I was asked to write a short story about an instance of child abuse
and what I would see as some of the possible end results of the abuse. It
was rejected by the publishing group looking for the stories because it
was too dark which is fine. I will admit that it is dark and those that
I asked to read it also mentioned the darkness that it holds but I've never
seen child abuse of any kind as anything but dark, but I could have made
it lighter in some fashion I suppose. So this is the story.
The wind crept through the broken windows of the long ago abandoned tobacco
barn. He woke stretching his small dirt covered arms out from underneath
the jean jacket that provide his warmth through the chill of the night.
He sat up shaking the lantern that sat next to his head. The light had gone
out during the night and as he had thought the fuel inside had depleted
itself. He put the lantern down and reached for his half empty pack of Marlboro
Reds, flicked his wrist and took the butt between his teeth and took in
a long breath as the flame he commanded forth flickered at the other end
of the cigarette.
He looked outside the window that only partially existed and guessed that by the position of the sun it was probably around 7:30 a.m. He tried his best to push his hair back into some semblance of order and pulled open the creaking door and stepped through. After closing his makeshift second home he started walking across the long forgotten tobacco fields.
The road that lay before him seemed to go on forever; his short legs just kept moving one in front of the other. He had grown used to this trek but he knew that the findings at the end of this one were going to be the only variation of what had become a sense of normalcy for him.
Cars and trucks passed him some honking, some starting to press their brakes probably wondering why he was walking on the side of the road alone.
Civilization started to come into view as he crested the next hill. His heart began to beat faster. He sat on the side of the road and lit another cigarette realizing it was his last one. He placed the empty pack back in his pocket and finally rose when the cigarette had run out of tobacco.
Ahead on the right side of the road was a locally owned small service station. There were many like it strewn along the southern states of the USA. He walked to the side of the service station and tried to open the door to the bathroom and found it locked. He knocked on the door and listened intently but there was no answer. After consideration he made his way to the front door of the service station and went through. He pulled out his empty pack of Marlboro Reds and pointed at them and then raised one rust colored finger.
The teenager behind the counter started at him a bit too long and then
shook his head and retrieved the pack of cigarettes. While punching the
buttons on the register he took a pen and wrote a note on a coupon that
lay on the counter asking for the key to the bathroom. The teenager again
started too long and then obliged. He paid for his cigarettes, pocketed
his change and then started to the door. He looked back and found the teenage
attendant staring at him. He knew that the myriad of stories that had passed
around this neighborhood in regards to him were running through the service
jockey’s head.
In the bathroom he looked in the mirror and realized another reason the boy behind the counter had looked at him like he had. His hair had failed to comply with his earlier requests and some areas were sticking up, some were flattened and other parts were matted in a gummy mess.
His face was dust covered with spots and smears of what appeared to be liquefied rust scattered in no apparent order. His jacket and shirt were in the same condition only with a higher concentration of the rust presence. His hands were another matter they were caked and covered with the rusty goo. He turned on the water in the faucet and began to rub his hands as clean as he could get them, and then turned his attention to his face and hair.
As clean as he felt he could possibly get himself in the soap free, stench high bathroom he went back into the service station and returned the key and made his way out.
As he walked down the road he saw the small houses start to get larger. Children were playing in some of the yards, adults doing yard work in others. A group of trees provided shade to one gentleman that was lying back on a hammock and swinging gently with the light breeze.
He looked again at the children playing and wondered what it would have been like to be one of them. Happy, carefree, just being able to be a kid. He broke out of his useless thoughts and made his way further down the road.
After several miles and as many cigarettes he turned into the driveway of an expansive estate. The wrought iron fences that surrounded the property were as much for prestige as they were for security, he only ever saw them as the bars of a prison to keep him in. When he’d left the previous evening he didn’t bother to close the driveway gate and was actually surprised that there were not visitors there feigning concern.
He made sure to close the gate this time and then made his way around the back of the house. He used his key and opened the door that went into the kitchen and made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He took the sandwich into the living room and the previous night started to replay itself in his mind.
The rooms of the lower level of the house had been stuffed with men and women in tuxedos and gowns. Each hoping for a chance to speak to the guests of honor. His parents, many of the guests would pass by him with the common pleasantries that were supposed to be afforded to the son of important people.
The night was enjoyable enough at the beginning. The food was good, he had snuck a bottle of champagne away and after trying it realized he liked the occasional beer he would steal much better.
As the guests started to leave he began to worry and hurriedly went upstairs and climbed into his bed and closed his eyes as tight as he could.
When the final guests had left and all the cleaning crew was gone he heard the door to his room open and could make out the off color pink beneath his closed eyes as the light fell across his lids. He felt the covers being pulled away from him and the large hands he had come to loathe grab him and pull him to the side of the bed.
The hand pulled down the pants of his pajamas as he felt the other hand take a handful of his hair reminding him that he had no choice but to comply. As the liquor soaked breath covered the back of his neck he opened his mouth in a muted scream as his father tore into him and began the almost nightly ritual of violation. Since the first time it had happened 4 years ago when he was 6 he had quit being able to speak.
He felt the blood run down his inner thighs as his father tore into him. A light flutter of hope started to embrace him as he heard footsteps in the hallway and hoped that someone from the party had forgotten something and returned to retrieve it. His heart then fell even more when he looked towards the door with an outstretched hand and saw his mother look in and then close the door behind her.
Finally spent his father withdrew himself leaving the rest of him running out of his son and pulled his pants up threw the boy to the ground and walked away and shut the door behind him.
Laying on the ground, shaking, bleeding, hurting and crying he took off his clothes and sat in the darkness for hours. Finally he stood and got dressed. He went down the hall to his parents room and stared at them.
The previous night’s actions made him lose his appetite and he set aside his PB&J and climbed the stairs to his room. He chose a suit that his parents had bought him several months prior and went to the bathroom and then showered.
After making sure that he was as presentable as he could make himself he took the trip down the hall to his parents room again. He stood at the foot of the bed as he had the night before and looked at them. His father could have been mistaken for sleeping if not for the hole that rested in his forehead and his mother had a stare of shock on her frozen face from the several bullets that tore through her torso.
The pistol that he had retrieved from his father’s nightstand and used on them still rested on the floor where he dropped it. He picked it up and laid it on the bed.
Climbing on the bed he pulled out a small pocket knife and cut as deep as he could into his forefinger. After finishing his message he walked to the end of the bed and picked up the pistol. He returned and lay between his parents and placed the barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.
The following day when the Congressman did not report to work or answer the repeated calls to his home a security detail was sent to check on the family. As they entered the master bedroom they were horrified by the sight they found. After the bodies were removed the only surviving relative was called to settle the estate and answer the unknown questions and reasons.
A single tear fell from her eye as she realized that the nightmare had not stopped at her but spilled to her only brother. The realization came when she read the epitaph that was written above the bed where the bodies were found in her brother’s own blood.
“I’m only a child.”