The Mother Horse Eyes Narrative

The Mother Horse Eyes Narrative consists of three posts written from the perspective of children during their encounters with Mother Horse Eyes. In terms of style and content the posts could be read as a prelude to The Son's Narrative.

The identities of the child, or children, in the Mother Horse Eyes Narrative are unclear, though certain references and differences in tone seem to imply that they are not identical with the narrator of The Son's Narrative, who is named as "Nick" and is apparently the Author as a child.

The narrator of Post 18 refers to "Real Mommy" calling from underground, which is not a feature of The Son's Narrative. A parental figure calling to a child from beneath the ground is though a feature of Lisa's Dream, which is recounted in The Investigator's Narrative, Post 11. Mother Horse Eyes does not, however, appear in Lisa's Dream

The narrator of Post 25 uses more mature language than the child narrators of the other Mother Horse Eyes posts, and uniquely the Post contains biblical quotes in Greek. The narrator of Post 25 at times has a prophetic religious tone, alluding to the cosmic significance of the crucifixion wounds of Christ.

Unlike Post 45 and The Son's Narrative, Post 18 and Post 25 are written in the past tense. Post 25's narrator refers to: being able to exert some power over Mother Horse Eyes by reading passages from the Bible, apparently with the assistance of a cross in the sky; a sickness in early childhood that preceded Mother Horse Eyes' arrival; and the presence of other children in the house, whom Mother Horse Eyes administers her medicine to. All of these features suggest Post 25's account is distinct from the others. Post 25's narrator also states that Mother Horse Eyes never talked, whereas she does talk to the Author in The Son's Narrative, and to the narrator of Post 45.

The Mother Horse Eyes narrative seems to depict events that took place with some of Mother Horse Eyes' other children, in contrast to The Son's Narrative which focuses exclusively on the Author's experience. In common with The Son's Narrative, all of the Mother Horse Eyes Narratives explicitly take place in summer.

Post 45 could perhaps be a recollection of the Author's later experiences with Mother Horse Eyes, and therefore part of The Son's Narrative. However if this is the case, unlike the rest of The Son's Narrative it was not posted in sequence, as The Son's Narrative begins with the arrival of Mother Horse Eyes and progresses in chronological order.

New Mommy
The Mother Horse Eyes Narrative Part 01 18th Post Posted 24 April 2016 at 21:38:12 EDT Link to original

When I was little, they took mommy away and put me with a new mommy in a smelly dark house.

They said she was a real person, but I knew she wasn't.

They had made her.

Her face was made from pieces of animal.


 * pig cheeks


 * hairy goat jaw


 * old horse eyes

They sewed her together badly, and the seams were crusty.

I hated her.

Real mommy called me from underground.

I opened the attic window at sundown and let the spring breeze flow in.

I heard her song floating in on the cool air, soft singing from the grave.

How do I explain mother?
The Mother Horse Eyes Narrative Part 02 25th Post Posted 28 April 2016 at 02:45:24 EDT Link to original

How do I explain mother? What was she?

Βαβυλὼν ἡ μεγάλη, ἡ μήτηρ τῶν πορνῶν καὶ τῶν βδελυγμάτων τῆς γῆς.


 * Translation of Greek to English (Revelation 17:5): Great Babylon, the mother of prostitutes and the abominations of the earth.

I used to lie in my bed, the blinds pulled against the summer sunlight, listening to the sounds of other kids playing outside. I lay there for hours, not sleeping, wondering who had made mother.

She was made from all different sorts of animal parts. One of her feet was big, heavy hoof. The other was a tiny little kitty cat paw. I could hear her clumping around downstairs. Her smell, the smell of cigarettes and disease, was everywhere in the house, pooling in the darkness.

Slowly, night would come, and I would imagine floating out of my window, floating up into the deep starry blue, looking down at all the houses shrinking into tiny boxes, the clean breeze blowing on my face.

Oh, how I would cry in my little bed.

I was very young when mother first came. I had another mommy before her, a good one, who wore pearls and had a voice like music. Then one day, I got sick, a fever. I was crying all day, and it went on for weeks.

I guess my first mommy couldn't take it anymore. One night, she left forever. When I came down for breakfast the next morning, this new thing was waiting for me in the kitchen.

At least, I think that's what happened.

Mother never talked. She just snorted and made horse sounds.

Awful.

Her parts were sewn together with yarn, and there were patches of wet burlap. I didn't see her eyes until she had been there almost a year.

Have you ever seen horse eyes up close?

They're like goat's eyes.

They have a sideways pupil.

I would come home after school, and there would be kids sitting at the breakfast table. She gave them medicine so they did whatever she wanted them to. It made them just sit there, staring and shaking. Then she would take them down in the basement and make them into things.

She tried to make me do it too, but I didn't want to.

I realized she was afraid of the Bible.

I realized it had power.

Blood power.

When I read it to her, her different pieces would shudder and pull apart, and she would howl like a wolf, and blood would run from her segments.

The Bible brought transmissions from the cross that floated in the red summer sky.

Everything in time is arranged around the epicenter wherein the nail drove into Christ's hand. Lines of possibilities radiate outward from it.

Kingdoms rise and fall, men grow and die like flowers in a field.

τὸ θηρίον ὃ εἶδες ἦν καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν, καὶ μέλλει ἀναβαίνειν


 * Translation of Greek to English (Revelation 17:8): The beast that you saw was, and is not, and is about to come up out of the abyss and go to destruction.

Fractured Music
The Mother Horse Eyes Narrative Part 03 45th Post Posted 10 May 2016 at 19:08:47 EDT Link to original

I sit in my room, watching bright specks of dust float through the sunlight from the window. The summer heat is pressed against the glass. Somewhere down the street, a lawnmower whines. The air is stale. The corners of the room are filled with damp shadows. My toys lie on the floor, scattered.

I hear the fractured music down the hall. A sound like wind chimes. A shudder goes through the old house, and I find myself rising. I am walking down the hallway, called to the other end. I smell her as I get closer. Foul meat. Gray hair. Stomach acid.

I walk in her room, and her bloody pieces are lying all over the floor. The strange flute music slowly coalesces into a melody, and the pieces rise and float like flies. The music charms them into formation, and they come together to make Mother. The eyes are missing, still fleshy cavities. They come in from the hallway, floating over my head, settling into her face with a squishing sound, streams of blood falling like tears. The sideways pupils fix on me.

"Child, fetch me my bag. I need flesh."

I shake my head. I hate her. She leaps to me, grabs a handful of my hair and slaps me across the face with her ragged dog's paw, again and again. I scream and cry. She lets me go. Sobbing, I go to the closet and get her big bag. We wait until night.