Spoilers: it is not all piggies and milk
By Jebodiah Morehouse
The day I was born. I do not remember it like it was yesterday… I was a baby. What I do remember is the barn. Red… I think. Milking the cows in my little amish cap. An innocent time. My Mother always loved me in my little hat, and my Father alwaysMother said that if I took my hat off I would be stricken by God. I miss those sweet times. My favourite game was being kicked in the head by a horse.
There were lots of chores, meaning I did not spend all my time playing “get kicked by the horse.” I remember being awoken at 1 a.m. to milk the cows. I had to beg farmers market shoppers to buy my family’s jam and pie for twelve hours on Saturday. If I did not build one barn a day, my Dad got mad and threatened to sell me to the “not-mish.” In school, I learned about our one true God, how men are awesome and girls are dumb, and that gingers would be smited for being sins against humanity. I was so glad to not have any hair and to have my lovely little amish cap.
I never remember life without my hat. Even when Mother would tuck me into bed, I kept that hat on. We read classic bedtime stories like Elijah and the Beanstalk, or the true story of Laura Ingalls. On a good stormy night, my Mother would tell me the scariest story I ever heard… the evil sinner: Anne of Green Gables. She warned me that if I ever took off my hat that I would be dragged by the feet to the pits of hell.
It was a good life. That was, until the tornado came.
I was out in the fields, bailing hay. Only the fifth hour in my 13 hour chore. I did not want to stop, Mother promised me a whole nickel if I completed my chore! But Mother and Mother were calling me into our cellar. I turned around, and I saw it. The big gust of wind. I started running, but the wind got too close. It tore my hat off… revealing my red curls. As I ran, I saw my Mother and Mother’s faces as I reached the cellar door. Disgust, as they closed the door without me.
Then, the tornado took me. The next thing I remember is waking up in a bed with my new family giving me a bowl of soup. They were a non-amish family. I did not have to wake up at 1:00 a.m., or build barns, and I did not have to wear my hat. I would go on to live like a normal child.
Sometimes, I still see my Mother. She sits on the Maritime Bus, because she does not have her drivers license. I meet her eyes, and there is a sadness, and then she calls to me.
“SINNER! DEMONSPAWN! DEVIL WORSHIPPER! GOD WILL DENY YOU AT THE GATES OF HEAVEN!”