Burning Out

Daniel, 8 years old, is sitting at a dinner table, but this is not a place of joy or love. This house is where he has been since he could remember. And blurry memories sometimes come up from happier days. He could see his mom pushing him on the swing, wind blowing his hair and face. It's like he's flying, flying away from it all. He could just swing so high that his body would just dissipate gently and he would disappear. A bang on the table jolts him back into reality. A hot soup is sitting on the table in front of him. Daniel looks down, hoping maybe this time nothing will happen. Maybe just once. 'Go back' his mind thinks, 'go back to the good memories and everything will be fine'. His body won't stop shaking again and his body curls up slightly even as he forcefully resists it. Daniel can hear those familiar footsteps quietly entering the dining room again. He tries to take himself back to the swing. Anything but this. Swinging swinging swinging swinging-
"Dinner's ready"
The world starts to crumble and Daniel feels like he could almost stop breathing. The air thickens like cyanide fog. The deep voice whispers in his ear, "pull up your shirt" Like clockwork, Daniel pulls up his shirt slowly. A hand goes over his chest, slowly reaching down his pants. Daniel can feel the hand touching it. He can feel the mouth kissing his neck. That tongue running up his neck to his ear. Swinging swinging swinging... swinging. It's like the whole world is swinging. Eventually everything goes numb and it's like he's not even in his body anymore. It's nice. It's peaceful here... he can see the pastel blue sky. There's no fear or pain. The man isn't there. No one is. Just Daniel on a single swing brushing across the sky. No more world, just the soft breeze as he extends his arms to fly.