A trail of blood ran across the floor, running underneath the doorway and down the stairs into the living room, before spreading out into a small puddle that sat at the side of a sofa, on which a dull brown fox sat. The blood appeared to have stained his claws. The adult fox didn't seem to notice the blood on his claws, and he also seemed to ignore the loud crying that was coming from up stairs.

In the room at the other end of the trail of blood sat a light grey young kit, around 4 years old. The blood stained his fur and his clothes, and he was sitting in a large puddle of it. The young kit was hissing, whimpering, yelping and crying out in pain, holding his left par against a large cut in the flesh of his cheek, while holding his knees and his tail to his chest as he cried. His tears stung the cut everytime they made contact, only adding to the pain the young kit was suffering.

After a long 3-4 minutes of just sitting there, crying, the wound was slowly beginning to heal, but the kit was still crying his eyes out. It had never been this bad before... The kit looked at a picture on his bedside cabinet, it was a picture of him and his... dad, if he even deserved that title anymore... It was taken on his third birthday, and it was the only happy memory he shared with his dad... He looked at the broken picture next to it, a picture of his dad, and whom he presumed was his mother... He had no memory of her, no knowledge of who she was... The wind blew the door open ever-so slightly, but the sudden creak caused the fox to curl up tighter than what many would've thought possible. The young kit felt himself growing tired, and he somehow managed to pull himself into his bed, dragging the sheets over him like a curtain - more precisely, a shield. A shield from the darkness, a shield from the hate and abuse... From his dad.

The kit struggled to close his eyes, he didn't want to sleep, he couldn't sleep... He could hear the 'TV' as he had learned to call that magic light box that showed different drawings on in the living room, and the sounds were dull and dark... Horrible things that helped aid his nightmares when they went to destroy his soul. Finally, sleep became too much to bare, and he was forced - much to his dismay to close his eyes and rest. The 'sweet dreams' his father had once told him to have when he went to sleep were anything but that, instead he was being forced to relive some of the abuse he suffered - but this night, he was reliving the abuse he had only just suffered.

He found himself cowering in the corner of his bedroom, his dad no-where to be seen at the moment. The light was faint, shining through the crack underneath the door as the landing light flickered on and off with sparks and sizzling sounds. He could hear his dad downstairs in the living room, watching some form of scary movie. He felt his stomach rumble and growl as hunger panged his small frail body, and he let out a small whimper at the pain the lack of food was causing him. He heard the movie pause, and his dad beckon him down to him. Gingerly, the young kit got to his feet, that were threatening to collapse beneath his thin form, that had came about due to being deprived of food for the past week near enough. He struggled to open the door, pulling on it with all of his nearly non-existent strength, before making his way down the stairs, each step putting more pressure onto his weak legs. He made his way near the bottom as his legs gave way, causing him to fall down the last few steps, hitting the bottom with a thunk and a painful yelp.

"Pathetic" he heard his dad mutter, and it took him a good few moments before he found the will and energy to return to his feet, and continue on his short journey. He entered the living room, seeing his dad sitting on the couch, illuminated weakly by the flame of a dying candle. The curtains were drawn, and the only major source of light other than the dying candle was the TV screen. He walked up next to his dad - who upon percieving the presence of the young kit rose to his feet, bearing an expression of hatred and anger for the young kit - no love anymore... He looked down at his son, before speaking in a tone bearing the same emotions his eyes held.

"Pathetic... You're a pathetic excuse of a fox... You shouldn't even be here... It's because of you Amare died... She died giving birth to... You" he spoke bitterly, spitting out the 'you' as though it was poison to the tounge, while speaking of this Amare with more compassion. Not the moment the words left his mouth was the young kit in tears - despite not understanding many of the words and their meanings that were uttered to him, but from the tone in which they were spoken. The sight of tears falling from the four year olds eyes only infuriated the adult fox, causing him to slash his claws across the younglings left cheek, leaving a cut in the skin that soon after began to pour blood onto the carpet. The adult huffed in disapproval of the tears that fell from the kit, and that was the only signal the youngling needed to leave the presence of his father. He retreated back to his room of isolation, struggling to climb the stairs, his legs nearly giving way as he reached the top. He crawled into his room, before closing the door behind him and curling up against his bed.

The young boy awoke from his cursed slumber with a jolt of fear through his body. And he curled up on himself, fearing to close his eyes, and sniffling away the tears that were starting to form once again, for he dare'd not cry - in fear of more pain being bestowed upon him by his father.

AN: Hey guys, a new story for you guys to enjoy 'Contritum Caelum' A shoutout will be given in CH2 at the end for the first 5 reviews, follows or favourites on this story. Please enjoy this story, and leve your thoughts in a review. Also if you are reading my other stories - don't worry. None of them are going to be abandoned, and thankfully the writers block that had plagued me on my other stories is starting to dissipate... I'll try to get them all updated to make up for it... Bye guys.