When Monsters Lived Under The Bed

A quarter acre block. A small red brick house. Not enough bedrooms. An untidy garden. A veranda surrounded by fly screen. Cicadas screeching and yelling. The deafening roar pulsating. The sun scorching. The sprinkler rotating. Kids running through the streams of water. A single mother watches on. The kids cover themselves in mud. A cloak too protect them from the imaginary monsters lurking.

The humidity presses down like an unconfessed sin.

The kids go exploring around the neighborhood. Patrolling streets like commandos. Climbing up trees with ease and scouting out the enemies stronghold. Then onto their bikes and cruse down the road. Holding out their guns and pulling the trigger without respite. The monsters never had a chance. A perfectly calculated plan. The turn around and go can home.

The single mother sees the state they are in. Dirty from spending the whole day playing. It wears her out. She struggles for energy. She labours through the day to put food on the table. She labours through the night to give her children the best opportunities during stagnant times.

And still the humidity presses down like an unconfessed sin.

The night closes in. The kids close the curtains. They hide in the dark as one child goes in search of them. Hiding behind couches and under the table equates to fun for a couple of hours. Bed time comes. The kids are tucked into bunk beds. The house isnt big enough to contain the small brood of three children.

Ferocious cracks and low grumbles. Bolts of lightning illuminate the room. The rain crashes down onto the roof. One child goes in search for his mother. He finds her out on the veranda with his sister. She pulls him close, close enough to let him know that everything will be alright. She will protect him from the torrential storm. There is nothing to be afraid of as long as they stay together. The little boy is still afraid, what about his sister still inside asleep on her own? Who will protect her from the monsters hiding in the shadows? The single mother collects the sleeping child and the four of them sit on the veranda weathering out the storm. The kids battling their demons in dermas, the single mother battling the demons in reality.

The kids make their own lunch. They iron their clothes. Walk to school and then walk back home. Open the door, and wait for mum to return home. They have individual freedom whilst maintaining a healthy level of innocence.

And still the humidity presses down like an unconfessed sin.

Their imagination became the inspiration for new games. Creativity flourished under Time´s refusal to tick, and the Sun exploiting the courteous invitation to shine. They escaped from the prison house, the claustrophobic cell whose only comfort was a warm bed at night. Once outside they broke free from the shackles of identity, and sailed over the seven seas, climbed the highest mountains while solving impossible crimes and killing any monsters lurking.

The problems started soon after. Trust went out for a morning walk and disappeared in plain sight. 'Monsters' became a familiar cry, the kids offered their expert services but they were always denied.

And still the humidity presses down like an unconfessed sin.

The community caved in. They pointed their crooked fingers at one another. Suspicious eyes circulated gossip and lies. A neighbourhood full of second generation immigrants imploding.

It´s all thoes new people coming in. They are different just look at them. How can we possibly trust them? They cant even speak our language properly. We need to kick them out. Kick them all out.

And still the humidity presses down like an unconfessed sin.

The neighbourhood shuts down. Blinds remain closed concealing spying eyes. Children were segregated to learn about racial hate. The parents wont let the other kids walk down the street or play in the park without security. The parents become slaves to their own misguided ways.

The single mother refuses to indoctrinate her kids. They respect her authority and remain within the city bounds. The fighting neighbours form a vigilante mob and question her ability to raise children. They hound her persistently. The children's innocence acts as a veil that blinds them from reality.

And the humidity presses down like an ugly sin.

The sinlge mother puts her kids to bed. Dont worry there aren't any monsters living under the bed she whispers into their ears. Tears roll down her cheek.