John Brown was scared of the dark. He was scared of the monsters under his bed. He was scared of all the things a child was supposed to be scared of.

He shuddered, his small feet hanging off the bed. He was short, not for his age, but just a small person, a child.

John was most afraid of setting his feet on a ground. Afraid of settling down on the creaky wooden floors. Monsters would come snatch his feet and drag him underneath the bed. Even worse...someone could hear him and reprimand him.

Yet, those weren't the only monsters that would come and hurt him if he slipped off the bed.

A thud, a yell. Delilah screamed as her husband, Harold thrust her against the door.

“What did I tell ya’ ‘bout comin’ home late?” Harold yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. He was not sober, far from it. Harold's words were slurred, and the southern accent the man had, but tried to hard to hide, was prominent in his speech.

The stench of alcohol wafted through the doors to the room John and his brother shared, and he looked up above him, wondering how his older brother was managing listening to the yelling, the screaming.

Delilah wept, and stood up against the door, slowly moving towards the bathroom.

Slap!

“Don't you fuckin’ move, Delilah!”

She whimpered and nodded, trying to gain confidence. Still, confidence was a feature of her youth, and like her beauty, she had lost that once she married Harold.

John bit his lip and fiddled with his hands, wishing he could help. He could've- He should've helped stop the abuse, but he was scared of getting hit, just like his mom did.

His father had hit him plenty of times before.He didn't want to feel that warm, stinging sensation on his chubby cheeks. Never again did he want to cry and show weakness.

School had always, always preached  to be an upstander, so why was he being a bystander?

Harold let an ugly grunt, staggering slightly, before throwing his beer bottle at Delilah’s head. It smashed against the wall, missing  her head only slightly.

Primal was man when he gave into his urges.

He clapped his hands and slurred something along the lines of “Bring me dinner!” and sat in his recliner, flipping through the channels.

Delilah nodded and quickly scampered to the kitchen, looking around and quickly making him a microwaveable meal.

Another slap.

“Beer!”

“But Harold-”

“Don't!”

She got his beer.

One, Two, Three. No slaps. Sobbing, water running.

Three minutes later, his mother kissed him softly on the cheek and sat down beside him. Her mascara was smudged from tears, and there was a cut above her thin lips. Dad had went for the face tonight, so he was extremely pissed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, kiddo?” the woman asked, as if her husband hadn’t recently beaten the shit out of her.

Delilah was obviously struggling to not sob. She struggled not to break down in her little child's arms, because she had to keep him from breaking down too.

“We didn't have dinner, mom,”  John mumbled. “You don't have to cook, though, mommy.” He had a feeling that if a word of this conversation was mentioned  to their father, he and his mom would get hit.

Delilah shook her head, but laughed at John's  last remark, handing him a lollipop from her pocket. “My boss told me give it to you.”

It was a cherry lollipop! Whizzer smirked and thanked his mother before sticking it into his mouth. “Thank you, mommy.”

Delilah smiled at her seven-year-old, placing a finger over her lip. “He's out, huh?”

“Yep.” John nodded and wrapped his arms around his mother, sucking on his lollipop while he did. “Are you okay?”

“Oh-oh did we wake you up?” Delilah questioned. “Sorry dear...Daddy and I...just had a little fight.” The tears, the blood, the wounds signified otherwise.

Whizzer was seven, not dumb. He knew when they were having a ‘fight’ and when they were...doing their thing. “Are you okay?” The boy repeated.

“I...yes I am, dear,” Delilah let out a shaky breath. “It’s time for bed.”

John  had bitten into the lollipop, and was chewing on the stick that once held the bright red orb. His mother snatched it from his lips and threw it in the garbage can. She kissed his forehead, and carefully, laid him down to sleep.

“Lullabye!” John demanded. He was awfully impatient. Greedy, even.

Delilah yawned, brushing her black hair out of her eyes and sighed. “Mommy’s a bit tired for that kiddo...later.”

John pouted but closed his eyes. “Goodnight, mommy.”

“Goodnight, John.” She kissed the older child, sleeping on the top bunk. “You too, James.”

She left, and although John tried to sleep, yet all he heard was the screaming.
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How are you kids on this fine evening? Enjoying yourselves? Good.

I intend to update every other day! So look forward to that!

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