Innocence Lost

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story about a boy who endures terrible atrocities.

Submitted: February 06, 2014

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Submitted: February 06, 2014

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A young boy weeps quietly in his darkened closet. Hiding himself from the world as his body trembles with shame and fear. The torn and ripped pieces of his cloths hanging loosely about his quivering frame. Little Arthur Louis was the unfortunate victim of an abusive alcoholic, his monster of a father.

There was a time when Arthur's life was actually pretty decent. For almost three years he enjoyed a somewhat stable home. Until the day his mother died, killed by a stray bullet during a neighborhood drive by. At first Arthur didn't really understand. Why was mommy gone? Where did she go? When will she be back? The loss of his mother was only the beginning of his woes. With his father’s drinking left unchecked and no other outlet for his anger, Arthur would learn a lot more about the undulating degrees of pain.

It was sometime during the 4th grade when Arthur discovered he was gay. He had known for a while that he was different but never really gave it much thought. While hanging outside in the school playground one afternoon, avoiding going home for as long as possible, Arthur learned of his sexual disposition in a rather abrupt way. One of the older kids had taken notice of his peculiar mannerisms, taking offense at the way he spoke, and deciding to punish him with lesson in pain and humiliation, calling out hateful taunts as he rained down a flurry of punches. It hurt, a lot, but no worse than the beatings he had received at the hands of his father. Being called a faggot, with such hate and revulsion was a much different kind of pain.

Arthur’s ankle was swollen and stiff, his ribs ached and one eye would not open no matter how hard he tried. It was a pitiful sight that walked through the front door, one that should have elicited compassion and concern, Arthur’s dad was not capable of either. Taking one look at him, his dad flew into a rage. “What the fuck did you do to your cloths? You think money just grows on trees? That I can just snap my fingers and poof dollar bills rain from the sky?” At least that’s what Arthur thought he said, was rather hard to tell with all the drunken slurring. “I’m sorry dad...” The rest of his words being cut off by the loud crack, as his father’s backhand shattered his cheekbone. “You little shit, the things I have to put up with!” Unable to stop himself, Arthur began to cry, wet trails sliding down his cheeks as his bottom lip started to tremble. “They called me names and beat me up…called me a faggot and a queer.” Not that there were any right words that could have been spoken at that moment; those were surely the wrong ones. “A WHAT?!?! You a little fag, huh? Like to look at other boys do ya?” These words being accompanied by the sound of heavy fists slamming into meaty flesh, his father grabbing the front of his shirt and pounding several straight jabs to his face. Arthur tried to protect himself, raising an arm to block, only to have it wrenched behind his back. Only in one’s darkest nightmares could you see what transpired that night.

With a crushing hold on Arthur’s arm, his dad spun him around, forcing him into the ground lest his shoulder be dislocated. Face first in the carpet, Arthur cried and wept, begging his father for mercy, but his pleas would fall on deaf ears. An unprovoked rage had taken over his father, a darkness that could only be satisfied with the infliction of pain, a great quantity of pain. “I’m gonna show ya what it mean to be a little queer, you little bastard!” Little drops of spittle flying from his father’s lips as he works his belt loose, letting his pants fall to his ankles as he kneels behind his son. Arthur struggled mightily, putting every ounce of strength he could into breaking free of his father’s hold, but it was no use, his only saving grace was the audible pop of his shoulder coming free of its socket.

The rest of that night was pretty much a blur for Arthur, sporadic flashes of pain during his few moments of consciousness.  Arthur had no way of knowing how long he had laid there, time having lost all meaning, his entire world encompassed by the many pains of his brutalized body. A little piece of Arthur’s soul lost, ripped from him at the tender age of eight. Arthur’s innocence shattered in the wake of so many unspeakable horrors. It took a great amount of will for Arthur to get up, but eventually he managed, stumbling towards his room, crawling when his legs failed him and finally collapsing just inside his closet.

Arthur spent an uncounted number of days trying to recover from that fateful night, hours upon hours with nothing but his thoughts and the occasional visit from his father. He was forced to relive several more similar sessions, but none so brutal as the first. His father would come stumbling into his room late at night, fumbling with his belt and reeking of beer and stale cigarettes, easily having his way with Arthur’s broken body. With every visit his father made, another piece of Arthur died, his heart growing colder and his soul burning with the dark fires of hate.  Bidding his time as his body slowly healed, Arthur patiently awaited the moment in which he could escape this hellhole. Finally able to climb to his feet, Arthur made his way unsteadily towards the dresser, grabbing whatever cloths were near and stuffing them quickly into his backpack. Being very careful, Arthur slid his bag over his good shoulder before making his way quietly through the house, hobbling as best he could with several broken bones. It was not a quick get away by any means, but he could not stay in that house a moment longer.

There wasn’t any particular direction he wished to go, not having any real plan Arthur let his feet carry him as far as they could. Drawing deeply on the reserves as he pushed himself even harder, ignoring the pain as he focused on his hate. Arthur trudged through the streets of greater Chicago, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance between him and his father. Wandering aimlessly as he ignored the open stares of strangers. Having finally pushed himself too far, with not even his hate fueled will able to carry him another step, Arthur collapsed. Laying there with the bright Midwest sun shinning high above, wondering if he had gone far enough to escape the wraith of his father, Arthur closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

He awoke sometime later to the sound of children laughing, slowly opening his eyes and struggling to sit up. Finally able to sit up with his one good arm, Arthur tried to make sense of things. He was in a brightly lit room with white walls and a paneled ceiling, his arm had been placed in a sling and he wore a fresh set of cloths. Just when he was about to get up and investigate things, an older gentleman pokes his head in the doorway, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Ah, you’re awake! How are you feeling young man? I must say you gave us quite a scare!” The old man’s face lighting up with a kind smile. Arthur’s face only reflecting his confusion, “Where am I?” Keeping the smile fixed on his face, the old man slowly made his way to Arthur’s bedside. “You are at the Union League Boys club. Don’t worry, you are safe.” 


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