His dark curly hair, glistening in the rays of a warm sun that intruded through the window, was pushed back by the soft hands of his mother. She smelled of the freshly baked goods that she thought could push back his questions.
However, the boy was above these measly distractions and the intensity in his blue eyes searched his mother's pale face.
"Father's not here, where is he?" He questioned softly, the words echoing in the large kitchen, an African-American busied herself by cleaning some stray dishes left on the counter-tops as his mother sat down slowly in front of him.
He had been wanting to raise this question or at least two days, but he tried to push it back. Ignore it. He thought that it might be best to act as though nothing was happening.
When he'd woken up two nights ago, it wasn't morning. For a moment he had wondered what had woken him, and then the noise seemed to come back to life even stronger than before. The soft quivers and quivering sharp breaths were mixed with sniffles.
He sat quietly in the darkness of his room, listening to the swallowed cries.
His mother cleared her throat at the table, folding her hands and bending her head down softly. "William, the prayer."
William looked at her quietly for a moment, scanning her features where obviously, a secret hid.
"Mother, Father isn't here."
She grit her teeth and her head shot up quickly, her azure eyes burning into his own. They matched perfectly.
"I know that, don't you think I know that? Now say the prayer."
William furrowed his eyebrows and leaned over the table, the hot steam from the plate rising to hit the bottom of his chin. "Where is he?"
"Say the prayer, William, or I can't promise your well-being, damn it."
William let out a steady breath before swallowing, "Lord, thank you for blessing us with this bountiful meal, Amen."
His mother's muscles tensed beneath her expensive silk dress. The dark curls flowing down her back shook with violence as she turned her head to glare at him quickly, "William, that was the shortest prayer I've ever heard."
William shook his head, "But I said it. Where's Father?"
His mother clutched her fork. "Those things shouldn't be discussed with a seven year old boy, nor is it your business, now eat your breakfast before it turns cold."
William closed his eyes slowly, inhaling the scents of breakfast, though he only longed for the voice of his strong father. To spurt out a joke that he could giggle at. To show him the various methods of killing live stock and cutting meat. To take him around town and let him get his hair cut at the barber shop.
William didn't touch his food.
How could it possibly not be his business. It was his father.
"Mother, please." He whined quietly moving in further to watch her face contort slowly and she stood promptly. Hands behind her back and her eyes in slits.
William swallowed. He knew that he shouldn't have asked once more.
He felt the powerful crack of nails against flesh and suddenly, with only half a brain functioning, he slid down the wall and watched his view slowly turn to grey.
"Never beg.." The words echoed noisily through the sharp ringing in his ears.
YOU ARE READING
The Butcher
Fanfiction-The Butcher. Those who knew him, feared him. Those who didn't fear him, were dead. No one knew the past behind the man. This is his story.
