The monster stumbles in late at half past all obscurity and calls out to his son. His son turns his head and wonders “what did I do wrong now?”
He waits, balancing on a tight rope hanging over needles and thin ice and egg shells.
The monster bursts in and he reaches out with thick and hairy hurtful hands and his son grasps his hand to hold the talons away. His head still heavy with alcohol, his eyes burn a seething gaping hole into the boys’ soul.
200 pounds and over six feet, right arm pulled back ready to deliver the first full furious swing, he slams his fist into the flesh and bones. He wraps a fat searing arm around his boys neck and pushes his liquored tongue entirely into his reluctant young mouth, reaching below for a high-schoolish grope.
His son struggles for release and the monsters knuckles crash back and forth against his head.
Did you admire the speed and deftness? Was it pride you felt as you landed your vicious hateful punches? You were so pleased, it seemed, when he began to scream.
An animal in the beginning blows of slaughter.
His son forgets which arms belong to him as he struggles against the snakes which have crawled inside his shirt and he forces him out of his mouth to hold onto some essence of integrity.
He clears his mind of the insults, for they are ordinary, and he already believes them so they can't hurt him anymore;
The monster curses and accuses him of being insubordinate, throws in a few more punches for good measure. Diving his knee into his side, embedding his hard nails deeply into the boys arms, taking away his pride, slamming him into the ground and kicking with giant boots made out of cement.
His son crawls into the corner and closes his eyes, knowing he deserves this.
Did you feel any resistance in him? Did you feel him dissolve into fear? Did I sense some enjoyment as you watched my small pathetic hands beg for it to be over?
And while I was pleading for the freedom of unconsciousness, I doubt that you cared that I was fighting to escape from the hurt and especially from this shame.
And when the buzzing in my head became unbearable I was thankful for his pain. Enough pain to push back the horror of knowing that you had used your fists to reduce him to less than nothing again.
He wishes that he deserved better.