Chapter Twenty One

15 5 0
                                    

"Hello, little boy," a sickening voice echoes in the small attic. Max shakes but continues to play with the window to try and open it. Except, he's weak. He has no energy and his muscles are like rubber. If he were to have just gone along with the beatings rather than to fight against them, maybe he'd have more power. "What are you doing by the window?" A striking footstep slammed onto the rusty attic floor, causing Max to jump. "You don't want to speak?" There was no answer. "I'll take that as a no," the voice breathed out before taking another step. 

Time was getting cut off short for Max. He no longer had much time to try opening the window. With more panicked movements, he began to slam his weak fist on the glass to make it shatter. But soon, he was pulled back from the window.

And with a quick whip to the back of the head, he stopped thinking of fighting.

He ignored the way his body felt like rubber after every punch, every kick, every pull and push. He ignored how he wanted to scream after every cut, every burn, every slam. He ignored everything as he felt the knife trail down his arm, his leg and soon, the side of his neck. He ignored everything, until the man got off of him, and left him in the corner of the room, nearly lifeless.

Poor

Pathetic

Boy.

That Little LetterWhere stories live. Discover now