The Darkest Child

by Delores Phillips

I round the bend, running from Fife Street to Penyon Road, and I see my mother. She is standing on the front porch, staring down past the field and directly at me. She turns her back and opens the front door. I think she is going inside, deserting me in the presence of my enemies, and I scream for her again. “Mama! Mama!” Martha Jean and Tarabelle emerge from the house. My mother rushes them toward the road, and they obey. My warriors charge the battlefield without armor, attacking my predators, pulling clothes, and hair, and skin, drawing blood and screams of terror, as I fall to the dirt, panting and crying. Above the noise of my pounding heart and panting breath comes the distinct sound of bone cracking. I turn my head slowly and see three of the girls running back toward Fife, and the unlucky fourth sitting on the road, holding her right arm with her left hand. Tarabelle circles the girl once, then turns her cold eyes on me, and before I can blink, she rams a knee into the girl’s face. Martha Jean, a long red welt running from ear to chin, helps me to my feet and delivers me into the waiting arms of my mother.