Post by numberunknown on May 26, 2007 5:59:09 GMT
If you are uncomfortable with child abuse, violence or profane language, by all means do not read this. It needs serious editing, and it is a tragedy novel. This is the very, very, very end of it, because everything I write turns out sad.
This was particualrly hard for me to write, because every character in this mini-novel (the proper word is novella, but I don't like that word) is based on a real person. The main character, Ethan, is a real person who I asked if I could write this about. Of course, I completely made up their living arrangment, but I kept their character personality the same as in real life.
I do not have a name yet. Once again: Rated PG-13
A quick sonopsus of what had happened BEFORE this part of my novel, is that this is a kid named Ethan, and his father is a terrible person. Ethan rely's on his friends, and the whole time, his dad calls his friends stuff. And all Ethan wants is a chance to tell his father to shut up.
---------------------------------
“Who do you think you are?” Mr. Lewis asked dangerously as Ethan came through the door. He was obviously drunk, but not drunk enough to allow his son into the house without an argument. “Coming in here at midnight. And did you go buy my beers? Course not. You were out with your retard friends.”
Ethan clenched his fists, but said nothing as usual.
“So I’m proposing a new curfew. You get back here at seven sharp, and with my beers, thank you. Maybe then, those freaks you hang out with will respect their parents too. You know what, boy? I used to think it was strange that you were friends with such idiots. And then I realized that you were retarded too.”
“Shut up.” Ethan said in a low voice, dangerous and dead set on his point. “Just… shut the hell up.”
“Why?” His dad growled, eager for a fight. His red skin was sweating ever so slightly, and the house trembled under his two-hundred-and-seventy pounds as he stood from his tattered armchair. “Why should I?”
Ethan could feel his own breath becoming heavier. He ached to hit his dad, to beat him, to kill him… but he knew that his dad could crush him in an instant. He tried to steady his anger, the anger that had slowly built up in him since the young age of eight, but it was overflowing. Infuriated, he thought to himself: Why not? Why shouldn’t I fight him? I’m not a kid anymore. I can take him. I can kill him…
He thought of his mother. His small, defenseless mother, bruised and bleeding. She had left eight years ago. He had watched her run out of the house and never return again. His father had chased her away… that bitch had cost him a mother.
You’re in for it now. He thought bitterly.
“I hope that you rot in this house for the rest of your life. I’m never coming back. But first…” Ethan paused to think of what he was getting himself into. But before he could think, his mouth said, “But first I am going to kill you.”
Ethan watched for his fathers expression. He didn’t know what to expect. But fear swept briskly though him as Mr. Lewis’s fat, chapped lips curled into a grotesque smile.
“You wanna fight your old man?” He asked gruffly, but with interest beyond belief. “Sure, I’ll fight you. But to teach you a lesson. You’ve gotta learn to respect your elders.”
And before Ethan could blink, a huge fist, weighing about five pounds by itself, slammed into his ear without warning. The sixteen year old flew back against the mildewing wall, shocked. But, quickly recovering, he ran back at his dad.
Ethan hit his dad as hard as he could. Not caring where he was hitting. Just throwing punches.
This is for what you did to my mom, you bastard. And this is for what you said about my friends. And this is for what you’ve done to me. Or what you tried to do to me.
Mr. Lewis threw his son off of him, and Ethan hit the wall again. But he quickly rebounded, and went again, striking at his fathers stomach with every ounce of strength he had.
“A lot of nerve fighting your daddy like this, boy!”
“You aren’t my father. You never were!” He yelled, striking again.
And all of a sudden, knocking all the oxygen out of him, his father hit him. How or where, Ethan didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t move. Not now. It hurt too much…
A mumble from another room. The kitchen maybe. Mr. Lewis’s voice. “This’ll teach you, you retard of a boy…”
And the sound of a knife brushing against the wooden counter.
He’s gonna kill me. Thought Ethan with great fear and surprise, The bitch is gonna kill me. Any second now, I’ll be dead…
I don’t want to die. Oh, god, oh, god, I don’t want to die. I want to see my mom again. My friends. Please, dad, don’t kill me.
With every ounce of strength left in his broken body, he stood up and staggered to the door, flinging it open weakly. He limped down the stairs, pain searing in his chest which was probably where his father had hit him the hardest.
“What the hell are you doing, boy?!”
Oh, god, no. Please, no…
“Get your ass back here!”
Mr. Lewis ran to the front door with an infuriated burst of speed, pushing his son down the stairs. Ethan fell hard, out onto the deserted sidewalk from where he had watched his mother run.
Pain everywhere now. Pain that Ethan never imagined humanly possible. There was a ringing sound in his left ear, and as he struggled to open his eyes, everything was blurred.
Mr. Lewis stalked slowly and dramatically down the stairs, and Ethan could see the small knife glimmer in the starlight. It was sharp and jagged at the edge, and he knew indisputably what his father planned to do.
Mr. Lewis held Ethan down by the neck. His huge, obese fingers almost chocking the boy. Not that it was necessary. Ethan couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.
“Your mom was a retard just like you are.” His father whispered, his words spaced by small, nearly unnoticeable pants for breath.
“Shut up, bastard.” Ethan growled. He knew he was going to die anyway. Why not die defending his mother?
“I hope you rot in hell, boy. Maybe that’ll teach you a lesson.”
The knife was cold and shaking as Mr. Lewis dragged it deeply across his sons stomach. The incredible sting showed no mercy -- but then again, pain never did.
“Oh, shit.” Ethan whimpered, closing his eyes as if that way, he could block out all reality. When the knife left his body, it left a huge, gaping wound. The rain started with a clap of beautiful thunder, and then the downpour began.
The sky cried for Ethan, who lay dying as his father climbed back up his bloodstained stairs, careless of his sons fate. Every spot of starlight which had been dancing over his body was covered in darkness as the gray clouds moved across the sky.
His senses were dulling, but he could not mistake the sounds of his friends voices.
“Oh my god.” Reese whispered, “What happened…?” He asked, his voice quivering. “C-can you stand up?”
He almost tried to stand up, but a surge of apathy swept through him, and he decided against it. The rain almost stopped. Almost. But the clouds, too heavy with their burden of water, continued to shed over the boys.
And Ethan almost lived long enough for his friends to call the ambulance. But almost wasn’t good enough. He closed his mind one last time, gone forever when Reese tried helplessly to wake him up.
This was particualrly hard for me to write, because every character in this mini-novel (the proper word is novella, but I don't like that word) is based on a real person. The main character, Ethan, is a real person who I asked if I could write this about. Of course, I completely made up their living arrangment, but I kept their character personality the same as in real life.
I do not have a name yet. Once again: Rated PG-13
A quick sonopsus of what had happened BEFORE this part of my novel, is that this is a kid named Ethan, and his father is a terrible person. Ethan rely's on his friends, and the whole time, his dad calls his friends stuff. And all Ethan wants is a chance to tell his father to shut up.
---------------------------------
“Who do you think you are?” Mr. Lewis asked dangerously as Ethan came through the door. He was obviously drunk, but not drunk enough to allow his son into the house without an argument. “Coming in here at midnight. And did you go buy my beers? Course not. You were out with your retard friends.”
Ethan clenched his fists, but said nothing as usual.
“So I’m proposing a new curfew. You get back here at seven sharp, and with my beers, thank you. Maybe then, those freaks you hang out with will respect their parents too. You know what, boy? I used to think it was strange that you were friends with such idiots. And then I realized that you were retarded too.”
“Shut up.” Ethan said in a low voice, dangerous and dead set on his point. “Just… shut the hell up.”
“Why?” His dad growled, eager for a fight. His red skin was sweating ever so slightly, and the house trembled under his two-hundred-and-seventy pounds as he stood from his tattered armchair. “Why should I?”
Ethan could feel his own breath becoming heavier. He ached to hit his dad, to beat him, to kill him… but he knew that his dad could crush him in an instant. He tried to steady his anger, the anger that had slowly built up in him since the young age of eight, but it was overflowing. Infuriated, he thought to himself: Why not? Why shouldn’t I fight him? I’m not a kid anymore. I can take him. I can kill him…
He thought of his mother. His small, defenseless mother, bruised and bleeding. She had left eight years ago. He had watched her run out of the house and never return again. His father had chased her away… that bitch had cost him a mother.
You’re in for it now. He thought bitterly.
“I hope that you rot in this house for the rest of your life. I’m never coming back. But first…” Ethan paused to think of what he was getting himself into. But before he could think, his mouth said, “But first I am going to kill you.”
Ethan watched for his fathers expression. He didn’t know what to expect. But fear swept briskly though him as Mr. Lewis’s fat, chapped lips curled into a grotesque smile.
“You wanna fight your old man?” He asked gruffly, but with interest beyond belief. “Sure, I’ll fight you. But to teach you a lesson. You’ve gotta learn to respect your elders.”
And before Ethan could blink, a huge fist, weighing about five pounds by itself, slammed into his ear without warning. The sixteen year old flew back against the mildewing wall, shocked. But, quickly recovering, he ran back at his dad.
Ethan hit his dad as hard as he could. Not caring where he was hitting. Just throwing punches.
This is for what you did to my mom, you bastard. And this is for what you said about my friends. And this is for what you’ve done to me. Or what you tried to do to me.
Mr. Lewis threw his son off of him, and Ethan hit the wall again. But he quickly rebounded, and went again, striking at his fathers stomach with every ounce of strength he had.
“A lot of nerve fighting your daddy like this, boy!”
“You aren’t my father. You never were!” He yelled, striking again.
And all of a sudden, knocking all the oxygen out of him, his father hit him. How or where, Ethan didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t move. Not now. It hurt too much…
A mumble from another room. The kitchen maybe. Mr. Lewis’s voice. “This’ll teach you, you retard of a boy…”
And the sound of a knife brushing against the wooden counter.
He’s gonna kill me. Thought Ethan with great fear and surprise, The bitch is gonna kill me. Any second now, I’ll be dead…
I don’t want to die. Oh, god, oh, god, I don’t want to die. I want to see my mom again. My friends. Please, dad, don’t kill me.
With every ounce of strength left in his broken body, he stood up and staggered to the door, flinging it open weakly. He limped down the stairs, pain searing in his chest which was probably where his father had hit him the hardest.
“What the hell are you doing, boy?!”
Oh, god, no. Please, no…
“Get your ass back here!”
Mr. Lewis ran to the front door with an infuriated burst of speed, pushing his son down the stairs. Ethan fell hard, out onto the deserted sidewalk from where he had watched his mother run.
Pain everywhere now. Pain that Ethan never imagined humanly possible. There was a ringing sound in his left ear, and as he struggled to open his eyes, everything was blurred.
Mr. Lewis stalked slowly and dramatically down the stairs, and Ethan could see the small knife glimmer in the starlight. It was sharp and jagged at the edge, and he knew indisputably what his father planned to do.
Mr. Lewis held Ethan down by the neck. His huge, obese fingers almost chocking the boy. Not that it was necessary. Ethan couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.
“Your mom was a retard just like you are.” His father whispered, his words spaced by small, nearly unnoticeable pants for breath.
“Shut up, bastard.” Ethan growled. He knew he was going to die anyway. Why not die defending his mother?
“I hope you rot in hell, boy. Maybe that’ll teach you a lesson.”
The knife was cold and shaking as Mr. Lewis dragged it deeply across his sons stomach. The incredible sting showed no mercy -- but then again, pain never did.
“Oh, shit.” Ethan whimpered, closing his eyes as if that way, he could block out all reality. When the knife left his body, it left a huge, gaping wound. The rain started with a clap of beautiful thunder, and then the downpour began.
The sky cried for Ethan, who lay dying as his father climbed back up his bloodstained stairs, careless of his sons fate. Every spot of starlight which had been dancing over his body was covered in darkness as the gray clouds moved across the sky.
His senses were dulling, but he could not mistake the sounds of his friends voices.
“Oh my god.” Reese whispered, “What happened…?” He asked, his voice quivering. “C-can you stand up?”
He almost tried to stand up, but a surge of apathy swept through him, and he decided against it. The rain almost stopped. Almost. But the clouds, too heavy with their burden of water, continued to shed over the boys.
And Ethan almost lived long enough for his friends to call the ambulance. But almost wasn’t good enough. He closed his mind one last time, gone forever when Reese tried helplessly to wake him up.