File named doc1
::He sits there silently on his bed, reading a book quietly. There is a light breeze blowing gently outside through the pine and eucalyptus trees in the backyard. It is a simple room: two beds, one on either side of the room; a closet facing the foot of the beds, the only door in or out of the room just to the right of the closet, a small one-paned window at the head of the beds, a tan carpeted floor with a just a few leggos and other miscellaneous toys lightly scattered about the room. The room is no bigger than about ten feet by twelve. White washed walls with nothing upon them except for a few smears of fingerprints and dusty cobwebs in the corners. The child is young about eight and already deeply tanned and weathered by the rich California sun. His golden mop of locks falls playfully across his eyes as he reads there upon his Grandmother’s quilt that she had made for him. The letters are bold and odd looking. They are each a different color and pattern. The name, Ben, reads as if an eye sore were simply slapped down with the utter most haste in preparation. The other bed is not too much unlike its twin, the same covering depicts the name of Nate upon the head of the material. He sighs lightly, turns and watches a small bird flying past the window. He had been focused on reading but was drawn from his own little world by the shadow of the bird as it flew on by.
It alights upon the outside window ledge a moment and pecks once or twice upon the glass, sitting there briefly chirping and flapping its wings to remain on the narrow edge. He smiles softly at the bird and puts down the book and crawls to the window slowly. He rests his head upon the window sill and looks intently at the little creature. The bird continues to the hop around on the outer portion of the sill, pecking at the wood and chirping. His deep bluish-grey eyes are shadowed by the crown moldings’ own and from a small cloud that has drifted over the sun. He giggles at the little bird and then pouts slightly as it flies off in search of insects. Turning, he lays back down upon his bed and takes up the book again. The door handle turns slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His brother enters the room with a bang of the door upon the wall and begins rummaging through the closet quickly. He withdraws a plastic gun and sword and then runs off down the hall grinning. He is blond too, and just as tan as the little boy sitting in bed reading. The young child makes a half hearted smile and frown at the same time, wishing his brother would have closed the door slightly so that the family dog would not come in to lay upon the bed as he reads. It was too warm for the beastly mutt to be in the room now. He gets up and closes the door tightly, then resumes his book.
A half hour passes and eventually he falls into a deep sleep, the book laying open upon the floor, having fallen as he could not make himself stay awake any longer. The handle on the door turns slowly. It opens ever so cautiously and admits the boys’ father. He walks over to the bed and sits down, waking the boy slightly. He stirs and cracks an eye open, smiles slightly, and rolls over on his side, facing the wall. He mumbles something, as if asking his father for a few more moments of rest before being made to go outside and play with his annoying brother. He hears his father laugh softly and feels his callused hand upon his leg, near the ankle. It almost tickles. The hand slowly crawls up his leg, to his knee. The child opens his eyes slightly and looks over his thin, lithe shoulder at his father. He asks to be left alone. He is simply ignore. The hand creeps slowly up his leg more, towards his thigh. He pushes his fathers’ hand away, telling him no, that he doesn’t like the way he is being touched. He father nods, saying he is sorry, stands and goes to the door. He closes it and locks it.
The he approaches the child again. This time he is fully awake and wondering what is going on. His father sits down upon the bed and simply for the longest time stares into his sons’ eyes as if seeking something. Maybe it was some form of redemption, as if trying to apologize for what happened next. Maybe it was seeking forgiveness, love, compassion…anything to redeem his filthy soul. His steel grey eyes darkened slightly, the knotted brows hanging over them as if they were now one long brow and not two. The corners of his mouth, hidden by his beard, twitched slightly. The words, “I love you,” breaks the deathly still silence. The boy swallows, still unsure of what to do, what is happening. Should he run? Should he play along? Maybe it was all some sort of game that Dad was playing…maybe he just wanted to talk. What was going to happen to him? Why was the door locked? Why was he looking at him in this way? Was he angry? Did the child do something wrong? What?
Dad’s hand started to carress the boy’s face, much the way a movie-time lover touches the face of his girlfriend: cupping the cheek in the palm, the steel icy fingers caressing and massaging the muscles and bones of the jaw and cheek, making the boy look into his fathers’ eyes. He leans over him and kisses him gently upon his forehead, his hands feeling the childs’ legs near the genital regions. The child moves away and says stop and no, don’t. I don’t like this. But he is held down by his father. Dad’s hands completely circle the childs’ upper arms, pinning him with one to the bed. The other unbuttons his shorts and then lowers the zipper. Then he tears the child’s underwear in half and lowers himself over the boys’ penis. His breaths on it. His breath is hot and stale as if he had had a few too many beers, but his father never drank. Alcohol doesn’t agree with him. He is extremely allergic to it, when it is in beer and wine form. It makes him break out in hives and pussing white dots all over his body. He breaths a second time and the child squirms for freedom, but his fathers’ hand goes to his throat. Hot and foul breath meets his nostrils and words blast through his frightened mind like a bomb shell going off:
“Move, scream, or try to get away and you die. Tell any one and you die.”
Then he goes back to work, kissing the boys’ penis lightly, and sucking gently upon it with only his lips. He fondles it, playing with it as if were something a cat might tease before the kill. Hot tears stream down the childs’ face and he shudders softly, wanting to curl up into a ball and disappear forever. He does not understand why this is happening. He wants only to get away somewhere, anywhere! And be free of this hell. He squirms again, half heartedly, not really trying to fight back, just trying to be left alone. His fathers’ hands massage his legs and he kisses them both to his feet, playing with his toes and then back to his penis again. Fondling the testicles, squeezing them hard and painfully, making the boy jump and kick back, causing him to cry even more. Then black spots appear before the childs’ eyes and grow larger with every second. He is lightheaded and nauseous. His stomach churns and bubbles slightly. He barely feels his father forcing him to him oral sex and to fondle him back. He swallows slightly and then collapses into his bed covers, tears and vomit forming a small pool in his bed as he slips silently into what he thinks in night. No sound enters his ears, not light disturbs his eyes. Only fire upon his flesh and cool breath in his hair.
In the dimmed distance, far upon a white cloud of thought, he hears a deep shadow call to him “I did this because I loved you.” They echo deeply in his empty mind and then go completely silent. There is nothing now. Just the deafening silence.
It alights upon the outside window ledge a moment and pecks once or twice upon the glass, sitting there briefly chirping and flapping its wings to remain on the narrow edge. He smiles softly at the bird and puts down the book and crawls to the window slowly. He rests his head upon the window sill and looks intently at the little creature. The bird continues to the hop around on the outer portion of the sill, pecking at the wood and chirping. His deep bluish-grey eyes are shadowed by the crown moldings’ own and from a small cloud that has drifted over the sun. He giggles at the little bird and then pouts slightly as it flies off in search of insects. Turning, he lays back down upon his bed and takes up the book again. The door handle turns slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His brother enters the room with a bang of the door upon the wall and begins rummaging through the closet quickly. He withdraws a plastic gun and sword and then runs off down the hall grinning. He is blond too, and just as tan as the little boy sitting in bed reading. The young child makes a half hearted smile and frown at the same time, wishing his brother would have closed the door slightly so that the family dog would not come in to lay upon the bed as he reads. It was too warm for the beastly mutt to be in the room now. He gets up and closes the door tightly, then resumes his book.
A half hour passes and eventually he falls into a deep sleep, the book laying open upon the floor, having fallen as he could not make himself stay awake any longer. The handle on the door turns slowly. It opens ever so cautiously and admits the boys’ father. He walks over to the bed and sits down, waking the boy slightly. He stirs and cracks an eye open, smiles slightly, and rolls over on his side, facing the wall. He mumbles something, as if asking his father for a few more moments of rest before being made to go outside and play with his annoying brother. He hears his father laugh softly and feels his callused hand upon his leg, near the ankle. It almost tickles. The hand slowly crawls up his leg, to his knee. The child opens his eyes slightly and looks over his thin, lithe shoulder at his father. He asks to be left alone. He is simply ignore. The hand creeps slowly up his leg more, towards his thigh. He pushes his fathers’ hand away, telling him no, that he doesn’t like the way he is being touched. He father nods, saying he is sorry, stands and goes to the door. He closes it and locks it.
The he approaches the child again. This time he is fully awake and wondering what is going on. His father sits down upon the bed and simply for the longest time stares into his sons’ eyes as if seeking something. Maybe it was some form of redemption, as if trying to apologize for what happened next. Maybe it was seeking forgiveness, love, compassion…anything to redeem his filthy soul. His steel grey eyes darkened slightly, the knotted brows hanging over them as if they were now one long brow and not two. The corners of his mouth, hidden by his beard, twitched slightly. The words, “I love you,” breaks the deathly still silence. The boy swallows, still unsure of what to do, what is happening. Should he run? Should he play along? Maybe it was all some sort of game that Dad was playing…maybe he just wanted to talk. What was going to happen to him? Why was the door locked? Why was he looking at him in this way? Was he angry? Did the child do something wrong? What?
Dad’s hand started to carress the boy’s face, much the way a movie-time lover touches the face of his girlfriend: cupping the cheek in the palm, the steel icy fingers caressing and massaging the muscles and bones of the jaw and cheek, making the boy look into his fathers’ eyes. He leans over him and kisses him gently upon his forehead, his hands feeling the childs’ legs near the genital regions. The child moves away and says stop and no, don’t. I don’t like this. But he is held down by his father. Dad’s hands completely circle the childs’ upper arms, pinning him with one to the bed. The other unbuttons his shorts and then lowers the zipper. Then he tears the child’s underwear in half and lowers himself over the boys’ penis. His breaths on it. His breath is hot and stale as if he had had a few too many beers, but his father never drank. Alcohol doesn’t agree with him. He is extremely allergic to it, when it is in beer and wine form. It makes him break out in hives and pussing white dots all over his body. He breaths a second time and the child squirms for freedom, but his fathers’ hand goes to his throat. Hot and foul breath meets his nostrils and words blast through his frightened mind like a bomb shell going off:
“Move, scream, or try to get away and you die. Tell any one and you die.”
Then he goes back to work, kissing the boys’ penis lightly, and sucking gently upon it with only his lips. He fondles it, playing with it as if were something a cat might tease before the kill. Hot tears stream down the childs’ face and he shudders softly, wanting to curl up into a ball and disappear forever. He does not understand why this is happening. He wants only to get away somewhere, anywhere! And be free of this hell. He squirms again, half heartedly, not really trying to fight back, just trying to be left alone. His fathers’ hands massage his legs and he kisses them both to his feet, playing with his toes and then back to his penis again. Fondling the testicles, squeezing them hard and painfully, making the boy jump and kick back, causing him to cry even more. Then black spots appear before the childs’ eyes and grow larger with every second. He is lightheaded and nauseous. His stomach churns and bubbles slightly. He barely feels his father forcing him to him oral sex and to fondle him back. He swallows slightly and then collapses into his bed covers, tears and vomit forming a small pool in his bed as he slips silently into what he thinks in night. No sound enters his ears, not light disturbs his eyes. Only fire upon his flesh and cool breath in his hair.
In the dimmed distance, far upon a white cloud of thought, he hears a deep shadow call to him “I did this because I loved you.” They echo deeply in his empty mind and then go completely silent. There is nothing now. Just the deafening silence.