Little Marine

Chapter Two

_/\_ 3rd person _/\_

A four year old sat playing on a light brown rug. "Arkham sweetie!" His mother called as she entered the small room. The child known as Arkham giggled and crawled to his mother. She picked him up an spun him around. Little did they know that was one of the few happy memories they had left...
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The young boys father came crashing in through the front door, yelling nonsense. He slurred out curses as he stumbled into the living room. Arkham cling to his mother terrified. She tried to talk to her husband but with no avail...He throw her to the floor, kicking her over and over again. Arkham sat on the couch sobbing loudly "Shut your trap!" His father yelled as he slapped Arkham harshly. The small boy fell to the floor with a loud thud. The drunken man muttered as he stomped back out the front door.
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Years passed, the beatings only getting harsher. Arkham's father was now not only beating his mother but when he was in a very foul mood, he would rape her. Thus leading to Arkham's sister Mari being born.
Once Mari was two months old her mother started sending Arkham and her to a day care. This didn't sit will with their father.
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One day Arkham arrived home, Mari planted on his hip. He opened the front door, slowly stepping inside. The door closing behind them as they entered the living room. Arkham's eyes grew wide as he quickly covered Mari's. Before them stood their father, blood splattered all over him and the floor. Their mother lay on the ground lifelessly, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. A knife implanted firmly into her chest. Their father smiled sweetly as he spoke "Welcome home!!" Arkham started to tremble, he had to get out if there. He ran for the front door Mari cradled to his chest tightly. Rushing through the door he screamed "Help! Please!!" He ran to the neighbors house, banging on the door. "Please!! Help!! Help!! Please!!"
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All around was black...pitch black. The kind of darkness that plagues the minds of children with thoughts of monsters under there beds....if only they knew the truth. There isn't monster under the bed, the monsters you need to worry about are the ones in your head. This constant shade of black was the only thing surrounding him. Though Arkham felt concussion in his head...no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't open his eyes. He tried to move but nothing, only the numbing dark. There he was... nothing to do but think. Replay memories over and over. Desperately trying to skip over the years of trama that played before him. Living it once was more than enough...yet he was reliving it over and over. Not just the mental pain...no he's body remembered, he remembered the cold metal and stiffness of his father's belt. The gut wrecking pain of ribs being broken repeatedly. Finally pushing back the memory the scenery transforms into a light pink and white room. The carpets a cream color and the decor indicating the room most likely belonged to a girl. There in his memory sat his younger self. Flipping through a picture book. A little girl in his lap, moving her finger along as he read. The door creaking open and a beautiful woman in her late thirties appears. Smiling down at the children she spoke, though no sound came out. As her lips moved and she reached forward to grab the young girl the image starts to fade, the small smile that unconsciously made its way onto his face faded as well. Molding back into it's original straight line. Small tears fall from his eyes and gently roll down his cheek. Leaving barely noticeable lines in which the drops of water travelled. Though as much as he fought the memory would fade. He could do nothing but struggle as his consciousness was swallowed back into the darkness.