CSSSA F (2003)

Slain was just coming out of the bathroom when he heard the door fly open and slam shut. Next came the shouting for his mother to come into the kitchen. The toddler was paralyzed in the doorway, unable to force himself to move. He could hear his mother try to calm the drunken man down, frightfully declaring that she would make his dinner as soon as possible, that she would have it ready in at least twenty minutes, promising tat it wouldn't take any longer than that. Then there was a shout and the sound of the man back handing his mother. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed in Slain’s ears and he found he suddenly had control of his body and was able to move. The four-year-old stumbled forward, towards the commotion. Another loud slap followed by a painful cry and the thud of his mother hitting the counter.

The boy wanted to do anything to help his mother and he hesitantly entered the kitchen. He still didn’t understand why his father did that to her, all his mother told him was that his father got angry when he was drunk and that, no matter what happened, she was fine. Slain could still see the bruises in the morning though, every morning, along with the scratches and tares in her clothing and skin.

She was holding herself up with the help of the counter, her dark chestnut eyes met Slain’s right before she was hit again. The scream imprinted itself in the toddler’s mind as she reeled away from the counter and slammed against a chairs, her face contorting in pain. “Go back to bed!” She screamed at him. The man in front of her gave him a fleeting glance and then he turned back to the woman before him.

Slain slipped back into the hallway, hurriedly going back to his small bedroom. He shut the door behind him and threw the covers over his entire body, huddling under it as he clamped his hands to his ears. It didn’t matter, the screams still reached his ears and the boy started crying. The man got mad sometimes, but never like that. He had never seen him do that to his mother. For a moment he saw his mother lying pale and still on the floor, the man standing tall above her. Slain’s short arms wrapped themselves around his knees, pulling them to his chest. The screams had suddenly stopped and he didn’t want to hear them start again.

Un-expectantly, the door to Slain’s room was flung open and the covers ripped from over his small body. The man stood above Slain, an glaring down at him, anger blazing in his eyes as a massive hand reached down and grabbed him by the arm. Slain whimpered as he felt the hand tighten and bruises start to form.

- - - - -

Slain suddenly woke up, his entire body covered in sweat and shaking, his breathing ragged. His eyes darted over to where Darvian laid in bed, still asleep. Then he looked at the clock, the numbers 1:28 glowed in bright green light. The dream, the memory had not disappeared, yet held itself vividly in his mind. In an effort to warm his freezing body, Slain pulled his covers up to his chin and then, after a short pause, pulled them over his head. Under the covers he pulled his knees up against his chest and rested his forehead on them. He had thought that he forgot those memories, that he had successfully rid them from his mind for eternity.

‘You’re never going to get rid of me.’

Under his covers Slain shivered as the all too familiar voice ran through his head and he started to rock himself gently, sill curled up on his side. Despite the fact that he was awake he could still see the images run through his mind. Too afraid to go back to bed, the teen forced himself to keep his eyes open.