The boy sat bloodied in his room, looking at the gleaming knife, as if wishing it could take his pain.
He couldn't fight back. Every bruise, every cut, every rape he deserved. He was a bad child.
He hadn't spoken to his friends in a month. He wondered if he could even speak any more.
He quickly checked if anyone of his so called relatives were near before prying up a loose floor board using his bloody nails, his ribs aching with pain as he lifted the plank to find his scarce belongings. They were as follows:
a video recorder (gift for Christmas from one of his friends)
a diary written in blood, detailing each wound, just to pass the time
the broken remains of his wand
the last feather of his bird before it was used as target practice along with his last hope of freedom.
two tapes, one blank, one filled with happy days with his friends
a small port key for letters (unused due to writing implement being blood)
He wanted it to end. The pain or maybe, his life.
He wanted to see his friends, his god father or even the vile teacher.
His friends worried about the lack of contact from their missing companion. He had never forgotten to return their letters before and so far none had come back.
he was in hell. Of that he was pretty sure. The blows rained down on his malnourished frame and proceeded to break many of his precious bones into splinters.
He wanted it to stop. But he couldn't, not without help. So he planned to get the proof to set him free from his relatives clutches and bring him back to his friends.
He got his precious video camera and put the one blank tape into the recorder. He hid it under the rags that remained of his clothing and waited till he heard the steps of his torturer to switch it on.
He had sent a letter beforehand a letter bidding for help and now waited for the end. Of what he did not know.
(dear readers, if there are any, I am going to write the ending in the next chapter but I am making one sad #2 and one happy #1)