Free The Complete Zagzagel Diaries by Bryl R. Tyne

Chloe and me and not looking as amused as I’d hoped he might. I mean, it was not unusual that I bend the rules and face subsequent chastisement, though this had been my longest stand of defiance I could recall. Chloe smiled up at Him as she hustled past the two of us locked in a stare down.
    “Traitor,” I whispered for her ears only. She turned to me with a typical roll of her eyes and hurried along as Big Papa matched my glare. Now, I knew—not knew, per se—but I had a damned good idea where this confrontation was headed. So, when presented with the obvious questions about where I’d been and what I thought I was doing, why had I answered, “What’s it to you?”
    Oh, I couldn’t deny why I’d said those words. Believe me; I was aware why I had. Why my mouth had betrayed my head—no, the words had come from my heart this time, I was certain—that is precisely where this particularly misaligned verbiage had spewed.
    Although, why had the words, or was it the attitude accompanying such, felt so empowering and yet, at the same time, so terribly wicked? I struggled to comprehend, as I stood humbled by a single look on my Father’s face.
    “You disappoint me, Son.”
    Son?
    Papa wasn’t a bad parent, not as far as parents go, but he was still a parent. Wasn’t that bad enough?
    As I stood there, under his scrutinizing gaze, under the impatience of his forever-tapping fingers, under the disappointment in the weight of His crossed arms, His scowl, His posture, I decided that if I had had a choice, I would rather have been ripped apart into a thousand unrecognizable pieces than undergo such judgment. “I’m—”
    His eyes grew large then narrowed just as quickly, and with one finger pressed to the thin line of his lips, He said only, “Shh-shh-shh....” The most he’d spoken since our five-minute stare off had begun.
    Back to silence....
    I abhorred chastisement—that stare accompanied by His silence—but especially, the stare. For the sake of all that is Holy, just get it over with, take your wrath, mete your punishment. Leave me to my miserable existence or its end, thereof.
    Without uttering another sound or offering any indication our meeting was over, Papa vanished.
    I attempted to move, but within the span of a blink, the nagging drum of Papa’s fingers was replaced by an ear-shattering squeal that glued me to the spot. Despite every effort, I could do nothing but watch the scene unfold. My jaw clenched as I heard the word, “Freak,” shouted from the vehicle racing my way. My head pounded with a vehemence I’d seldom known as I witnessed the passenger door snap open and the SUV veer toward Chloe. When she screamed, time seemed to freeze, taking my breath with it. Smoke rolled from the rear tires of a late 80s Blazer as it whipped around the corner and out of sight. Only then could I move....
    I alit and immediately knelt next to Chloe, her crumpled body of flesh—bones twisted this way and that—her limbs extended in the most unnatural positions. That’s when it hit me—when I realized all the judgments and the miracles I’d witnessed to-date truly paled in comparison to Big Papa exploiting His full wrath.
    No.... Beneath my touch, Chloe’s body lay. Lifeless. Her life force smeared across the cement in a sick pattern of patches but mostly puddled beneath her. For the first time in her short life, she seemed almost to fit in with the red roses. Almost. I brought my other hand to my first—to her skin—brushed back the hair from her eyes...still...so cold.
    No.
    Fire roiled inside me. As if inside a giant vacuum, I could hear each of my breaths, in and out. “I don’t understand.”
    “Let her go, Zagzagel.” Papa’s voice haunted me; the drumming of his fingers resounded louder with each word.
    “Tell me, Papa—tell me, this is not my doing.”
    “These things happen. You know that, Zag.”
    No. I didn’t care what “I knew” at that point. I no longer believed. “But You