Monochromatic

Chapter 1

There was no time to regret anything. From then on, he learned that to survive, you had to live in that moment. It all began one cloudy evening. Eight-year-old Rave walked slowly on his way back home in fear. His father would be home soon to let out his frustration on him, which has never once been fun. His mother, who never once took her head out of the clouds to notice anything, was in the backyard doing god knows what. Rave looked quite like his parents, he had long raven black hair reaching his back, jaded, piercing ice blue eyes with one darkened by his fresh black eye. His fragile pale white skin had many cuts and bruises but the blue dress his parents bought him was self-washed and self-ironed without any tears or stains. Rave, as always, wore his black dress shoes. Rave's baby sister, Libia, looked exactly like her elder brother but didn't seem to have any sign of infliction. Rave stepped into the house cautiously, as if his mother actually paid any mind to him or his whereabouts. He stepped into his room, Libia was sleeping so innocently on the hard-wooden floor. Rave acted quickly, he feared for him and his sister's life. He felt that if he went another day with this situation, he would perish; and what about his sister? He couldn't let her get hurt. However, he would just have to bear it for a little while longer. It was much too early to go now, that would be a rookie mistake. Rave carefully grabbed Libia, hiding both of them inside his bedroom closet. It wasn't long before their father was home, and their mother came in closet as he heard his mother and father grow closer. As always, the mother's distinctly softer footsteps moved away from Rave soon enough. She always disappeared into her room, almost waiting for it to be her turn as well. His father barged into his room, tainting the air with the scent of beer and sweat. Rave held his breath and bit his tongue; however, he knew it couldn't save him. He wouldn't be able to escape his father's grasp now, but Libia could. Rave hid his sister deep in the closet, covering her with clothing before being violently dragged by his ankle out the closet.

"Fucking come when you're fucking called you little slut!" Rave's father yelled before slamming him against the wall.

Drunk, Rave's father yelled out his name angrily, Rave hid deeper in the

Rave screamed, tears rushing down his cheeks.

"I swear you should be grateful you aren't out on the streets you little bitch so quit crying before I give you something to cry about!" his father slapped Rave harshly, his cheek was bruised, "A matter of fact, the only fucking reason you're not dead somewhere-"

Libia cried loudly from the closet, making their father storm off for some reason and disappear into his room.

Parents are supposed to be loving people who support and love you, people who take care of you and set a good example for you. However, Rave didn't know that his parents were the opposite. All he wanted was for them to love him. He did all he was asked to do, to say, to wear. Even after learning that his behavior and clothing was considered feminine, even after ruthless ridicule for it, he didn't fight back. That didn't change his parent's behavior. For the next hour, Rave received what he found normal, a flood of merciless thoughts and scarring memories. He ignored his sister's cries, they were drowned out through the empty void Rave's mind dug for him. No, enough is enough.

That night Rave woke up trembling. His parents were asleep, giving him the perfect chance to pack. He collected a few plastic bags he kept from his parent's latest trip to get groceries, grabbed the money he found carelessly left around the house, then carefully grabbed his sleeping sister and crept out the door. Rave ran as far as he could, hoping that his sister wouldn't wake and alarm others of their escape. Fortunately, all that was heard was the quiet sound of his footsteps and the heavy breaths from Rave's cold body as he searched for a bus stop. Once he reached one he sat down on the bench and checked on his now awake and confused sister. Rave felt a slight smile arise from his face. He was free, finally free. It only took a few minutes for the next bus to come, and Rave took the chance to get on, taking his time to sit at the very back to think. What was next, he's an 8-year-old little boy with little money; no home; no job; an infant; and he still needed to go to school. Rave did think this through before he ran away, he's been planning this for weeks, yet he still didn't feel prepared.