The Unatoned.
Brandon was a beautiful little boy. From the day he was born he was seen that way. His big brown eyes looked up at his mother from underneath thick dark lashes. His curly brown hair cascading to his neckline. He had lips of deep red and an adorable little dimpled chin.
And yet, there was something not right about this boy. There was something not right. The priest had refused to baptize him. His father refused to look at him. His mother, though, was unphased by the reactions of those around her. Her child was beautiful, and he was hers.
"Brandon." She crooned sweeping his hair back from his cherubic face. He giggled in delight, his pudgy infantile hands reaching out to clasp his mothers face. She nuzzled him close and kissed his nose.
"My Brandon." She said, unaware that those would be her last words.
* * * * * *
Brandon screamed out in pain collapsing to the floor. He felt the whip dig into his back. He had become familiar with the whip. Though no one else could see it, nor it's wielder, he was very aware of its presence. The whip came every time he did something… bad. Whenever he thought ill thoughts, or said ill words, or struck another person, the whip would come. The whip was held by the devil in his eyes. He would come to punish him.
Little did he know, that it wasn't the devil that wielded that whip.
