My paper was nearly finished, another hundred or two words to go. I had been working on it the better part of 4 hours, it had since fallen to dusk and dusk was enveloped in pitch darkness, the world devoured by a supermassive canvas of ink. Stretching my legs I felt them crackle and I flinched in pain. The bruises aching with every breath, my shoulders and chest pulsating with pain sending shivers down my battered spine. He had gone further than normal, the bruises usually weren’t this bad. He was a constant antagonist, hiding in my closet or under the bed and as I drifted off to sleep, inflicting these injuries onto my frail flesh. He’d been doing it for about 5 years knows, around once or twice a week, he hid in my closet this time and as I stepped out of the shower, he came on me and did this. Nobody believes me when I tell them how I got them, They say I’m crazy. My teachers couldn’t care less and only once have one of them even queried as to how I got them. Holding back words, I use excuses like ‘I tripped’ or ‘It was an accident’. How I wish I could tell people, tell them and have them believe me. I’ve stopped trying now, I’ve accepted my fate. It has been worse than this, but not often. If I tell anyone, he’ll do it again. He is the reason I hate myself, He is the reason I am antisocial and an outcast. It’s all him.
Sitting back in my chair, reviewing my paper with heavy eyes I begin to hear it. Slowly progressing up the stairs the thunder of his feet shatters the earth to the core, like the roar of a tiger it draws in closer. I perk upwards, ignoring the severe pain of my blue shoulders. The steps grow closer and louder, earthquakes ripple across the floorboards as he moves his way to the door. Realising what is happening, I scatter across the floor, ignoring the pain vibrating through my very bones in every step. My closet, yes that will do. Quickly but quietly moving up to the closet door and slipping in, I wait in anxiety for what may become of me. The colossal rage of his footsteps still pounding on the floorboards of the steps, I close my eyes and sob.
Why does this fall upon myself? What have I done wrong? Why me. God, why me. Why does nobody believe me? Why am I subjected to such torment, day after day with no recognition from anyone? Nobody takes notice, not a soul. If they do, they don’t care, I’m just another weak child to them, another boy who can’t fight his own battles. How can I fight this battle though? How can I in my current, weak state? I knew this time was going to be bad, worse than every other time. I can’t explain the feeling, but it’s grasping onto my soul and clawing its way into my mind. I can’t stop it, fear is enveloping myself. The footsteps come to a halt, and my door slowly creaks open. ‘I’m back, ready for more?’ he says, menacing malice in every syllable, evil flowing off his tongue, foul and putrid evil. My eyes open slowly as the cupboard door creaks open, light spills on my tear soaked cheeks as I see him.
‘Found you!’ says my stepfather, crowbar in hand he picks me up, tapes over my mouth and leans in close to my ear.
‘This is the last time, nobody will have to suffer your company again’. Mother, why didn’t you listen. This is your fault.
It’s all him.
