The Fear of a Young Boy

He lived in a world of pure destruction, of hate and deplore. He sat locked in his room, staring at the dark. The bruises on his arms were aching, the cuts on his face were ranking, the feeling in his heart was sinking. He knew his parents had gone out, to party and have a good time, and when they got home, they’d be ready to pummel and thrash him. He’d sit there and wait, until they were done, then he’d cry to himself, all night long. His grades were dropping, his friends were disappearing, his voice was lost. One day his parents returned, ready to harm, but more harshly than usual. They smashed his windows, and beat his walls, they threw and hit him, with blood smearing everywhere. They stuck the glass through his arms. They hammered his head. They damaged his eyes. They pounded his chest. And then they stabbed him a few times in the heart. When they overlooked what they had done, they ran far away. When the police finally came, it was too late to save him. The police officer said to his partner: "So sad how a boy of such young age had to go through what most adults fear."