The whispers haunt him. They spin around him, binding him in an unbreakable web.
“Worthless”
“Disappointment”
“Stupid”
“Disgrace”
They sneer at him, shove at him, twist around him, twirling and kicking up dust from the lush rug.
“Pathetic”
“Weak”
The heavy door groans threateningly, opening awkwardly into the room, shielding the intruder from view. The rusted doorknob wriggles, as a hand clasps it, distorting it.
"THOMAS!" The roar shakes the room, furniture legs trembling like mice against the floor, content to watch him as he is sprayed by dust from the ceiling and the floor spins so violently he falls forward, hands out in front of him, the floorboards tearing up his palms, a loose nail sinking its teeth in.
Harsh, resounding footsteps …show more content…
A perfect statue except for the eyes glaring menacingly, fingers flaming forward in hatred, paralysing.
A blurry flash leapt into his field of view, rings on the mans finger. Silver, family crest; gold, wedding band; diamond, just for status; onyx, just for pain.
Thomas coughs and sees red, his own red, slicking his lips, dribbling down his chin onto the uncomfortable floorboards, but that doesn’t stop the intimidating man that was his father.
Lightening cracked outside the window as Charles unfurls his belt with a snap, with a crack of thunder leather is brought down on already marred skin and the colour red dances along death white skin.
Again, again, again, again, whether a boot, a belt, or a ring, Charles never tires but Thomas wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t make a sound.
He lays still looking up, salty water dripping down on his cheeks. His chest does not rise or fall. He plays dead. Hair pulled, neck-straining back, Thomas was lifted from the ground, trainers with no traction sliding along a ground that wouldn’t hold him.
Raised to his feet, shoulders crushed in hands too large, Charles stares straight into Thomas’s …show more content…
The floorboards don't catch him, nothing could save him, as the darkness slinks in, spiralling around him and binding him.
"I'm sorry!" His vocal cords whine out of tune. "Please I'm sorry, father please!”
Boot crushing Thomas’s windpipe quelling the pathetic words, all Thomas could do was watch as hot tears streamed down his face, air struggling to fill his lungs.
"Thomas…" The voice yells grabbing at from every direction.
"Thomas… Thomas!"
"Thomas!"
"No!" The word exploded its way out of him, attempting to fill his lungs with the sweet air he was just moments ago deprived of. Eyes tearing open they blearily focused on the face of Dean. “I’m sorry”
"It's okay," Dean whispered, pulling him close, hugging the smaller boy to his chest. Thomas was shaking, grabbing at Dean if only to anchor himself. Once he was still, Dean let go and Thomas whipped the sticky remnant of tears from his cheeks
"You okay now?" Dean asked, and Thomas coughed out a 'yes.' His stomach still churned and his eyes still saw blood, but he was fine, just fine.
“Do you have that nightmare often?”
Thomas looked away.
“Do you want to talk about
“Worthless”
“Disappointment”
“Stupid”
“Disgrace”
They sneer at him, shove at him, twist around him, twirling and kicking up dust from the lush rug.
“Pathetic”
“Weak”
The heavy door groans threateningly, opening awkwardly into the room, shielding the intruder from view. The rusted doorknob wriggles, as a hand clasps it, distorting it.
"THOMAS!" The roar shakes the room, furniture legs trembling like mice against the floor, content to watch him as he is sprayed by dust from the ceiling and the floor spins so violently he falls forward, hands out in front of him, the floorboards tearing up his palms, a loose nail sinking its teeth in.
Harsh, resounding footsteps …show more content…
A perfect statue except for the eyes glaring menacingly, fingers flaming forward in hatred, paralysing.
A blurry flash leapt into his field of view, rings on the mans finger. Silver, family crest; gold, wedding band; diamond, just for status; onyx, just for pain.
Thomas coughs and sees red, his own red, slicking his lips, dribbling down his chin onto the uncomfortable floorboards, but that doesn’t stop the intimidating man that was his father.
Lightening cracked outside the window as Charles unfurls his belt with a snap, with a crack of thunder leather is brought down on already marred skin and the colour red dances along death white skin.
Again, again, again, again, whether a boot, a belt, or a ring, Charles never tires but Thomas wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t make a sound.
He lays still looking up, salty water dripping down on his cheeks. His chest does not rise or fall. He plays dead. Hair pulled, neck-straining back, Thomas was lifted from the ground, trainers with no traction sliding along a ground that wouldn’t hold him.
Raised to his feet, shoulders crushed in hands too large, Charles stares straight into Thomas’s …show more content…
The floorboards don't catch him, nothing could save him, as the darkness slinks in, spiralling around him and binding him.
"I'm sorry!" His vocal cords whine out of tune. "Please I'm sorry, father please!”
Boot crushing Thomas’s windpipe quelling the pathetic words, all Thomas could do was watch as hot tears streamed down his face, air struggling to fill his lungs.
"Thomas…" The voice yells grabbing at from every direction.
"Thomas… Thomas!"
"Thomas!"
"No!" The word exploded its way out of him, attempting to fill his lungs with the sweet air he was just moments ago deprived of. Eyes tearing open they blearily focused on the face of Dean. “I’m sorry”
"It's okay," Dean whispered, pulling him close, hugging the smaller boy to his chest. Thomas was shaking, grabbing at Dean if only to anchor himself. Once he was still, Dean let go and Thomas whipped the sticky remnant of tears from his cheeks
"You okay now?" Dean asked, and Thomas coughed out a 'yes.' His stomach still churned and his eyes still saw blood, but he was fine, just fine.
“Do you have that nightmare often?”
Thomas looked away.
“Do you want to talk about