This story was written on May 26, 2021.
Warnings for this story: graphic depictions of violence, child abuse
Read at your own risk
Enjoy
~In The End Of The World
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He could feel the bile coming up, the churning of his stomach, the coil curling in his innards that was bound to expel itself one way or another. He could feel his teeth rotting, ready to fall out of his skull and onto the dirty floor below him. He could feel his eyes watering, the need to blink and cry and get rid of everything that was wrong in this room.
He wanted to leave.
Why couldn't he leave?
Ah, right.
They won't let him leave.
"P-please, I j-just wanna go-"
"SHUT UP!"
He shut up.
His eyes watered.
He was shaking.
It was too much,
too much,
too much,
too much,
He wanted to go home.
"C-can I go h-home?"
"QUIET!"
He was quiet.
He tried to stay quiet.
He tried, he really did.
"I'm s-sorry, j-just please-"
The smack echoed around the room.
Fresh tears sprung to his eyes.
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?
QUIET!"
And he tried again.
He tried his very best.
"Please, I just want to go home, I just wanna go to bed, I just wanna draw, I wanna call someone, I wanna sing, I wanna write, please, just let me go home, I won't make you mad again, I won't make you upset, I won't do anything, I just want to leave, please let me leave, please let this be over-"
There was another smack.
"I just want it to stop hurting, please make it stop, let me make it stop, I need help, I need someone, please let me call someone, I wanna call someone, I need to talk, I need my-"
And another.
A tooth fell out this time.
"Please, please, let it all end, I just want it to end, please, I just want, that's all I want, that's all I really-"
And they kept going, neither relenting.
And they kept going.
And going.
And the man kept smacking and pulling and stabbing and hurting.
And soon enough, he was just a bruised and bloodied heap on the chair.
The man looked at him, furious.
He blinked a swallowed eye open, peering up at him.
"Stop running your mouth, child"
He nodded, it's not like he could really say anything else.
He stared at the floor.
It has scattered teeth, hair, blood, and his larynx that was now on the floor.
He reached out a shaking hand, falling out of his chair and onto the floor.
The teeth dug into his knees.
The blood stained his skin.
The hair stuck to the tacky fluid.
He dipped his finger into the red.
And on the floor, in messy, battered writing, he wrote,
Yes, sir.
YOU ARE READING
In The End, Do I Deserve It? I Do
ContoA collection of short vent stories I have created. I will preface each story with warnings, as there is graphic content sometimes featured. I hope you can enjoy.
