Hullo! After a while, I finally mustered up enough courage to post a story. So here it is, not sure if i'm going to continue. I may if I have time..which I don't really seem to have a lot of lately. Sorry if his dad is kind of weird, I wasn't really sure what to make him say...

anyway I hope you like it!

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Roger sat on the floor across the room from his horrid parents, the patter of the rain on a window behind him. Their venomous eyes not leaving their ominous son, whose dark bangs covered his dismal eyes. They never liked him; often telling him to make himself lost, or be done with himself, or whatever cutting remark they could make. His father's fiery eyes bore into his son. His father was a tall, bulky man, someone not to be reckoned with. His mother was skinny and frail, but her icy glares were threatening.

"You're a monster and a filthy, little murderer!" spat his father, "you're going to get it." Acid present in his acrid threat.

His mother, sensing hazards, left the room rapidly. Roger blinked down at the floor, listening to the rain increase behind him. His father skulked towards him with vile intentions. He grabbed his son's hair, it snaking through his finger, and lifted him up violently. Roger grunted and grabbed onto his father's wrist, trying to force him to let go.

"You've murdered two boys." His father growled.

"Yes." Roger snarled.

He threw his son to the ground, pulling out a few hairs. "You've humiliated us, and completely destroyed our family name." He kicked his son solidly in the stomach. Roger gagged. "You'll be lucky if you get out alive."

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The quiet room lit up a piercing yellow, as the lightning exploded angrily outside. The blinding flashes highlighted the crimson, sticky liquid that ran from Roger's body. Most of it came from his nose and mouth, and he had a few cuts on his arms. His silent breathing was weak, the blood sputtered about his mouth. He struggled to get up, moving his arms and legs, and attempted to push himself from the floor, but it was fruitless, and his head landed back into the minuscule puddle. He sighed brokenly, and opened his eyes tiredly. He made another effort, and was able to get up on his hands and knees. He choked on the clotting formed in his throat, and spasms shook him. He got on his knees, and straightened out his back. He glanced around wearily, and staggered to his feet, his hair soaked in blood, and his face sticky and dry. He smelled of iron, and the smell carried as he tottered to the door. He took hold of the door frame, and limped to the kitchen, blood dripping from his mouth, he licked his teeth. He balanced himself on the counter, and looked around frantically, chewing on his lip. His normally monochromatic face grinned menacingly as he found what he was looking for. He took hold of the black handle, and pulled the thick knife from the holder. Lightning struck and he beamed at his sinister reflection. He broke off the counter and started to limp out the door. Something caught his eye. He gazed at the door, and at what was leaning against the wall. He sauntered lamely over to the door and dropped to his knees, running his hand down the thin body of his spear. He glanced from blade to spear, and blinked

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The blinding flash outlined the contours of the awesome savage standing in the door way, blood dripping and spear rigid. Roger skulked towards the sleeping bulges he calls parents. Spear at the ready, he edged closer, easily maneuvering over the obstacles on the floor. His eyes raged, and his teeth gritted. His lips formed into a ghastly, snarling grin, as the bloodthirsty hunter became next to the bed. He watched in disgust as his ugly parents slept so soundly, so peaceful. He raised his arm back behind his head, pointing the spear at his father's neck. He took a deep breath, and tightened his grip. Just then the bed began to stir. Roger recoiled with a snarl, as he watched his father sit up tiredly. He put his legs over the side of the bed, and stared confusedly at his son.

"Roger?"

Silence.

"Listen here, get lost before morning, or else it'll be worse than before, and I can assure you, you won't make it out alive."

Roger stood, unmoving.

"Get out now!," snarled his father, "get out or I'll kill you here!" He stood up enraged, and charged Roger. Roger ducked to the side. He was used to unexpected movements due to his experiences on the island. He crouched, his spear at the ready, glowering at his father.

"Get over here." Ordered his father. "Now boy!" He stormed at Roger again, and grabbed Roger's spear, yanking it out of his hand. He kicked his son in the stomach, causing Roger to cough up blood on his father's ungrateful foot. Roger doubled up from the pain, reaching for his spear as he received a blow to the head. He fell back and against the wall, enabling him to grab his spear with his foot and passed it up to his hand. His father stormed over and picked him up by his neck, holding him against the wall. Roger started chocking as his father squeezed harder. His father moved his face within inches of his.

"I told you you were going to get it." Said his father with a triumphant smirk.

Mustering up the last of his strength, Roger forced his spear into his father's stomach. His father dropped him, and hollered in pain. Despite shortness of breath, Roger kept forcing it deeper and deeper, and put all his weight on the butt of the spear. His father staggered back, trying to escape the spike, but Roger followed, ramming all his weight into the end of his corrupted weapon. His father fell to the ground, blood sprouting from the mouth. He looked up dreadfully at Roger. Roger was wearing the face of true evil, grinning sadistically at his pathetic victim. A sickening crack sparked the end of his father, as he lay lifeless on the ground. Roger was panting, grinning, he started shaking with excitement. He looked up as he noticed an uninvited movement to his left. His mother was sitting up, frozen with horror as she witnessed what had happened seconds earlier. He looked at her, grinning menacingly and aggressively withdrew the spear, splattering the cynical blood in the process. He shot his mother one last malevolent glare, and stole furtively out of the room.