October 8th, 1945, New York City apartments,
A little boy sat in his bedroom, tears streaming down his cheeks. He heard his father open the door to the apartment, and his blood ran cold. He stood up, wiping away tears frantically as his father approached his door. The boy heard his mother trying to calm his father down.
"John, please!," she said, her voice shaking, "just calm down."
"YOU SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET," said the father, his words slurred.
The father throws the boy's mother on the couch, and she begins to sob, her whole body shaking. The boy's face is pale. He knows what's coming next, this is a weekly event. He tries to calm himself taking deep breaths, but to no avail. His father bursts through the door, holding an empty bottle of whisky.
"WHAT DID YOU DO BOY?!" the father screams. The boy jumps back, terror overcomes his whole body. he tries to speak, but nothing comes out.
"WELL?" says the father
"I-" the boy stutters, "I-"
The Fathers slaps the boy across the face, WHACK.
"SPIT IT OUT!" the fathers screams.
"I got in a fight at school," says the boy, his lip quivering,"this kid was pickin' on me, I told him to stop, but he wouldn't. I even tried to find help but his buddies kept me from goin' anywhere. Then he started saying things about momma, real nasty things pop, real nasty things. I got so angry pop, I just," the boy choked, "I couldn't help it."
"'Couldn't help it', huh?," says the father, he grabbed the boy by the throat, "Well then what did you do?"
"What?" says the boy, grabbing at his father's hands
"Show me what you did," says the father, letting go of the boy, letting fall to the ground.
"Why?" asks the boy.
"Because," says the father,"if you're grown enough to fight like a man, you're grown enough to get beat like one."
The boy looked up at his father pure terror on his face.
"Pop, please," the boy says, tears filling his eyes, "please don't do this"
The father shakes his head, grabbing the boy by the arm, and pulls him to his feet.
"Put em' up" says the father.
"No," says the boy.
WHACK, the father slaps the boy
"Put your hands up boy!" screams the father. The boy slowly balls his hands into fists, and holds them to his face.
"Alright," says the father, "hit me." "No, please" says the boy.
"What?," says the father, "are you scared? You weren't scared when you were fighting that boy."
"Pop," pleads the boy, "I won't fight you"
"Now listen here," demands the father, "you're gonna put your damn hands up, and you are going to hit me."
The boy can't contain his tears any more, and they begin to run down his cheeks. The father raises his fists, and beckons for the boy to throw a punch.
"No," says the boy, behind tears, "no, no, no, no, please"
"Do it." says the father
"No!" shouts the boy
"HIT ME DAMMIT, HIT ME!!!" screams the father, jumping at the boy.
The boy swings his fist with all his might, and connects with his father's jaw. The father, shocked, stumbles backward, a look of surprise of his face.
"I- Pop- I'm sorry..." whispers the boy.
The veins in the father's neck bulge, and he turns red with anger.
"You...little-" mumbles the father, swinging at the boy with a closed fist. He connects square in the boy's stomach, knocking him backwards into the wall. As the boy falls to the ground, he gasps for breath in great heaves.
"GET UP!," demands the father, "TAKE YOUR BEATIN' LIKE A MAN!"
The boy slowly picks himself up, and he comes to a realization: This is what has happened almost all his life. There isn't any point in fighting. It's useless. Fighting back only makes Pop more angry. So, the boy gives up. Finnally, he gives in. This is all his life has amounted up to, and this is all it will be. So the boy gets up, and gives in.
"Okay," says the boy, as he sniffs and wipes away tears, "I'll take it"
"Not hurt enough, huh?" says the father.
The father punches the boy in the jaw, and the boy gets back up. "Again" says the boy.
WHACK
"Harder" says the boy
WHACK
The father happily obliges.
"Again" says the boy.
WHACK.
WHACK.
WHACK.
WHACK.
he boy lays on the floor, and coughs up blood, as well as two teeth. The boy's father stands over the boy, panting. he sighs and walks toward the door. As he opens the door he turns back to the boy.
"Good job Kenneth, you're a man now...."
YOU ARE READING
Brady: PI
Misterio / SuspensoThis is the beginning of a series I'm planning. Thirty two year old Kenneth W. Brady is a private investigator in New York City in the year 1972. For fourteen years, Kenneth has worked with the New York Police Department. When He is witness to a su...
