The Writer - HS AU

Part 3

The Boy and the Demon

There was once a family, like many others. The mother a writer, the father a businessman, and their child, a son. They were not poor, nor were they rich. The father worked all day, while the mother stayed with the boy. The child loved the mother, for she was kind and smart, and though he was somewhat distant, he loved the father too, for he was a rock in the river of fear and chaos. The boy was different, for he loved the smell of paper and ink, when his mother would read to him, her stories of adventures and great heroes. The child wished that one day, he could tell stories to his mother and father, so he could make them as happy as they made him. The child believed these days would last forever, for nothing could taint something so perfect.

He was wrong.

The mother was gone. The whims of fate took her from them, a tragic accident during a routine shopping trip. The father, during one of his rare breaks, decided to stay home this day and spend time with his family. The boy would always remember that day, when the men came to their home, faces decidedly apologetic, words carefully chosen, voices soft, as they destroyed everything. He saw his father's face, and somehow he knew that he had lost two parents that day.

And a demon had taken its place.

What caused this change? The boy would one day ask himself. One tragedy, no matter how horrible, isn't enough to change someone so completely to be almost unrecognizable, at least not at first. Life wasn't that simple like in the movies. The only explanation that made any sense was that, like he used to be, the mother was a rock to the father. Someone for him to hold onto when life got harder and it became difficult to stay afloat. Without her, he was swept away in the anger, fear, and despair, until he emerged with scars that weren't there before. Now the only thing left to cling to, was not a rock, but a scared child.

And he did, but not with love. Demons don't feel love. They can only hate.

Life, for a while, was quiet. Empty. Cold. Nothing had changed, but everything was different. The food tasted blander, the lights were dimmer, and the shadows seemed longer, darker. The demon who wore his father's face, didn't make his presence known for awhile. Until one day, in an attempt to cheer up his father, the boy brought him one of mother's stories. But instead of joy, the father tore the precious pages apart in rage. Her very memory was painful to him, and what hurt him made him angry. The boy went to his room hungry that night.

The father became more possessive, more controlling. If the boy made a mistake, he would be punished with no food. If his grades were not up to His standards, He would force the boy to stay up studying till he was exhausted. The boy was not allowed to have friends, nor talk to any one without His permission. The only way the boy could escape was through writing, as it allowed him to forget reality, and remind himself of happier times. But the father found out. That night the boy went to his room, covered in bruises.

Time went on, and the boy got older. The same routine over and over.

The boy had become a teenager, a loner and the resident weirdo in school. He would still write his stories, but in secret. He became terrified of anyone, not just his father, finding out. It was bad enough for his father to do it, but he didn't want to become the object of everyone's ridicule, and like that, he had hidden his stories ever since middle school. 

But someone did find out. While in the school library, when the boy thought he was alone, someone surprised him, and the pages had slipped to the floor and they saw it. They picked it up, intending on giving it back, until they saw what was written on it. They stared at it, not saying a word, silently reading. The boy was frozen in shock. He couldn't believe that he had been found out, and now everything he feared was about to come true. He closed his eyes, and waited. And waited. And waited.