Raped by Life

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 1 (v.1) - The Boy

Submitted: March 01, 2017

Reads: 231

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Submitted: March 01, 2017




As luck would have it, the boy was violated, molested and maimed, though in the head, by a life too brutal to offer him a chance of recuperation.

Images of relishing safety and innocence, printed in that head in days of yore, had not entered the realm to last.

The devil began to dismember those pictures, pixel by pixel and then row by row. The devil, yes, the devil.

It showed up first in the shape tired parents, too frustrated to be happy, but yet too afraid to rip out the child's heart by acting out their frustration.

A pair bequeathed with legacies of mangled hopes that they were too weak and harried not to pass onto the boy.

A full view of the devil’s avoidable head was in sight by the time the child was deemed capable of taking more.

Then the mother started to be irreversibly and invariably breathing fire and yelling constant tirades against the father every hour of every day. It would just take the man to enter the house after nine hours of moderately-paying work. The mother would get angry at the slightest cue, which surprisingly she had no trouble giving herself.

While choosing not to vent their rage and despair at each other, they would take turns to make the boy suffer for his very existence.

The mother died giving herself cancer by living like a rabid canine, making the boy and the father capable of taking considerably easier breaths.

The boy was still confused. He felt no sorrow from the death of the mother as he had no sweet memories to nurse. All he could surreptitiously feel, but never own to, at least for the years to come, was relief at the death of someone, who used to make life hardest for both herself and others.

Although dumbfounded, he could be inwardly thankful for being spared the mother and her ceaseless wrath, for which he was never a match, and thus only having to deal with the father and life from then on.

As for the father, the boy could never muster the courage to ask him, “Why didn’t you love or even like each other? Why couldn’t you spare me? Why don’t you love me now? What is love after all?” He could not be depended on to make up for the affection, attention, calm, and guiltless emotion, which the boy had never had. He was only rather more surefooted, looking like he could have done without the mother all along. Nothing beyond that!

As for life, there was much in store for the boy: Dichotomy and ruthlessness, but yet a treasure trove of prohibited experience to gorge himself on.

© Copyright 2018 Hamed Naderian. All rights reserved.


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