Once again, if there something wrong blame Malinda not me ;) naa if
something is wrong sorry but oh well umm really I do hope you enjoy your
new chapter and I can't thank you enough for your wonderful replies. Yes
its good to be back, hope I can keep enough interest to keep going so thank
you to all of you. ;) (hugs to you all)
BTW I just want to fair warn if you can't stand some intense child abuse I
suggest not to read further because this surely has it!
Chapter 1-A Life Changed Forever
A young boy stands in front of the casket as it is lowered gently, softly to the welcoming cold earth down below. On the side of him, another child stands next to him holding his hand tightly as they watch somebody they love get buried. They don't even take notice to the rain soaking their brown hair, even as it trickles down their faces, soaking their clothes to their tiny bodies.
Maurice and Mikey Boscorelli watch as their beloved mother is put to rest at Old St. Raymond's cemetery.
Tears would not come for Maurice Boscorelli, as much as it was killing him, he just couldn't cry, not here, not now. Parts of him was almost angry at his mother, leaving him and his younger brother to defend for themselves. He knew what kind of man his father was, alcoholic, drinking all the time, his mother stepped in "most" of the time, but now with her gone, who was going to protect them? He would try his best to keep Mikey safe, but what about him, who was going to help him when he needed it the most?
What made it worse, she died being drunk. She had driven home intoxicated and swerved off and killed herself. So they where left alone, to fend for themselves. The man wasn't even there to bury his wife, probably some bar or passed out on some sidewalk. Maurice didn't care, the old man didn't belong here, only the ones who loved her.
They stared as it came to a stop. People got up from their chairs or began to walk away. The rain began to dissipate, the clouds rolling away, leaving the two boys to stand there.
"What now Maurice?" The younger of the two questioned his brother looking up.
Maurice could only stare at the casket. He couldn't say everything would be okay, because he knew it would be far from it. So there they stood, and would stand, until they would no longer be allowed to stand there anymore. Knowing their mother, wasn't ever coming back.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It happened. He knew it would happen. Just it was only a matter of time before his hand would strike, and make the air come out, his body aching. Maurice Boscorelli, shivering, feeling his body shudder with every silent cry. Blood flowed freely down his face from where previous cuts had already been made by the hand, the hand of his father. Maurice couldn't remember what had set him off, but with the sound of the door slamming, Bosco ran into the room of his brother's, getting Mikey out of bed and outside the fire escape, where they would leave until he was too drunk to give a shit. Only when he tried to get himself out the door flew open and he didn't have enough time, the only time he had was to shut the window locking it and make sure Mikey didn't come back in after him.
Like a dog that had been beaten Bosco cowered down as his father grabbed him roughly by the back of his collar and dragged him out of Mikey's room.
When his father began to pound on him Bosco found it easier to just let it go, let his body absorb it. Let his mind be somewhere else, somewhere away from the terrible nightmare he was living. But this time it was different, instead of turning him around and holding onto him and repeatedly punching him in the face, Maurice felt the blow to his head instead when his father grabbed the back of him and pushed his head down hard onto the floor. He was dazed as his father grabbed his foot draging him over to the kitchen. Still dazed from the blow to his head Bosco could only vaugely see his father reaching around for something as his father bent down ripping Bosco's shirt upwards as he sneered at him.
"You'll remember this for next time you try to help your brother escape punishment, you little shit."
By the time Bosco realized what his father was doing, he couldn't stop him from putting the side of a scorching frying pan onto his unmarked baby skin.
The pain was nothing like Bosco had ever experienced in all the time he was alive. He couldn't move, he could barely scream. His father finally took it off of him stood up grabbed a beer from the refrigerator then threw the frying pan into the sink and left his son on the floor withering in pain.
Bosco would not know how long he would lay there, how long he would try to recompose himself. Every nerve in his body was hurting and it felt like it would never stop. Tears fell freely but he wouldn't make a single sound, scared his father just 'might' come back to do another number on him.
After what seemed like hours to Maurice Boscorelli, he found somewhat strength to crawl back to his room, curl up into a ball, and then shiver, cry, even throw up in a near by waste bucket. He didn't understand why his father hated him so much, why he had to hurt him like this. Maurice Boscorelli wouldn't move from that spot, even when his brother came in and curled right up next to him.
That wouldn't be the last mark his father would put on him. When his father felt like it, he would get cigars and ash and throw it on Bosco, if he even dared to look at his father cross eyed.
Bosco would do it though, pull through it, make it through some how. He and his brother would make it and get the hell out of there, or so that's what Maurice Boscorelli thought.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Mo, I don't want to go back."
He looked at his younger brother. They had just gotten off the bus and where walking home. Each time they would come up with a reason to not go home, but for some reason their father had decided to make them come home right after school, maybe to get a good beating before he drank himself senseless again.
"Don't worry, everything will be just fine, you'll see." He said just as they walked by a stoop of what looked like gang members, but Bosco tried to keep his face straight not even give them a reason to start shit with them.
"Hey white boys," Bosco stopped turning around, one of them that had been standing up was now moving down the steps, some of the others now beginning to stand up. "you think you can come by here and not pay a fee?"
"It's a public street, get use to it."
"You talking back to me?" The much taller kid coming up to Bosco. Bosco looked over at Mikey who did whatever his brother did, stand his ground.
"Yeah I am." Bosco saying in a smartass tone.
The one standing in front of Bosco turned around and then with a smile.
"I think we teach this white boy what its like to get a beating of a life time."
"You won't be giving me something I haven't had before."
"I can see why."
Just as the kid grabbed Bosco's shirt and brought back his fist and Bosco turned to tell his kid brother to run, screeching tires got all of their attention.
"GUNNNNNN."
Bosco watched as one kid got hit with a bullet and fell to the ground hitting some trash cans and spilling them as he landed hard on the ground. The blood sprayed him straight in the face as the kid fell backwards, some on his shirt, some on the pant legs of his jeans. Then another went down, Bosco just standing in the middle. In all of the confusion Bosco looked for his brother while falling to the ground himself.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE." One kid was screaming in the car and in a second it had started, it was over.
Blood seeped down Bosco's head from hitting the ground, but as he raised his head he called for his brother.
"Mikey, MIKEY!"
He turned his head but Mikey wasn't anywhere. He half expected him to be hiding, not to see his little body laying a little ways from another gang members.
He was fine, it had to be something not bad, that Mikey could pull through. He got himself up off the ground and ran to his brother who was turned on his side. As he cradled his body he looked for the blood. Then he looked to his face, the part he tried to avoid so badly. A clean shot, right through the skull. Nothing, nothing he could do to save his baby brother. He looked around seeing people standing, looking at both of them.
"DO SOMETHING, CALL 9-1-1, GOD, PLEASE, I.." He looked down at Mikey then brought him, hugging him tightly. He began to rock back and forth, tears coming down his eyes.
"Somebody help me, please,..somebody." He repeated this over and over to himself or to anybody listening knowing now with Mikey and his mother he was truly and utterly alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The night Mikey Boscorelli was buried, Maurice Boscorelli got another beating. It was different from the other ones though. Instead of a fist to the gut and a few to his face and left alone, his father walked into his room brought out what looked like a leather belt.
As much as Bosco told himself to run, he was frozen in place, not able to even take a step back, even put out his arms to defend himself from the blows. There was no need to lift his shirt up over his head, he had been only wearing a pair of boxers and no shirt, Bosco had only come out to get something to drink when his father walked out of the bedroom. His father swung him around again pushed him to the ground and then brought down the belt hard across his back.
The first one made Bosco bite down on his own tongue, the sweet taste of copper filled his taste buds. He spat some on the floor as another one hit him. He desperately didn't want to give this man any pleasure by screaming for him, crying and begging for him to stop. But as a third and forth and another after another came he couldn't help himself from crying, screaming out in pain. His back had become so numb he couldn't feel it anymore, so when his father stopped it wasn't even a blessing, because Bosco didn't even realize he had until he bent down beside him.
Grabbing the small hairs on Bosco's scalp so he would look up he could feel his father panting, like he had been through an intense workout.
"You piece of shit, it should have been you that took that bullet, you hear me. I taught you a lesson for not dying today. There's a reason your mother was drunk all the time, she couldn't stand you, that's why, and your brother, all your fault you hear me, ALL YOUR FAULT HE'S DEAD AND NOT YOU."
He then dropped Bosco's head and let it fall to the floor. Walking away Bosco heard his father come back. He didn't know what to expect now, if he was going to go back get his beer and get on the lazy boy or do something else. He only prayed his dad would leave him alone. Only he felt himself being pulled by his leg. Bosco tried to see where he was going, then it dawned on him. Grabbing for anything he tried to stop his father but the pain that was rubbing on the back caused him to have a weak grip.
Like a rag doll he was picked up and thrown into the closet, landing on sharp objects and jarring just about everything in his body. He couldn't move for the longest time, hearing something happening outside the door, he just lay there till he found enough courage and body strength to pick himself up and try to open the door. But it wasn't much of a surprise, it was stuck, a chair propped up against it to keep him in. His father had done this many times before, and every time he found himself hating the dark even more.
Reaching up he found his old smelly blanket he kept in there for when this happened. Curling up onto the floor, trying not to worsen the pain in his back he let his body relax and think of how great it would be for this nightmare to just end.
TBC...
Yes, what a cruel ass bitch I am ;) but hey its me didn't expect any less from me now did you?
you to all of you. ;) (hugs to you all)
BTW I just want to fair warn if you can't stand some intense child abuse I
suggest not to read further because this surely has it!
Chapter 1-A Life Changed Forever
A young boy stands in front of the casket as it is lowered gently, softly to the welcoming cold earth down below. On the side of him, another child stands next to him holding his hand tightly as they watch somebody they love get buried. They don't even take notice to the rain soaking their brown hair, even as it trickles down their faces, soaking their clothes to their tiny bodies.
Maurice and Mikey Boscorelli watch as their beloved mother is put to rest at Old St. Raymond's cemetery.
Tears would not come for Maurice Boscorelli, as much as it was killing him, he just couldn't cry, not here, not now. Parts of him was almost angry at his mother, leaving him and his younger brother to defend for themselves. He knew what kind of man his father was, alcoholic, drinking all the time, his mother stepped in "most" of the time, but now with her gone, who was going to protect them? He would try his best to keep Mikey safe, but what about him, who was going to help him when he needed it the most?
What made it worse, she died being drunk. She had driven home intoxicated and swerved off and killed herself. So they where left alone, to fend for themselves. The man wasn't even there to bury his wife, probably some bar or passed out on some sidewalk. Maurice didn't care, the old man didn't belong here, only the ones who loved her.
They stared as it came to a stop. People got up from their chairs or began to walk away. The rain began to dissipate, the clouds rolling away, leaving the two boys to stand there.
"What now Maurice?" The younger of the two questioned his brother looking up.
Maurice could only stare at the casket. He couldn't say everything would be okay, because he knew it would be far from it. So there they stood, and would stand, until they would no longer be allowed to stand there anymore. Knowing their mother, wasn't ever coming back.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It happened. He knew it would happen. Just it was only a matter of time before his hand would strike, and make the air come out, his body aching. Maurice Boscorelli, shivering, feeling his body shudder with every silent cry. Blood flowed freely down his face from where previous cuts had already been made by the hand, the hand of his father. Maurice couldn't remember what had set him off, but with the sound of the door slamming, Bosco ran into the room of his brother's, getting Mikey out of bed and outside the fire escape, where they would leave until he was too drunk to give a shit. Only when he tried to get himself out the door flew open and he didn't have enough time, the only time he had was to shut the window locking it and make sure Mikey didn't come back in after him.
Like a dog that had been beaten Bosco cowered down as his father grabbed him roughly by the back of his collar and dragged him out of Mikey's room.
When his father began to pound on him Bosco found it easier to just let it go, let his body absorb it. Let his mind be somewhere else, somewhere away from the terrible nightmare he was living. But this time it was different, instead of turning him around and holding onto him and repeatedly punching him in the face, Maurice felt the blow to his head instead when his father grabbed the back of him and pushed his head down hard onto the floor. He was dazed as his father grabbed his foot draging him over to the kitchen. Still dazed from the blow to his head Bosco could only vaugely see his father reaching around for something as his father bent down ripping Bosco's shirt upwards as he sneered at him.
"You'll remember this for next time you try to help your brother escape punishment, you little shit."
By the time Bosco realized what his father was doing, he couldn't stop him from putting the side of a scorching frying pan onto his unmarked baby skin.
The pain was nothing like Bosco had ever experienced in all the time he was alive. He couldn't move, he could barely scream. His father finally took it off of him stood up grabbed a beer from the refrigerator then threw the frying pan into the sink and left his son on the floor withering in pain.
Bosco would not know how long he would lay there, how long he would try to recompose himself. Every nerve in his body was hurting and it felt like it would never stop. Tears fell freely but he wouldn't make a single sound, scared his father just 'might' come back to do another number on him.
After what seemed like hours to Maurice Boscorelli, he found somewhat strength to crawl back to his room, curl up into a ball, and then shiver, cry, even throw up in a near by waste bucket. He didn't understand why his father hated him so much, why he had to hurt him like this. Maurice Boscorelli wouldn't move from that spot, even when his brother came in and curled right up next to him.
That wouldn't be the last mark his father would put on him. When his father felt like it, he would get cigars and ash and throw it on Bosco, if he even dared to look at his father cross eyed.
Bosco would do it though, pull through it, make it through some how. He and his brother would make it and get the hell out of there, or so that's what Maurice Boscorelli thought.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Mo, I don't want to go back."
He looked at his younger brother. They had just gotten off the bus and where walking home. Each time they would come up with a reason to not go home, but for some reason their father had decided to make them come home right after school, maybe to get a good beating before he drank himself senseless again.
"Don't worry, everything will be just fine, you'll see." He said just as they walked by a stoop of what looked like gang members, but Bosco tried to keep his face straight not even give them a reason to start shit with them.
"Hey white boys," Bosco stopped turning around, one of them that had been standing up was now moving down the steps, some of the others now beginning to stand up. "you think you can come by here and not pay a fee?"
"It's a public street, get use to it."
"You talking back to me?" The much taller kid coming up to Bosco. Bosco looked over at Mikey who did whatever his brother did, stand his ground.
"Yeah I am." Bosco saying in a smartass tone.
The one standing in front of Bosco turned around and then with a smile.
"I think we teach this white boy what its like to get a beating of a life time."
"You won't be giving me something I haven't had before."
"I can see why."
Just as the kid grabbed Bosco's shirt and brought back his fist and Bosco turned to tell his kid brother to run, screeching tires got all of their attention.
"GUNNNNNN."
Bosco watched as one kid got hit with a bullet and fell to the ground hitting some trash cans and spilling them as he landed hard on the ground. The blood sprayed him straight in the face as the kid fell backwards, some on his shirt, some on the pant legs of his jeans. Then another went down, Bosco just standing in the middle. In all of the confusion Bosco looked for his brother while falling to the ground himself.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE." One kid was screaming in the car and in a second it had started, it was over.
Blood seeped down Bosco's head from hitting the ground, but as he raised his head he called for his brother.
"Mikey, MIKEY!"
He turned his head but Mikey wasn't anywhere. He half expected him to be hiding, not to see his little body laying a little ways from another gang members.
He was fine, it had to be something not bad, that Mikey could pull through. He got himself up off the ground and ran to his brother who was turned on his side. As he cradled his body he looked for the blood. Then he looked to his face, the part he tried to avoid so badly. A clean shot, right through the skull. Nothing, nothing he could do to save his baby brother. He looked around seeing people standing, looking at both of them.
"DO SOMETHING, CALL 9-1-1, GOD, PLEASE, I.." He looked down at Mikey then brought him, hugging him tightly. He began to rock back and forth, tears coming down his eyes.
"Somebody help me, please,..somebody." He repeated this over and over to himself or to anybody listening knowing now with Mikey and his mother he was truly and utterly alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The night Mikey Boscorelli was buried, Maurice Boscorelli got another beating. It was different from the other ones though. Instead of a fist to the gut and a few to his face and left alone, his father walked into his room brought out what looked like a leather belt.
As much as Bosco told himself to run, he was frozen in place, not able to even take a step back, even put out his arms to defend himself from the blows. There was no need to lift his shirt up over his head, he had been only wearing a pair of boxers and no shirt, Bosco had only come out to get something to drink when his father walked out of the bedroom. His father swung him around again pushed him to the ground and then brought down the belt hard across his back.
The first one made Bosco bite down on his own tongue, the sweet taste of copper filled his taste buds. He spat some on the floor as another one hit him. He desperately didn't want to give this man any pleasure by screaming for him, crying and begging for him to stop. But as a third and forth and another after another came he couldn't help himself from crying, screaming out in pain. His back had become so numb he couldn't feel it anymore, so when his father stopped it wasn't even a blessing, because Bosco didn't even realize he had until he bent down beside him.
Grabbing the small hairs on Bosco's scalp so he would look up he could feel his father panting, like he had been through an intense workout.
"You piece of shit, it should have been you that took that bullet, you hear me. I taught you a lesson for not dying today. There's a reason your mother was drunk all the time, she couldn't stand you, that's why, and your brother, all your fault you hear me, ALL YOUR FAULT HE'S DEAD AND NOT YOU."
He then dropped Bosco's head and let it fall to the floor. Walking away Bosco heard his father come back. He didn't know what to expect now, if he was going to go back get his beer and get on the lazy boy or do something else. He only prayed his dad would leave him alone. Only he felt himself being pulled by his leg. Bosco tried to see where he was going, then it dawned on him. Grabbing for anything he tried to stop his father but the pain that was rubbing on the back caused him to have a weak grip.
Like a rag doll he was picked up and thrown into the closet, landing on sharp objects and jarring just about everything in his body. He couldn't move for the longest time, hearing something happening outside the door, he just lay there till he found enough courage and body strength to pick himself up and try to open the door. But it wasn't much of a surprise, it was stuck, a chair propped up against it to keep him in. His father had done this many times before, and every time he found himself hating the dark even more.
Reaching up he found his old smelly blanket he kept in there for when this happened. Curling up onto the floor, trying not to worsen the pain in his back he let his body relax and think of how great it would be for this nightmare to just end.
TBC...
Yes, what a cruel ass bitch I am ;) but hey its me didn't expect any less from me now did you?