As we contemplate the passing of one of our elders, I am unfortunately reminded of some horrific events from the past. The treachery of sadistic and jealous cousin(s) from long ago.
In an alternate history, my mind paints me a picture of my brother (who has become one of the finest men I know) and I impaled or horrifically disfigured from the pitchforks that were strategically placed beneath the cushion of hay below the bales we all jumped off of--in the old barn on the farm.
Had the younger of them not warned me, we may be dead or maimed right now. Would they think about the treacherous and murderous thing they had done (today)? Bad enough it was when they sabotaged the mini bike trail or when he made pinholes in my new toy so it would deflate later after they left our house. But how could he or they plot to kill us when we were just children playing in a barn?
Of course most of the adults refused to believe it at the time; and I would have gladly forgotten it myself--but the mere sight of them has brought back the horrors and left me wondering at the blackness in the hearts of children who could kill and torture animals out of their own fears and insecurities and then booby-trap the farm to kill their relatives and playmates.
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