Bunched tightly against a wall, a boy named Jack pressed himself into a corner between two cupboards. A piercing scream, that could only be his mothers, came from somewhere nearby, immediately followed by a roar or growl that sounded hardly human. From around the corner his mother then father appeared. Wide eyed with fear she ran to the counter, opened a drawer, and took out a long cooking knife to defend herself. But, before she had any time to use it she was already held helpless by the steel-like grip of her husband.
Jack's father had become, of late, a monster driven mad by booze. His father had once been a gentle, hardworking, kind man, but that had been before he'd started drinking. The more he'd felt stressed by work or the problems that arose in life the more he drank. Every night he came back from the bar looking as he did now, his eyes (that were normally blue) were a bloodshot red and his clothes somewhat torn and dirty, but even then he still resembled his old self; however this ragged creature before him could no longer be called his father. His good looks were now tattered and his face was covered in cuts and mud. He took his mother and slammed her against the wall and she crumpled from the blow. She lay helpless and stunned against the floor and he, like a flash, snatched up the knife and gripped it in his white knuckled fist. Stooping down he gently lifted her head and she opened her tear filled eyes and looked at him. He flashed a smile to her that was so icy cold that it sent chills down Jack's back. He leaned up close to her ear so that she could smell the alcohol in his breath and crooned softly, "Why.... so........ Serious?" She struggled vainly to get away. He moved the knife to her neck, and then cut very slowly but deeply across her throat. His chilling smile spread wider as he relished the blood that began to run over his hands.
He turned to the boy and continued to smile. Jack stumbled and crawled away but was caught and dragged backwards again by the belt of his pants. The father looked to the horrified face of his son, "Why so serious?" He pulled Jack closer. "Let's put a smile on that face." Jack knew it was useless to struggle, but he did none-the-less. The man held him on the ground by the neck with one hand, and with the other he steadily drew the knife nearer. Jack felt the cold steel touch the edge of his lips, and then all was still for a moment. Jack looked up pleadingly to his father, but his father never flinched. Then, very slowly, Jack felt the knife's sharp blade cut into his lips and sliced through the skin of his cheeks. He yelled in pain and felt the blood run into his mouth. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and pain screamed from his cheeks. The only thing that made him able to bear it was the odd pleasure of feeling the knife cut through him. He felt the pain in extreme, but he found rage and hatred made it almost fade away. He smiled and it hurt even more, but now he didn't care. The fury that rose up in him was so intense that he clenched his teeth and ground them together. He would never again be the weak scared child that he'd been before, no, now he knew who he was, and soon, so would everyone.