Fanny Blomme Part 6, The Blackness

Updated: 4 days ago


photo credit https://pixabay.com/users/angela_yuriko_smith-6341455/





1968


Readers what strangeness there is here on earth.


I see the people riddled with hatred and fears between each other. I see that no one is happy on this bleak planet and I sense a foreboding, a perturbation that the future will expose some or other horror. There is terror in my days. The humans will self-destruct I feel sure (though I know not when this event will occur). I am certain that I will self-destruct too for I am a passenger, albeit an unwilling one, in the vehicle of life. I wonder now if this is the reason I am here, to save the wretched?

These humans wander the earth in a dizzy daze with their incumbent loathing of all that might be valued by any other beings with self-respect. Deep and truly meaningful human attachments are impossible because of this condition and only ignorance breeds in the pain of endless daily emotional malfunctions. They love only through physical need. The desperate hunger of a child makes a love bond with the mother. The biology of progressive sexual development and the selfish gene are all that connect the adults.


Greed is palpable all around me, it is the driving human force. The immediacy of self-satisfaction is all that keeps these humans alive as day-in-day-out they seek to satiate their endless hunger. I wonder how much I can take of the horror of life here on earth.


I am experiencing only desires of escaping this physical form before the inevitable destruction occurs. I have heard mention of suicide. It is where the human takes control of its own destiny and ends it at will. I wonder if the suicide model may be the solution to my continued anxiety. I await the Preceptor meeting for advice on the matter for I may need permission. I am still unsure of life's purpose here, but I know that I must follow instruction when it trickles through.


My grandmother and grandfather have visited us. They are en route to Johannesburg. They have been assured of a better life there where they will have staff and be exalted for their whiteness of skin. There will be much financial gain and they will never have to labour for bread nor butter.


It has been such a reprieve to have them here as father does not hit us or act meanly of manner when visitors are in residence. My little brother and I are able to breathe and sleep in relaxed manner for the duration of stays. My anxiety is lifted temporarily and I feel my bladder becomes stronger. If only the visits would last longer. But the visitors are always away too soon, and Father, like the wound spring of hate, takes it out on his offspring and his wife. My little brother proves as neurotic as myself and we long for these temporary stays of execution, they are our only hope for respite inside our little minds.

Yesterday my parents were away for a social event and my grandmother came into our bedroom with sweets. The sugar-coated love food filled my mouth with bubbles of sheer joy. Fare indeed, twas a gold-coated gift, my inner cheeks now fill with spit at the very thoughts and memories of the exact event. I have never experienced such pleasures before in my six arduous years on this godforsaken planet. My tongue swirled around in the ecstasy of flavours, rolling the hard-boiled sugar things and flipping them about my mouth like a football. Yes, I swear, readers, I have found happiness at last, albeit temporary, it does exist.


We sat, my brother and I upon the bed with Grandmama. Her Scottish palour gleaming in the street light that snuck in through the curtains edge, the bedroom door slightly ajar in case of my parents' untimely return. Grandmama with the endless sweeties and the blue-white see-through Scottish skin was a beautiful queen and the creator of hope.

It seems that Father is ‘a black’. I am not so sure what this means and Grandmama and Grandpapa have used an ugly word (that I cannot commit to these pages) to describe my father more. Grandpapa too has agreed that when they first set eyes on my father he showed this characteristic of colour and that this is a bad thing indeed for it shows some impurity and it explains his shortcomings. Grandpapa had tried to halt the marriage but Father was twice his size and had held the small man back and laughed in his face.


This will explain the babysitting incident and the teacher hating. I will explain.


I had been asked to watch a baby for some minutes whilst its parents did some or other thing beyond the room. It was a small and delicate thing, wrapped in swaddling clothes and sleeping like Jesus in a manger.


I watched it very carefully, as instructed.


Then it began to stir and wriggle and made strange sucky and spitty noises from its mouth. And so I went to the crib and looked at it, bending over above it, my long black hair hanging like a death hood. When it glanced upon my form it began to scream quite horribly. Clearly, as I now understand, it has seen me as 'a black' like Father!


The thing was inconsolable and I myself became most vexed, running to its mother to beg that she come to lessen the fear that I had instigated.


And still the blackness goes further. You see, dear readers, my hair is not like the other children. My peers at school are light-haired, many blond and golden and fair of face. I am so dark, hair like black wire, eyes like coal. My teacher, Mrs. Rathbone, picks on me often and mimics me in a negative way singling me out whenever possible.


Readers, now it is clear, I am black and the people here on earth do not like me!


to be continued,

©2020 Tale Teller/Sarnia de la Maré


Watch the Fanny Blomme films here

https://www.dominartist.co.uk/?wix-vod-comp-id=comp-kjh132mb


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© 2020 Dominartist

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Welcome to the new cinema at the Dominartist Project. We are proud to present Fanny Blomme, a beautifully directed adult animation film, written, produced and directed by the artist known as Dominartist. Music score composed and performed by Tale Teller Club produced by AuDiOM.

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