The air was dense, hard to breath. It was musky, smelt disgusting. His body ached. He could barely see, the dark hours of night left him with no light, though what he could see was blood.
This was normal to him. The pain would subside eventually, it always does. It had probably only been a few hours since his father had paid his last visit to the dark stone room that Adam was kept in.
Since he was around four years old he's been kept in this stone room. It's been six years of this torture. His father had a lot of pent up anger and urges, to which Adam was the one he took it all out on. Every breath rattled Adams lungs, he coughed. Blood splattered as he did, the ache in his stomach pierced him once again. Once morning came, he'd go through this again.
He was gasping for hair, clawing the ground as he did so; his fingers already bloody from friction on the pavement. His father's large hands clasped around his throat as he pounded his frustration through the innocence that was long forgotten. Every few seconds he could retrieve a small gasp of air. Blood dripped down his legs. Such a cruel thing; though it happened almost everyday. By time his father was finished, Adam was numb. He watched his father with dead eyes as he left the room. This is all the life he's ever known.
YOU ARE READING
Give me hope.
General FictionA demon by the name of King is followed by a dark past and cursed with a dark future. Going through terrible experience has given him trauma, which he hides behind his sense of humour and attractive smirk. He will stop at nothing to get himself to a...
