Hey everybody! I'm back after what has been a... um... very, very long time. I don't think I've ever actually seen an author go on hiatus this long to actually return. Anyways, I have a rare stretch of time where I'm not busy and a story that's begging to be written, so I hope you enjoy.
Warning: contains yaoi (boy x boy), graphic child abuse, Uchihacest, lemons/limes/etc, and all that disturbing jazz.
Disclaimer: I don't own or am associated with Naruto, or Edgar Allan Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher", which served as somewhat of a vague inspiration for this.
Creak, creak.
To him, the sounds were of little consequence, but relatively unnerving. He thought of the sounds the same way any child around his age would – reeking of the essence of his parents fornicating. It disturbed him greatly. He heard these sounds every night, and every night sleep refused to come, him too tortured by these sounds, though not knowing a single truth of what these noises were or what horrors they could bring, of an almost unfathomable extent.
Creak, creak.
To the younger child, these sounds were shrieks of horrors. They were the piercing cries of demons dying to take his innocence away in the night. They were mocking howls, laughing at the torture, pain, agony, torment of what the monster brought each night. He couldn't move. First due to fear, then pain, then depression. How could he have the will to move when his will to live was long ripped apart for him? He sat there, tormented by those cries.
Creak, creak.
To the eldest man, these noises were the sounds of triumph. He was powerful, unconquerable; even the ground he walked on trembled in fear before his mighty form, which all but crushed the poor floorboards. If only he knew what the sounds really brought to the others, he'd be even more pleased with himself. He had a smug expression on his face, knowing he had whatever he wanted, and what he didn't have, he could easily rip away from whoever possessed it. That's what he was about to do. He opened the door down the hallway, with far much more force than was necessary. It was so dark, even he had trouble making out the small, trembling, weak form in the room. Perhaps he had successfully stolen all the light from it; he needed to get his brightness from somewhere, and he wouldn't dare steal it from his loves.
He approached the young form, shaking. He pissed on his once pure heart long ago, and refuses to stop until the organ, vital to both body and soul, has completely disintegrated. The boy is so terrified, tears begin to soil his porcelain face, pale as the material and just as easy to break. Black locks cover his face, like a transparent curtain to hide his shame. The man refuses to take this as an adequate sign of brokenness, vulnerability, and submission, so he must teach him a lesson. He grabs some of the smooth hair, the same shade as the night, and lifts him up.
"Look me in the eye. Or are you too ashamed to? You dirty whore. Look at you. You've done such shameful things that you can't even look your own father, your own flesh and blood in the face."
The boy thinks. You've done worse, harming your own flesh and blood, and you can't feel the shame? You have no right to have such a triumphant, shit-eating grin on your face, it should disappear and go right to where your soul and humanity went! HOW DARE YOU?
The man seems to read his thoughts. "HOW DARE YOU? You do NOT ignore me like that! You need to learn goddamn lesson, you filthy bitch."
He slaps the face *he* created – both initially, and in its terror-stricken expression in the present moment – and then shoves him onto the bed.
"No, no, please no! Please… I'll be good. Please, any punishment but this…"
The elder man violently tears off the boy's shirt. "Just for begging like a cheap whore like that, I'll make the punishment even worse."
He slips the loose pants off the boy's lithe form with incredible ease, and strong hands. He then pulls out from his pocket a small, lacy piece of cloth, best described as a triangle on one side, with a string attached at both ends on the other.
His mother's? How humilating.
The boy tries to escape, to somehow run out the locked bedroom door to no avail. He feels an arm pull him away from the exit, and then a firm kick in the abdomen.
"Don't you goddamn dare."
He forces the thong onto the boy. "How fitting for someone like you."
It fits him almost embarrassingly well.
The man pulls out his wallet. "A dirty whore like you probably expects some payment? Well, I'll give you what you're worth. Hell, even a little more tonight. I'm feeling generous."
He slips a single dollar bill into the thong, and gives the boy a firm slap on the ass. Tears trickle down his cheeks, the child degraded to the maximum extent. Now he literally was a cheap whore. He didn't even have the ability to regain whatever shreds of dignity he had left anymore.
The boy was pushed onto the bed. "Come on, I didn't pay you for nothing, lazy ass."
The undergarment was pulled off, and the man got on top of him. He played with his small, pink nipples, trying to fondle him all over, as much as possible. He wouldn't rest until the boy was violated in every sense of the word. He rammed himself into the boy, with no preparation.
He's tearing him, tearing him, tearing him open. Tearing him apart.
The child would have screamed, if not muted and paralyzed by pain. Not even whimpers could escape. The evil is immortalized, just as the good die young.
He's in too much anguish to notice the man leave the room, silently. They'll both pretend like nothing has happened. Just imagine the pain it would cause his mother, the man's beloved, perfect wife. The moonlight in the night.
Down the hall, the older boy hears the creaks, which turned into loud thuds, cease. The silence hurts just as much as the noise. He doesn't know how much longer he can take this.