----- roots: A tale of differences -----

	The dusky sky led me to believe that if I didn't make it home in time, that momma would kill me. I have problems getting home on time when I work so far away, but she doesn't seem to care at all. I hurry home after breaking my back for old Prescott, the 'mini-hitler' who runs our docks. When I get home, there's usually a scolding and a plate of hot chicken waiting just outside the door for me. 
	I rememeber one time that my brother Jacklo came home almost an hour late. Momma flayed him with her apron, and he couldn't work for almost two days it was so bad. I cried when she almost killed him. I'm so glad he managed to move out before she got around to finishing what she'd started.
	The uneasy silence that followed me into the house was surprising. I was used to so many lashings, and stern looks down an eaglebeak nose. This was new. This was different to me. I trod carefully into the den, looking for any signs of momma. She wasn't in the den, but as I exited it; there she stood in all her apron'd glory. The bitch had spraypainted it fifty different colors, all neon. It hurt to look at her too long, and I tried to find things in the room that would keep my attention away from her pinched, bitter, ugly face.
"You are late. This time, however, I am not going to yell at you or hit you."
"No? Thanks, momma.. That's real nice of you, momma."
 She'd always insisted on being addressed as 'momma' after each and every sentence. Behind her back, I called her bitch. She exemplified a bitch; evil demeanour, and a smell that could never be gotten used to. 
"Where's the money, Walter?"
"Here it is momma... Fifty three cents, momma."
"Good, Walter. This will buy us a loaf of bread, which will have to last us through the week. So ration yourself."
	I knew that she spent it all on herself anyway, so I just said nothing. Momma always took from her kids, in return, she fed them and used them as ol' punching bags.
I took off to my room, to be alone for a few minutes before dinner. The reception tonight had been so eerily different from any other day, that I was afraid something drastic was to follow. After mulling it over for what seemed like seconds, I was called down for dinner.
	Momma's kitchen is like salvador dali's painting of 'hell', to me. there're all sorts of knives sticking into the walls, and in the cutting board. the fridge door is made of cardboard, and ourtoaster is a gas burner and aluminum grille that you have to hold, and it always overheats and burns your hand. I hate the kitchen almost as much as I hate momma.. But for some reason, I just know that if I ever tried anything, she'd skin me with one of the knives and eat me.
"Walter, please pass the tomatoes."
"Yes, momma.."
	The strategy I had cooked up to ask momma a question without sounding flippant erased all else from my brain. I turned it over and over in my head like a shiny new quarter. It got duller and duller with every turn, though. I just had to say something to her. I felt that something was horribly wrong. Something that could kill us both if I weren't careful enough.
"Walter, dear. Did I ever tell you about my sister, Guinnavere?"
"No, momma. I didn't know you had any sisters, momma." I said, dumbfounded. I imagine that any of her siblings would be just as evil, if not moreso than her. I was soon to find out, because she seemed intent on telling me.
"She lives in New Mexico. It's dreadfully hot down there... At least we live on the blessed coast."
"Indeed, momma."
"Well, my sister and I grew up together in Texas, but I never liked the heat. That's why we live here in new orleans, Walter. We moved here to escape the horrible heat. It was so bad you couldn't even _think_, Walter."
"It was that bad, momma?" I posed the query as I moved out of my seat; I wanted another glass of water.
"It's no use, Walter. There's no water left. Our bill didn't get paid on time, so the utilities shut down."
	I had been wondering at the absence of light in our house, so far.. I guess momma hadn't scrimped enough to pay off the owner of the utilities. Well, this was getting better every minute!
"Guinnavere and I grew up in Texas. Our father was a hard man, bringing home the pay at the end of the workday so that we could eat and have new clothes once a year. He was a hard man, Walter. He gave his life so that I could have a better one. Now I realize that through the years, I have been hard on you Walter. I have beat you down, and yelled at you... And poor Jacklo. I ran him into the ground, because he would always keep the pennies."
"That's why Jacklo left, momma? You ran him out?" I began to eye one of the sharper and more hefty knives stuck into the wall right next to momma's back.
"Yes, Walter. I ran him out of the house. I didn't want any slackers in my house."
	I boggled at this last statement. There was something in momma's eyes that told me her deepest feeling about Jacklo. The entire time that I stood there, staring into her eyes, I swear there was fear... It was as if she had read my intention when I glanced at the knife in the wall.
"Guinnavere wrote me a letter yesterday, telling me about some things. Telling me about things I had almost forgotten... Things.. Walter, that would make your eyes bleed and your ears melt with the mere utterance of them."
"Sounds scary, momma."
"Walter.. I am about to tell you something of great importance.. You must PROMISE me that you will never tell another person as long as you live. Not a soul, Walter. Do you promise? Do you PROMIE me, walter?"
"I... I promise you, momma."
"Good, walter. Now I shall tell you. Come closer, Walter."
"Yes, Momma." I had no choice but to obey her..
"Walter, I want you to know that I am not your momma. I never have been, Walter. Do you remember when you were about five, Walter?"
"Y..Yes, mo... I mea.." I was confused as all hell at this latest turn of events. All my life, I'd been raised by this woman, this stern egomaniac with a technicolour apron and a ladle that could crack the skull of a raccoon. All my long life I had been raised to say "Yes, momma - no, momma - please, momma".. And now I was hearing that this bitch was not my mother.
"Please don't be angry with me, Walter.. I didn't do it to hurt you.."
	This is when I can say with utter confidence that I snapped. Either this was some intricate plot to break my already fragile mind, or this bitch was giving lie to years of my life. I would not stand for it. Not from her.. Not ever.
"What in the name of the good lord are you saying, woman?! 'Never did it to hurt me' my right eye and your left toe! By the vapourous balls of the holy ghost, what prank are you trying to pull!?"
"Walter.. don't be angry with me please! Let me finish!"
I made a move for that knife on the wall. Amazingly enough, she didn't lift a finger to stop me. I just slid it out of the wall, and held is against the back of her neck, digging in slightly.
"Speak. Make it quick, woman. Tell me the truth, or I'll have your head on a pole before you know it!"
"Walter dear.. please.. sit down.. Listen to me!" she said this so urgently and without malice that I felt torn. The conflicting emotions in the room rose to the boiling point...
"Guinnavere is your real mother, Walter. She entrusted you to me when you were just a little baby boy, Walter. I promised her that I would take good care of you, Walter. Do you remember that lady that came to stay here overnight when you were five? On your birthday? I told you it was an old friend of mine, Walter. It was Guinnavere..."
"We stayed up late talking about you, Walter. She told me of things that... Things not meant for a human's ears, Walter. She told me about this so that I would be able to keep it from you, and at the same time, prepare you to face your destiny."
I snapped at her "Destiny? What destiny, woman? Do tell!"
"It is complicated, but I shall try."
"There was a man, who worked for my father.. All those years ago in Texas. He was an odd man, who liked to buy Guinnavere and I candy every sunday on our way home from church. He did this year after year after year... As we grew older, he seemed to stay the same age. It ws always the same smiling face staring at us, as if we were candy on the store shelf."
"Eventually, our father saw his ways, and killed him. I was never quite sure why until later in life, but now I know for certain. There is an evil that stalks among the heated lands of this earth, looking for young victims to prey upon, Walter."
"That is why we live in new orleans, Walter. That evil cannot get to us here, Walter."
"What are you ranting about, momma? Are you sure you're feeling allright?"
"WALTER! Damnit... I am truly dorry for abusing you years upon end.. But you must put that behind you and hear me out... Otherwise, you'll end up dead and we'll have to wait another ..."
"Another WHAT?"
"nevermind, Walter.."
	After she was done screaming at me for mercy, I managed to extract the rest of the story from her. When I managed to clean up the mess, I looked at her, very crooked teeth, very crooked smile.. the cuts on her hands and back were deep. A Little deeper than I had intended, but now I knew. I knew what it was she'd hid me from all these years. Sadly, the only way she could do it was to deprive me of innocence. The Evil, as she chose to call it, only took young and innocent victims. That, combined with its preference for hotter weather, had kept me safe. 

	I woke up, not exactly knowing where I was. The drapes covered the dusty windowsill perfectly, but a slight breeze ruffled my hair where I lay on the bed. After getting dressed, I felt as if something lay unfinished downstairs. I saw what it was when I entered the kitchen.
I also smelled what it was. There was a thinning pool of blood on the floor, coming from momma's back. She lay sprawled out like I'd left her last night, dead eyes staring at the small grey ceiling. Fitting that her last sights be of a setting as drab as her personality.
The knock at my door scared me so much that I sweat bullets. I tried to ignore it, but it grew more and more insitient...
I answered the door, dabbing my forehead with a kercheif.
"Hello?"
"Yes.. Walter Pendragon?"
"That would be me, Sir. What can I help you with?"
"I was going to ask you the same question. It seems that there is a woman living here by the name of Calline Pendragon?"
"She no longer lives here, I'm afraid. Moved out a few months back.." I said, thinking quickly.
"Are you sure? Your neighbors seemed convinced that she still lived here..."
"No, sir. That would be my girlfriend, Jackie. She could be mistaken for my momma at a distance, I guess.."
"Ah. Well, sorry to trouble you then, sir. Have a nice day!"
I receeded into the cool depths of my den.. Now it was MY den. It was MY house. It was MY life, now. I could devote it to tracking down and destroying this "Evil" that haunted innocents.

	The years wore on, and Walter became known as a jack of all trades. He eventually moved out to Texas, to retrace the steps of his real mother. After looking high and low without results, he moved to New Mexico. Each passing day that he stood under the hot sun, and let his sweat drip upon the ground, another little gorl or boy was reported missing. He grew more and more alarmed as missing children began to turn up every day, despite the precautions by police and parents. Wherever he went, people regarded him as suspicious... A lone traveller, not more then thirty.. A surefire suspect. 
One exceedingly hot day, Walter happened upon a small pub open all day. Being thirsty, he went inside for a beer and perhaps a chat with the locals.
Upon stepping inside, he was immediately drawn to the back table. There was a grimy old man hunched over a game of solitaire, with a cracked beermug half empty at his elbow. Walter made his way to this man's table, and asked if he could sit down.

	Hours later, Walter walked away from the pub, reeling drunk. He stumbled back to his hotel, and fell into bed. In the dead of night, an old man, wrinkled and dry, came sniffing at the window of Walter's room. He sniffed under the door, carefully getting down on his hands and knees to do so. He sniffed the curtains outside the window, and sniffed the welcome rug. Humming to himself, he returned to the shadows whence he came, a cracked and dusty smile crossing his pinched lips.
	Walter went outside, to find the corpse of a dead rat on his welcome mat. It was a gruesome sight, to him.. The thing had its chest ripped open, and small ratty intestines spilled all over his mat. He complained to the front desk, where he was told that it happened all the time and not to worry about it. It would be removed, free of charge.
Walter never figured out where it came from, but the scorpion that stung him in the foot as he slipped into bed crawled to sit on his chest. It felt like a ten ton weight strapped to his chest; not just a featherlight scorpion. 
	Walter felt as he slipped away from consciousness that the scorpion was sniffing him. It was sniffing along his chest, and under his arms.. It sniffed his lips and his hair, and it perched on his forehead, sniffing his eyeballs just before he died.