He was just a little boy named Michael Smith or Mike as everyone called him. He was African-Canadian and had messy,spiky brown hair and dark brown eyes which used to glow with innocence. Before his whole world broke apart at the age of three. His mother was paralysed from a car accident and diagnosed with both breast cancer and a brain tumour. She died when he was four years old and to cope with the pain his father became an alcoholic. Every night he would hit, kick or perform some type of physical abuse.
His father remarried to a woman named Sarah. Sarah loathed the little boy and before leaving with his father to party abuse him but not physically but verbally. She would also ignore the harsh beatings. Not only was the life at home bad the children always took it upon themselves to bully him. The teachers and principal alike ignored it.
Now, seven years old he was stuck in a closet going without food for two days straight. His stomach growled but he was too afraid of the dark and what his father would do to him to care. Suddenly, the door opened and light flood the small confided room. Standing there was his abuser but also his father, James. H. Smith. He pulled Mike out of the closet by his hair. Mike immediately smelt alcohol on his breath. Mike looked at his surroundings and saw Sarah passed out on the couch probably also drunk.
"Time for your beating," his father said drawing his arm back and punching Mike in the stomach. The punch knocked the breath out of him. His abuser cornered him and kicked him in the groin. "Be tough you weakling," his father taunted as his body slid on the ground.
"You're the weakling," he found himself saying.
"Oh really?" his father asked pure rage in his expression.
"Beating a defenceless seven year old just because you couldn't cope with the death of your real wife," he again found himself saying.
"You just earned a double whooping, no, triple whooping," his father replied while punching him in the jaw. It was hard enough to knock one of the teeth out of his mouth. His father did not let up the assault. He walked away but it was just a trick. He grabbed a frying pan and lunged at the boy knocking him out cold. "Never mess with him like that again," Mike thought as he slipped into unconsciousness.
He awoke in his brain and saw a boy that looked exactly him except that he had bang covering his left eye.
"Who are you?" Mike asked fear present in his voice.
"I'm Mal. The one sent to protect you," he replied. On the outside of world Mike's hair fell over his left eye.
Me: Should I continue or leave as a one-shot? Please let me know what you think.