Twitch lay on the cool limestone floor, staring at the cave ceiling, with his rough hands clamped firmly over his ears. His little sister ran another lap around him, screaming louder than anyone he knew, then returned to their mother near the cave opening before flying another lap through the cave like a banshee.
“Murm! Make her stop! Screech is driving me crazy!” Twitch refused to remove his hands and subject his ear drums to the deafening shrieks of his five year old sister.
“Twitch, I’m busy skinning this deer for supper. You can help by playing with her — she’s just bored.”
Moments later Screech darted in, her hands red with the vibrant liquid that pooled near the deer was running down her arms.
“Get away from me, you little creep!” Twitch rolled away, still clutching his ears, as Screech rounded him — true to her name — and too closely before running outstretched arms into the cave wall, and darting off again. “Murm, she’s leaving hand prints on the walls again!”
Emanating unsurpassed patience and wisdom after three years of training since Screech’s birth, “Take her outside to play and leave the hand print — it will brighten the cave wall.”
Groaning loudly, Twitch stood in the tall cavern as he waited for his sister to make another fly-by. As she approached, he stretched out his arm to push her. Screech’s small frame dodged his hand as she easily circled him out of reach.
“Murm said to take it outside, Screech.”
He began shuffling his feet towards the opening, a scowl pulling his dirty face down while his sister raced oblong laps around him.
Once he stepped through the opening, he squinted against the harsh light as his eyes adjusted. Screech, however, shot out of the cave like a cannon, bounding over large rocks as wildly as her red tinted hair flew behind her.
He scuffed his feet, kicking up dust and small pebbles, as Twitch made his way to a stand of trees. Sitting in the shade, he leaned back against the rough trunk as he mumbled, “Maybe you’ll get carried off by a mosquito.”
As he sat in the dust watching, Screech picked up small rocks and sticks, throwing them in all directions. One rock nearly hitting Twitch in the face, he rubbed the small bruise on his forehead from an incident earlier in the week from her launching such projectiles.
The wild child picked up long, crooked branches. She dashed around hitting the ground and trees as dust and chunks of bark flew everywhere. When she came running towards Twitch with sticks raised, he panicked, raising his hands between them, “No Screech! Go play over there!”
Screech pummeled a tree before making a sharp turn to pound the boulders near the cave entrance.
As Twitch relaxed, averting danger for the moment, he began to listen to the different sounds created by his sister hitting a multitude of objects.
Pushing himself off the ground, he too picked up two long, twisted branches. He cast a quick glance at his sister, then raising a stick, hit the tree trunk. Then he struck a limb, curious about the varying sounds.
Twitch methodically went from the trees, to the rocks, to the side of their cave — pounding the surfaces with a range of intensity — as he listened to the sounds.
When Screech raced his way, beating the ground and rocks with her fraying sticks, Twitch attempted to stop her.
“Screech, come here. Let’s do this together.”
Screech, surprisingly, came to a sliding halt as silently watching her brother stride to the rocks near the trees. She ran to him when he waved her near, eyes alight with expectancy.
Twitch pointed at the various boulders, “You hit those. Listen to the sounds.”
She obediently hit the rocks while Twitch pound on different parts of the trees. Her cheeks began to push up as a smile spread across her face.
Not hearing Screech’s piercing cry, their mother dropped the stone knife and raced out of the cave. The veins popped in her muscular arm which wielded a club to bash insect — or beast — that may be carrying off her beloved children.
She stopped short at the sight of them. Twitch was bouncing on scrawny legs as he banged the trees and Screech was rhythmically pounding the boulders and rocks — her husband chopping trees in the distance added to the mix. What shocked her most was seeing them doing something together — and smiling!
She stood, club dangling from her relaxed hand, as she watched her children. In moments, her foot began to tap — almost of its own accord. Then she released the club, stepping into the midst of the percussion ensemble, where she jumped, crouched, and spun to the beat of the first rock concert.
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