Short Stories, Poems, and Shit

The Sound Of Being Fucked

The sound of being fucked. Being fucked already hurt a lot, but it sounded worse.

The sound was one that you would try and download for free onto your computer except it sounded like shit and came with a free, everlasting virus.

You could hear the sound of his hand sprinting across her face repeatedly, like the bang of a drum. The sound of her grinding her teeth together in the attempt to muffle her screams, like the strum of a guitar. Sometimes if you listen close enough you could hear him telling her just how worthless she is, like the notes from a piano. If you were lucky enough maybe you can even hear her begging for him to stop.

However there was one instrument that you can't hear, no matter how hard you try. Tucked away in the bedroom wardrobe, cloaked in shadows and sorrows hid a boy. His eyes were squeezed shut and his ears were being plugged by his hands so hard you would think they would bleed. He cried.

He cried for his Mother to stop hurting.

He cried for his Dad to stop drinking.

He cried for his life as his Dad fucked it.

He cried because now he had to grow up.

And when he stepped out of the rickety wardrobe, tears were no longer evident in his eyes.

His mother saw him first and screamed for him to run. So he did, he ran right towards her. As he hugged his Mother, his fathers drowsy eyes crawled over the two of them, gaze sticking like dust.

And the boy smiled.

And his Mother stopped crying.

And the boy never again had a smile brought to his lips.

And his Mother never again had tears brought to her eyes.

And as his Father stared down at the ant like people fifty floors below him, he listened to the scratchy, screaming sound of being fucked.

The last sound heard in his fucked up life.

Thanks to @irritatedfeminist for the prompt idea:

The sound of being fucked,

You really had no idea where I would take that did you?