Summary. . . . . . . . . . . He's alone, scared and frightened, taken from his family and left with a man he fears. Beatings and threats keep him there, where all he can do is hope. But is hope enough?
Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . . I own Nothing, Nil, Nada. They belong to Kripke.
A.N. . . . . . . . . . I have know idea where this came from, or where it's going, it just struck my muse as interesting so my fingers did their typing thingie and this is what was created.
He ignores the rain that's falling steadily from above, plastering his hair to his head, the long strands falling into his expressive eyes; rain that has seeped through his worn and threadbare clothing, chilling the skin underneath, skin that is stretched taut across his thin and frail body. He can see lights on in their latest home, the warm amber glow seemingly inviting, a place to rest and get away from the cold and wet, yet he knows better, knows what really lurks behind the shabby moth eaten net curtains. He moves his sneaker clad feet slowly towards the light even though every bone in his body is screaming at him to run, the worn down soles offering little resistance against the broken pavement, sharp stones penetrating easily past the thin rubber to bruise and cut at the tender flesh of his feet.
He pauses at the pathway to his home, his mind still torn, should he enter, or should he flee? A grim laugh escapes from deep inside him as that word is thought of again, home, why did he even call it that when it was never one in the first place, his home was somewhere else, with someone else, people who loved him and cared for him, not treated him like he was something bad they walked in, not treated him like The Man did that first night. . . . . . . . . . . . . He shook his head as memories assaulted his mind, he didn't want to think back to that time, didn't want to relive that day again. Instead he took a deep breathe hoping to steady himself and slowly walked up the overgrown pathway towards the rotting front door with it's peeling paint and lop sided numbers. His hand trembled as he reached for the handle, his mind unable to quench that little bit of hope that maybe today would be different, that maybe today things would be how they were supposed to be, that maybe today They would come back for him, save him, but as he turned the knob and pushed the sticking door open, smells penetrated his senses and that little bubble of hope shattered and burst.
He stepped quickly through the gap as soon as it was wide enough, closing the door firmly, yet quietly behind him; if he could only make it across the hallway and up the stairs maybe he would have a chance, maybe he could lock himself in his bedroom until all was calm again. Stealth born from years of training had him standing at the bottom of the stairs in seconds. He treaded lightly up the first few steps, the shattered spark of hope slowly seeping back together and mending, he could do this, he could make it and maybe today would be different. He stilled as he heard movement coming from the living room, grunts and shuffles of a heavy body moving across the rough fabric of their couch. He panics as he thinks The Man is awakening, his training forgotten as fear begins to take hold. He forgets the loose step, forgets the loud shrill squeak it makes when ever weight it placed upon it, the noise freezing him in his tracks as his foot bares down upon the warped wood.
Other noises refuse to penetrate his mind until it's too late and The Man is upon him. He tries, he really does try to get away, to get his body to move faster. He runs up the rest of the stairs, willing his body to make it to the sanctuary of his room, almost believing he has made it as he slams the door behind him; but he's just not quick enough and as he stretches for the chair, the rest of his body thrust up tight against the door, he feels The Man's weight crash against the thin barricade. He battles hard to keep the door closed as his fingers try desperately to grip onto the chair, but it's no use, The Man has more weight and as the door is slowly pushed inwards alls he can do is retreat and surrender. He pushes his thin body into the small gap between his bed and the wall, as tears slowly start to mingle with the rain water that's still dripping from his locks, trying to make himself as small a target as possible, trying to make himself disappear; but The Man always finds him. The blows are hard and accurate, painful yet not life threatening, aimed for places that can't be seen. He whimpers with each hit, but knows not to cry out; to cry out would mean the punishment would continue long into the night, and the hits would increase in strength, something he had found out to his cost his first week of staying here. Instead he cowered, lay there and took, and as vicious words left The Man's mouth, prayed for his family to come find him, family he was slowly forgetting.
A.N. . . . . . . . . Okay so I'm gonna do something I don't normally do and ask for feed back, is it worth carrying on with this? As I said it was just something that struck me and as of yet I don't know where to take it, so to hear that you would like me to carry on would be a boost. Thanks as always for reading, will catch you soon, Peanut x