Chapter One

He sprawled himself out on the floor, his arms outstretched and his eyes fixed on the ceiling fan circulating the warm air around in his suffocating cell of a room. His wrists tickled with cold runnels of blood from his most recent depression "attack". He was tired of hearing them argue… he was tired of hearing glass break. The burning gashes on his wrist drowned out the fights and made it easier to ignore the world.

Across the tracks he went today. He's been doing that a lot lately. He didn't want to die so he never went down the road; he did that only once and earned himself a three night stay the white, sterile hospital. He just wanted someone to notice him, he just wanted someone to hear his silent but oh so obvious plea for sanctuary and security. He wanted to live.

He couldn't cry, he had cried himself dry years prior and hadn't shed a tear since. When he was depressed or angry, he just stared off into space without blinking and ran his pocket knife across his soft pale flesh. The bitter sweet stench of blood hung in his room but no one ever noticed, ever. He began to wonder if he actually existed, if he was just a dream. But the thrashing his father often gave him and the shrill screams of his mother yelling his name and shrieking for him to stop proved him wrong. Oh how his body ached after his father finished with him.

"They told me about God," he whispered to himself as the blades whirled around overhead, "They told me that he looked out for His children and brought deliverance to those who have suffered. Well, if there is a God and there is salvation, why hasn't He given it to me?" He looked at his clock: 8:23 P.M. His father should be leaving for a bar soon. He always left around nine and came back around three, pretty plastered and ready to vent rage on his poor sleeping form.

"I HOPE YOU AND THE BRAT DIE!" His father screamed and slammed the door. He heard the car door open and slam and then speed off down their road. His heart sank, Gee, I love you too Dad…

A few minutes later, his door opened slowly causing him to jerk up, pull his sleeves down and hide his knife just as his mother walked in. She had been crying; well of course she has been. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back and spilled over her shoulder in beautiful, glossy red locks. Her glistening eyes were red and puffy but still held a smile from seeing her son's face. "Hi Love," she choked and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Are you okay?"

He narrowed his eyes with pain and slowly nodded. "I'm fine, mom."

She sighed and entered his dark room, pulling the legs of her khaki pants and kneeled beside her son. "Oh Kenshin, I'm so sorry." She ran her fingers through his blood red bangs and traced his face with her hand. "I'm sorry you're going through this."

"Why don't we leave him!" He asked choking back on his pain. "Why do you let him do this to you? To me!"

She shook her head. "I…I don't know."

Kenshin shook his head, "I'm tired of it mom…"

"I know. So am I." She kissed her son gently on the forehead. "Are you hungry my love? I can make you some chicken wings? Hmm? How does that sound?"

Kenshin shook his head. "I'm not hungry…"

She sighed and nodded. "I'll bring you up something to drink and make you something just in case." She hugged him tightly, warm tears sliding down her cheeks and tickling his. "I love you so much, Love."

He hugged her back, lifelessly and numbly. He wondered if she could feel the moistness of his sleeves from the blood soaking through. He wondered if she did and just chose to ignore it. "I'm going to go to bed…" he said, "Get some sleep before he comes back…"

His mother's heart panged. "Alright…I love you honey." She kissed his head once more and left his room on shaky knees. Kenshin loved his mother. He was close with her and knew she cared for him and only wanted the best for him. But he hated how she didn't just kick out his father. He was abusive. He would verbally assault him and his mother and beat the living shit out of Kenshin in his sleep or at any random moment.

He pulled himself up and limped over to his desk, pulled out some tissue and mopped up the blood on his wrist. He wished his mother would notice and take care of him but she never did. He remembered when he was little and would scrape his knee on the playground, he'd run to his mom and she'd pick him up gingerly, clean up his wound, place a band aid on it and gave it a nice kiss for it to feel better. He wished she'd do that now, to stop the pain of the burning metal wounds. That would never happen though.

He threw off his shirt and stared at himself in the mirror. He thought the person looking back at him was hideous. Long red hair always pulled back in a pony tail, his frail, pale body, and that disgusting, mutating scar on his face. He had received that scar when his father was drunk. He woke up and saw his father with a knife and cut into his cheek. He screamed that he was a failure, a good for nothing fuck and never deserved life. He was the antichrist and the mark he was carving into his cheek would always be a symbol of it. He ran his fingers over his scar and cringed. He hoped his father choked. He hoped he would suffer the worst death imaginable and burned in hell for eternity.

He kicked off his boots, his socks, and stripped to his boxers before he climbed into bed. He pulled the covers up and over his head and shut his eyes to block out everything. Slowly, he fell into a frightened, uneasy sleep. He knew what awaited him. He just prayed it would be quick. But something told him it wouldn't be.

He woke up seven hours later, his father's amber eyes glowering into his lavender irises. "Dad…?" Pain exploded in his jaw and ribs momentarily.

AN: I have no idea what brought the inspiration for this story... I honestly don't. I wrote this around 12 AM and I was almost in tears writing it (not really... lol). But the images that flowed in my mind as I wrote this down was absolutly tear jerking. The writing itself may not reflect it, but if you have a vivid imagination, this should or might make you cry. AREN'T YOU EMPATHETIC! lol.jk.

Oh yeah, this is just a sploof. By sploof I mean, I'll just be randomly writing this when I'm feeling all depressed and junk.

Thanks for readin'! Please review cause you love me bunches. :)