His small hands gently petted the soft fur. Even in the darkness he saw the
fragile form in front of him. A rabbit that reminded him of the recent one
that came down.
His curious eyes traveled the life he held. He let it down and watched it scamper in the enclosed area. Leaning against the wall, he grabbed his rumbling stomach and cried out in pain. He wouldn't do it again, not again.
The darkness and the stench of his own excrement entered his senses again as he fell to his knees. Why did he live his life like this? He fell face first onto the cold concrete.
This position always yielded the least amount of pain when his pop yanked out his teeth and nails. He heard his father yelling upstairs. He heard a slap and a body fall to the ground. He felt hot tears squeak out of his eyes. His father started to beat his mother again.
His newly grown nails scratched against the bottom of the floor as he forced himself to get up. The blurry outline of the door came closer as he heard his quietly went up the steps. He pressed his ear against the door.
Foreign sounds bled through the door. He didn't understand them, but the passion behind them he soaked in. Another slap and another gruff angry tone spouting hurtful words reached his ears. He got used to the repetition of the actions. The first time he didn't know how to quiet his sobs -- he learned to shut up when his father found him.
He let the tears flow as he felt the something hit the door. Caught off guard, he rolled down the stairs. The familiar sounds of broken bones and cracked teeth followed him. He didn't let out a peep when he landed on the floor.
Making sure he was out of distance for anyone to hear, he groaned out load as he turned over. He felt his beck become wet. Odd, this wasn't the place where he went to the bathroom. Slowly getting up he saw what was the source of his discomfort.
What used to be a rabbit lay on the floor motionless. He killed again. Horrified, he put his head in his hands. Taking the deep breath, the intoxicating smell made his stomach growl and churn.
He was hungry...so very hungry...
He awoke to the raindrops hitting the windshield. He peered out to see the clouds roaring above him. His gaze then changed to the dashboard time -- eight o'clock. He growled as he lay back down on the seat. This'll be the last time he'd sleep in a car. He let out an exasperated gasp -- didn't he say that last time?
He looked in the mirror above him to see a familiar form coming towards him. Then he looked at himself quickly -- being covered in caked blood, looking to see slash marks in various parts in the car and then realizing his eyes were as if he were awake all night -- and tried to clean himself really quick.
Glancing at the mirror again, she closed the gap. He saw the rain go through her, then remembered the time where she floated in fire and just like before, he'd never get used to that.
He checked the mirror again and felt confident about his looks.
"Hey Creed I think we're ready ta -- whoa ya look like ya had a run in with a 'make-me-look-like-crap-machine' a couple times over," her colorful way of describing him wasn't needed now. He was about to tell her to go away when he looked at her eyes -- was that concern?
"Bad dream," she asked after a couple minutes of silence. The rain fell hard he felt conflicted. A part of him wanted to tell her to shut up but another part wanted to tell her everything.
"Iggy had a bad dream," she continued as though he answered her, "He woke up in a cold sweat, the poor kid, talkin' bout how his father beat him and his mom."
She sighed as she leaned back and stared out into the rain, "How he used ta be in the basement weeks at a time, he didn't stop cryin' -- he's young and ain't used to it, he probably would've learned over time," she assured herself as she zoned off for a second. He looked over to her; the contortions of her face and the fear in her eyes meant only one thing...
He saw her shake her head, "I told 'im what happened ta his father and he ain't all happy or sad 'bout it. In fact, he's confused 'bout the whole thing." He understood what the boy was going through -- a little to well.
"Uhh...he's pretty hungry right now and I can't cook and...well...the boy can't cook and --"
"So yer askin' me ta cook fer 'im"
"Well I-- "
"I need ta eat, take a shower, all that crap anyway," he snarled out as he got out of the S.U.V. He opened the trunk, got the deer carcass and hefted over his shoulder. Making his way to the house -- he braced himself about the reaction of the boy.
His curious eyes traveled the life he held. He let it down and watched it scamper in the enclosed area. Leaning against the wall, he grabbed his rumbling stomach and cried out in pain. He wouldn't do it again, not again.
The darkness and the stench of his own excrement entered his senses again as he fell to his knees. Why did he live his life like this? He fell face first onto the cold concrete.
This position always yielded the least amount of pain when his pop yanked out his teeth and nails. He heard his father yelling upstairs. He heard a slap and a body fall to the ground. He felt hot tears squeak out of his eyes. His father started to beat his mother again.
His newly grown nails scratched against the bottom of the floor as he forced himself to get up. The blurry outline of the door came closer as he heard his quietly went up the steps. He pressed his ear against the door.
Foreign sounds bled through the door. He didn't understand them, but the passion behind them he soaked in. Another slap and another gruff angry tone spouting hurtful words reached his ears. He got used to the repetition of the actions. The first time he didn't know how to quiet his sobs -- he learned to shut up when his father found him.
He let the tears flow as he felt the something hit the door. Caught off guard, he rolled down the stairs. The familiar sounds of broken bones and cracked teeth followed him. He didn't let out a peep when he landed on the floor.
Making sure he was out of distance for anyone to hear, he groaned out load as he turned over. He felt his beck become wet. Odd, this wasn't the place where he went to the bathroom. Slowly getting up he saw what was the source of his discomfort.
What used to be a rabbit lay on the floor motionless. He killed again. Horrified, he put his head in his hands. Taking the deep breath, the intoxicating smell made his stomach growl and churn.
He was hungry...so very hungry...
He awoke to the raindrops hitting the windshield. He peered out to see the clouds roaring above him. His gaze then changed to the dashboard time -- eight o'clock. He growled as he lay back down on the seat. This'll be the last time he'd sleep in a car. He let out an exasperated gasp -- didn't he say that last time?
He looked in the mirror above him to see a familiar form coming towards him. Then he looked at himself quickly -- being covered in caked blood, looking to see slash marks in various parts in the car and then realizing his eyes were as if he were awake all night -- and tried to clean himself really quick.
Glancing at the mirror again, she closed the gap. He saw the rain go through her, then remembered the time where she floated in fire and just like before, he'd never get used to that.
He checked the mirror again and felt confident about his looks.
"Hey Creed I think we're ready ta -- whoa ya look like ya had a run in with a 'make-me-look-like-crap-machine' a couple times over," her colorful way of describing him wasn't needed now. He was about to tell her to go away when he looked at her eyes -- was that concern?
"Bad dream," she asked after a couple minutes of silence. The rain fell hard he felt conflicted. A part of him wanted to tell her to shut up but another part wanted to tell her everything.
"Iggy had a bad dream," she continued as though he answered her, "He woke up in a cold sweat, the poor kid, talkin' bout how his father beat him and his mom."
She sighed as she leaned back and stared out into the rain, "How he used ta be in the basement weeks at a time, he didn't stop cryin' -- he's young and ain't used to it, he probably would've learned over time," she assured herself as she zoned off for a second. He looked over to her; the contortions of her face and the fear in her eyes meant only one thing...
He saw her shake her head, "I told 'im what happened ta his father and he ain't all happy or sad 'bout it. In fact, he's confused 'bout the whole thing." He understood what the boy was going through -- a little to well.
"Uhh...he's pretty hungry right now and I can't cook and...well...the boy can't cook and --"
"So yer askin' me ta cook fer 'im"
"Well I-- "
"I need ta eat, take a shower, all that crap anyway," he snarled out as he got out of the S.U.V. He opened the trunk, got the deer carcass and hefted over his shoulder. Making his way to the house -- he braced himself about the reaction of the boy.