"Sins of the Father"

By:  Beloved/Shadow

            He tried vainly to stop shaking but he couldn't help it.  His little body shook with unshed tears as he tried to hide even further into the dark corner of the closet.  Hands covered his ears as he heard yelling and something breaking downstairs just underneath the floor.  Why was this happening?  His father never used to be like this so why now?  Why it because his mother was gone?

            That brought a fresh stab of pain to his young heart as he buried his face into his knees, crying harder as he felt an ache beginning to form behind his eyes.  "Mommy… Don't leave me…" he said in a sob.  Heavy footsteps were heard and he quickly clamped both hands around his mouth, trying vainly to keep quiet and hide further into the corner as he prayed that he would pass him by.  The footsteps stopped and his bedroom door ever so lightly creeped open.  His poor heart began to pound heavily in his chest as the footsteps came closer and stopped at the closed closet door.  He tried very hard to be quiet as a church mouse but even that wasn't enough.

            The door was ruthlessly pulled open and a pair of large hands yanked the boy from the corner by his dirty sweatshirt.  It took everything he had not to cry out in fear but large fearful eyes looked up into deep blue gaze that seemed red, the older man's hair was filthy with dirt and unkempt so it hung into his face in lanks.  His breath smelled of alcohol as he looked at the small child he held close.  He saw the fear there that made him release one hand and slap the young child with an open palm.

            This time he did cry out in pain and would've fallen to the ground if the man weren't still holding his shirt in an iron clad grip.  His cheek was beginning to burn and he looked up with teary eyes, telling himself not to cry least he receive another slap.

            "That… was from hiding from me…" he explained and let go, watching the child stumbled to the floor.  He took a deep breath and looked away, hands clenching into tight fists.  He wanted to hit something but this time he could control this drunken rage.  "I'm going out so clean up the mess downstairs… if it isn't done when I get back I'll… I'll…"  he didn't bother to finish his threat as he stormed out of the room, heading down the stairs and slamming the front door behind him.  Soon the sound of the car's engine reared up and tires squealing on the cement street before racing off into the night.

            The young child sat there for a few minutes, resting a shaking hand against his swollen cheek and let the tears fall as it stung the tender skin.  Taking a  deep breath and rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve he cautiously stepped from his room and headed downstairs.  At the base of the stairs he looked at the damage that was done this time.

            The living room took the most damage but at least this time the furniture hadn't been turned over or damaged like last time.  A lot of the lamps and pictures had been shattered along with some of the statues his mother had collected before she died.  The foyer wasn't so bad with some of the pictures lying on the floor where they fell off the nails on the walls.  The phone lay in a  broken heap near the door with the receive giving a dead dial one.  Peering into the kitchen there was an empty case of beer with some of the cans crushed and littered the floor.  Dishes caked with food sat in a pile in the sink and the trash was beginning to stink up the entire kitchen.  No this time the damage wasn't so bad.  Lucky for him.

            With a deep sigh he went to cleaning up as much as he could by starting with the kitchen first.  He dragged a trash bag with him as he threw all the cans and rotten food from the fridge, being careful not to make a bigger mess and dragged the trashcan from the curve to the back door.  Although small for his young age it took a big to drag the half-full trashcan up the slight steep of the driveway.  He placed the trash bags into the can and let it next to the back door as he continued cleaning.  He opened the windows some to let some fresh air in and went to scrubbing at the faint food stains teat line the floor and walls.  By the time he was finish his arms were aching from the scrubbing and his knees hurt from sitting on them too much.  It only took him an hour to clean up the kitchen and dining room but soon he was done and hoped it would be enough.

            The foyer was easy to pick up as he took the broom and swept up some of the broken glass, stacking the broken pictures in the small table so he could glue the frames together.  Moving into the living room he swept all the broken pieces of glass and silently placed them into the bucket , something scratching his scarred hands as he dumped the pieces in one by one.  He began to cry harder as he looked at the broken statue of a young queen from Egypt.  He remembered one time he asked his mother about it so she sat him on her lap and show him the lovely statue of a woman with ebony black hair down her back.  Her gown was a pure white with a heavy collar of cold embedded with colorful jewels with a  matching headdress that looked like the wings of a  bird.  Bracelets covered her wrists and she was holding the hand of a young child with dark hair that in the right light reflected a deep blood red.  She always said the statue reminded her of him.  Now it rested in his bloodied hands in pieces.  He sniffed back tears as he gathered the pieces up and set them aside before cleaning up the mess.  Soon he was done and taking the shattered statue he went to his room and took out a well-used bottle of super glue.  Laying the pieces on his desk he sat before it and began to work.

            Hours later the headlights of a car flooded the room in light before shutting off.  A man slowly made his way up the front door, opening it and silently locked it behind him.  He looked around at the clean house and sighed deeply to himself, running a hand through his hair that had been damped by the rain.  Heading into the kitchen he shut the windows, locked the back door and slowly made his way up the stairs.

            He opened the door and looked down at the small child that had his head pillowed on his arms on his desk, the only light from the small lamp and not far away an open bottle of glue and a slightly sticky mess of a broken statue.  Some of the large pieces had been glue together.  He allowed a very small smile to appear as he carefully ran a fingertip along it, tracing the cracks and felt a great source of regret.

            Pushing it aside he bend down and carefully lifted the small boy in his arms and placed him on the bed.  Moving around quietly he pulled out a clean set of pajamas from the dresser drawer, laying them o the chair and went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.  Returning to the room he sat on the bed and held the young boy close as he went to cleaning the scratches and wrapped them up for the night.  Through it all the young boy slept, sometimes whimpering in pain but not once woke up.  Done he carefully removed the filthy clothes and dressed him in the pajamas before tucking him under the covers.  For a long time he sat there, looking at him and leaned down to softly kiss his forehead.

            "Daddy?"  A soft voice asked as large, innocent violet eyes looked up at the man.

            "Sorry Yugi… I didn't mean to hurt you," he said softly, gently running the back of his hand along the still red mark on his pale features.

            He winced at the feeling but reached out to hold his large hand in his small one.  " I know daddy… I cleaned up the mess."

            "I know.  Arigato but you need your sleep.  Tomorrow you have a surprise."

            "Really?"  He seemed to peak up and a sparkle seemed to shine in his large jewel colored eyes.  His father couldn't help but laugh as he ruffled his hair some.

            "Really.  Now get some sleep."

            "Okay.  Daddy?"


            "I love you."

            "…I love you too.  My son."