of her nose and eyes in profusion. I was enraged. I was overcome with a kind of emotion that is hard to describe. It was not the impotent rage of a child, and it was not mixed with fear. I thrust my arms out, and I could feel all of my anger and hatred traveling like an electrical current down my arms, and leaping off of my hands in arcs of energy as my vision went black. I couldn't see what happened after that.
        The next thing I saw, was a trial. It was the kind of impromptu trial that they have in westerns that usually involves a bunch of excited people responding to the adrenaline rush of an impending kill, a small platform for the accused, and a noose. I simultaneously saw the crowd through Carrie's eyes, and saw Carrie. She was dressed in simple brown, her hair half tied back with a small piece of yarn. She looked somehow old, sad, and very tired. She accepted with resignation that she was going to die.
        "Do you have any last words?" someone asked. It was a male voice. I couldn't see where it was coming from.
        "May God have mercy on your bitter souls," I said. The crowd roared. And then someone pushed through the crowd.
        "Stop!" he cried... I don't recall exactly what he said, but I remember that he claimed his right as clergy to spend at least a full night with the accused, in order to press a confession, and to save my soul. The crowd crossed themselves dutifully, and granted his request. He took me away.