Rating: PG13 for Child abuse
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Zip, Zilch, The big goose egg!
Summery: Takes Place when Spike was a child.
Mental Voids of the Mind
Chapter 1: Ballad of Youth
The small boy ran through the coble stone streets of London as fast as he could, the small crowd of people following close behind him. He quickly turned a corner and found himself at a dead end. The only thing he could do was pray that the people had not seen him run in there. If they had he knew he was dead for sure. The boy hid in the corner of the alley behind a bail of hay and held his breath. He sighed in relief as the small group of people ran past the alley not even noticing him. As soon as all of the people were out of sight he walked out off the alley whistling in happiness at his success. But when he reached into his pocket to take the stolen purse out, it wasn't there. He looked over at the now setting sun and his eyes widened in fright. He must have dropped it and he had no more time to steal another one. He had to go home, and with only ten shillings he knew he was going to get it for sure. The boy sighed and began walking home, still hearing the crowd's calls of 'thief' in the distance.
They small boy slowly opened the door to his broken down home in the outskirts of London and winced as he heard his father screaming about something. He reluctantly walked into the living room and saw that it was his sister that was the victim of his fathers ridicule. To his sister's credit, the man looked away from her in mid slap and looked at the boy that had just entered the room.
"Your late boy!" His father yelled as he stalked up to the boy. "Give it to me!" He said, indicating the money that the boy had stolen earlier. The boy reached into his tattered pocket and handed his father the money. "Only ten shillings boy?" He asked, thinking the boy was keeping some for himself.
"Y-Yes sir." The boy stuttered.
"Don't you lie to me boy!" He said, slapping his son across the face, making him fall back onto the rotten wooden floor.
"I-I'm not!" His father picked him up by the front of his dirty white shirt and threw him into an already broken table, making it snap in half. The boy's sister ran up to the older man and grabbed onto her father's arm, pleading for him to leave the boy alone. The older man threw the girl to the ground with little effort and started stalking towards the boy again. The boy looked towards his sick mother, who was sitting in her rocking chair and staring out the window, a small baby in her hands. The woman looked over at her eldest son sadly. The boy whipped the blood out of his eye from the cut on his left eyebrow and looked back up at his father in fright and, as quick as he could, ran out the door. The woman at the window stared out at her retreating son, feeling a sad happiness for her son.
The boy ran as fast as he could into town not looking back, fearing that his father was right behind him. In all reality his father just shrugged and turned away muttering something about having one less mouth to feed. The boy turned a corner into another back alley and fell onto a pile of cloth from exhaustion, and fell asleep, the sound of thunder far off in the distance. Unbeknownst to the world, that from the mental void of the boys mind, William the Bloody had been born.