A Tale of Grey Man

One

The well was deep—so deep, I couldn't even see the sky. I just sat on the warm stone bottom, thinking about everything that had happened in my life.

How did it happen that I took so wrong bend on the road of my life?

Everything began with my youth.

There was nothing special about my childhood. I lived with my father, mother, and sister in small two-storied house which was situated in a tiny village on the fringe of a country beside a vast ocean. Our relationship wasn't perfect at all, to tell the truth. My sister often mocked and humiliated me. We dwelled in a room together on the second floor. I slept beside a window, so every morning I was woken by the benign, warm sun, and the bracing ocean breeze. This was my taste of childhood, my nostalgia, my silver ray of hope—in the darkest times of my life, when I thought nothing would ever be better, this small memory is what saved me from insanity.

Our parents occupied the downstairs. They always argued. They shouted at each other, my mother always laughed hysterically in the end, and then she'd start scratching him with her long, sharp nails. I think she grew them that long on purpose. So it would be more painful for my father when she dug her claws into his face, chest and hands. He always walked with angry cuts. They'd ooze with pus and blood, and because of that, his heavy face with dark drooping bags under each eye became unbearable.

I remember one night so well, it was as if it was yesterday. It was the pivot point that changed everything and opened my eyes to what kind of person my father was.

That night, my parents' quarrell was especially strong—I was so scared that I went to bed very early.

While I was sleeping, my elder sister crept to my bed and upended a pail of ice-cold water on me. I woke up and screamed, almost jumping out of my skin. She laughed hard.

'Are you scared, little brother? You didn't wet your pants, did you?' taunted my sister.

In fury, I leapt on her chest and tried to throw her down, but she was much stronger then I. She ripped me off of herself and held me in her out stretched arms. I cried once more, and with an enormous exertion, started flailing my arms and legs. She let go—I dropped on the floor with great smack, and weeping, bolted toward the door—to the room of my parents.

Even now, I remember my hatred; I wanted them to spank her buttocks until she couldn't feel them at all.

I met my father on the staircase. He grabbed me by the scruff and growled:

'What the hell do you think you are doing?'

'She doused me. I am drenched. I am—' whined I.

'So what?' roared my father—to my great surprise. 'You are almost a man grown now. There are so many menacing and threatening things in this world, and you bother me with this nonsense. Shut up, and do not shame me. Stuttering fool!'

With every word he bellowed, he spat his saliva into my face. Blood was running down his deep furrows and cheeks. It was only slightly congealed after evening's fight, so the distaste that contorted his face broke every thin scab that was formed on the cuts in previous couple of hours.

'Fine, Father. I understand my mistake. It will never happen again.' hissed I through gritted teeth.

'I hope so. Good boy. Now go to sleep.' He patted my head.

'Good night, Father.'

As I said my last sentence, I turned from his almost violent black eyes, they were so deep in their sockets that they resembled two squirming worms in decaying apple. As I trod away from him, I could feel his boring look on my back.