Leather Strap
It was late in the eve when the two returned to their home. The home was nothing extravagant, simple a tiny cottage. Hector's mother didn't waste a minute after she entered, making her way to the stove and kindling it, nursing the embers within. The soaked Hector only watched, mirror-like eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Once he was sure he felt the warmed circulating the house, he made a dash towards the back of the cottage. A few crude wooden soldiers lay scattered about the tarnished floor along with a whittled dingy. He didn't make it two steps before a stern-looking man stepped out from the doorframe of a room linked to the main room. His path met with Hector's, causing the boy to collide into him.
The man had a tall structure with a muscular structure to accompany his near-giantess. His hair was a brow, unkempt tatter, bound by a red leather strap while his skin was sallow and tanned, stretched out over his bony and jagged features. One would think of it as dried, aged leather. His hands held a similar appearance, with a quality of something singed or withered by time. Behind the broad, prominent nose lingered a pair of narrowed, blue eyes that had an icy, forbidding look about them. Hector's didn't reflect such a horrid nature, now they were widened with insecurity.
"Slow down, boy. Yer soaked t' the bone. Twice as ugly 'n pathetic as any mutt that'd stray ont' my porch an' equally unwelcome."
Hector continued to stare up at his father for a moment, tilting his head off to the side more out of impulse than curiosity. To see such a tall man, a child would have to observe him from a different angle to take him all in. Before he could bow his head in shame from his father's cold glare, Hector's mother stepped in front of him defensively.
"Calm yourself, Vincent. There's no need to take this out on our child."
Before she could utter another word, Vincent raised a hand and struck her sharply across the face. Her eyes widened, welding over with tears.
"Hold your tongue or be it smited to Hell, Marie."
Slowly, Marie's hand wandered towards Hector's shoulder. She couldn't quite locate it at first, though he shifter for her so she could rest upon it. The boy began to stagger off, small hands clinging tightly to the skirts of his mother's dress.
He had not reached the doorframe before his father's bellowing call had come again. How he dreaded it, it was so commanding, yet somehow he always felt compelled to answer it. Whether that was from fear or some sort of hypnotism, he wouldn't know for many years to come when another such voice would come into his life.
"C'mere, boy!"
Slowly, Hector released the fabric, but not before leading his mother towards the wall so she might have something to lean on. Like the dog his father made him out to be, he lowered his head and shuffled across the floor towards the leather-faced man. He was unable to look him in the eyes, so he glanced timidly down to his boots instead. The man seemed satisfied with this reaction. One of his mighty hands took Hector's chin in his hand and forced it upright so he might look at him.
Hector stared up at his father, eyes glazed over with the same fear that was in his mother's eyes. He had let her down...unable to protect her. She had done everything in the world for him and he could not protect her: this monster. His flushed cheeks, the smell of liquor upon his breath...Hector's eyes burned with the smell and he couldn't help wrinkling his nose. Vincent was drunk.
Frowning, Hector looked deeper into his father's eyes as if seeking out answers. Why? That was all his eyes could plea, but he got nothing in return but that stern, stupid glare. He couldn't utter a word, is father grabbed his scruff and dangled him a few inches off the ground. The smell of alcohol hit him again and he flinched, turning his head away slowly. He caught sight of his mother once more. She was huddled up against the far wall, knees brought up to her chest and hands griping against the wall as she cried out weakly.
The only things he could recall of that night were his mother's objective cries and the burn of his father's leather strap meeting his backside.
It was late in the eve when the two returned to their home. The home was nothing extravagant, simple a tiny cottage. Hector's mother didn't waste a minute after she entered, making her way to the stove and kindling it, nursing the embers within. The soaked Hector only watched, mirror-like eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Once he was sure he felt the warmed circulating the house, he made a dash towards the back of the cottage. A few crude wooden soldiers lay scattered about the tarnished floor along with a whittled dingy. He didn't make it two steps before a stern-looking man stepped out from the doorframe of a room linked to the main room. His path met with Hector's, causing the boy to collide into him.
The man had a tall structure with a muscular structure to accompany his near-giantess. His hair was a brow, unkempt tatter, bound by a red leather strap while his skin was sallow and tanned, stretched out over his bony and jagged features. One would think of it as dried, aged leather. His hands held a similar appearance, with a quality of something singed or withered by time. Behind the broad, prominent nose lingered a pair of narrowed, blue eyes that had an icy, forbidding look about them. Hector's didn't reflect such a horrid nature, now they were widened with insecurity.
"Slow down, boy. Yer soaked t' the bone. Twice as ugly 'n pathetic as any mutt that'd stray ont' my porch an' equally unwelcome."
Hector continued to stare up at his father for a moment, tilting his head off to the side more out of impulse than curiosity. To see such a tall man, a child would have to observe him from a different angle to take him all in. Before he could bow his head in shame from his father's cold glare, Hector's mother stepped in front of him defensively.
"Calm yourself, Vincent. There's no need to take this out on our child."
Before she could utter another word, Vincent raised a hand and struck her sharply across the face. Her eyes widened, welding over with tears.
"Hold your tongue or be it smited to Hell, Marie."
Slowly, Marie's hand wandered towards Hector's shoulder. She couldn't quite locate it at first, though he shifter for her so she could rest upon it. The boy began to stagger off, small hands clinging tightly to the skirts of his mother's dress.
He had not reached the doorframe before his father's bellowing call had come again. How he dreaded it, it was so commanding, yet somehow he always felt compelled to answer it. Whether that was from fear or some sort of hypnotism, he wouldn't know for many years to come when another such voice would come into his life.
"C'mere, boy!"
Slowly, Hector released the fabric, but not before leading his mother towards the wall so she might have something to lean on. Like the dog his father made him out to be, he lowered his head and shuffled across the floor towards the leather-faced man. He was unable to look him in the eyes, so he glanced timidly down to his boots instead. The man seemed satisfied with this reaction. One of his mighty hands took Hector's chin in his hand and forced it upright so he might look at him.
Hector stared up at his father, eyes glazed over with the same fear that was in his mother's eyes. He had let her down...unable to protect her. She had done everything in the world for him and he could not protect her: this monster. His flushed cheeks, the smell of liquor upon his breath...Hector's eyes burned with the smell and he couldn't help wrinkling his nose. Vincent was drunk.
Frowning, Hector looked deeper into his father's eyes as if seeking out answers. Why? That was all his eyes could plea, but he got nothing in return but that stern, stupid glare. He couldn't utter a word, is father grabbed his scruff and dangled him a few inches off the ground. The smell of alcohol hit him again and he flinched, turning his head away slowly. He caught sight of his mother once more. She was huddled up against the far wall, knees brought up to her chest and hands griping against the wall as she cried out weakly.
The only things he could recall of that night were his mother's objective cries and the burn of his father's leather strap meeting his backside.