The Bellators

3:8:1

Parental affection may be one of the most if not most vital foundational components of any living being in their development. Those early years of life are some of the most impactful for the whole life, as much of change in truth is the mere addition of what already is rather than a true reconfiguration of what was.

From foundational skills such as walking and acting to more conceptual morals pertaining to love and responsibility, many traits that are not questioned due to being so rudimentary are attributes sculpted largely by the ones who raise those people.

Grown adults with years of maturity, having met innumerable acquaintances and mentors, having experienced uncountable events, tragedies and miracles alike, those who have lived such richly momentous lives could drastically differ all simply by the first few years where they hardly had the ability to do anything. For the way an infant was raised can judge how that very same being will raise their own, an implant sown in from near birth, one difficult if not impossible to modify, for we may not even recognize the influences it had on us.

Parental affection can be demonstrated in a myriad of ways from verbal to physical to even the mere presentation a parent has, how they carry themselves and the way they shape their faces.

A prime example was of the two adults standing over their own, one a mature woman adorned in a white dress with a majestic decal pattern composed of flowery stems and petals both pink, intricately weaving through the dress in a way that exuded the tranquil aura of nature, and the other a similarly aged man ornamented in a spotless white suit: blazer and matching dress pants which present a professional and equally pure presence, who similarly to the woman had long brown hair although hers of a much lighter grade and was much longer as well as gracefully smooth.

Both of them had bright genuine smiles on their faces with shining white teeth, smiles so wide and filled with pride that their eyes were nearly shut. They spoke words, although those words were muddled and tuned out, yet the tones themselves tell of pride and excitement. They celebrated their own with cheers and joy inside the home's living room wrapped with beautiful white walls featuring gold streaks, made comfortable with white soft fur carpets across the floor and furnished with rich antique artifacts.

Past the living room between the adults was a dining room by the design of the antique wooden table inside the otherwise spacious room, illuminated by a majestic chandelier above with realistic flaming torches which dangle over a glorious white layered cake with golden streaks intertwined.

The two adults smiled inside the shining white home, pure of heart, ecstatic for the child's milestone day, congratulating with delight sincerely expressed in their tones and faces, providing such genuine and sweet affection.

Behind the two overjoyed adults in the living room flashed a red light immediately followed by the entire room engulfed in orange flames, scorching the white fur carpet and the white walls, all emitting from a red blaze behind the adults, both of whom spontaneously were now facing the other way, their voices no longer tender and sweet but rather aggressive and intense, their focuses suddenly shifted as flames crawled to the dining room where the cake was.

With sporadic, disjointed movements the woman had been turned once again to face the child, but now with an expression of pure desperation and fear as she shouted at him, reaching her hand out to the child in hopes of bringing them to safety. The fire had already far worsened, coming to the dining room as they had already spread over the table, ravaging the white cake thoroughly and continuing further through the home.

That is until another red blaze flashed from behind coupled with a sudden enraged shriek of a young boy, to which the woman suddenly staggered forward as a metallic blade emerged from her forehead, shaped similarly to a kitchen knife, and with the blade's protrusion also emerged crimson splatters along with pinkish guts, spilled over the burning rug as she released a final, desperate cry, just barely unable to make the reach to the child.