There will be a lot of rude words in this chapter, so I think I had better warn you beforehand in case some of you readers do not want to read. I would like to thank DarklightZERO for the idea of the nightmare/dream.

The flashback/dream will be in italic.

Matt's thoughts will be in bold and italic.

(This is only for the dream/nightmare/flashback)

….

Dream of the Past

"So what if I want to continue drinking? It's none of your business, woman!" a man slurred, clearly very drunk. He swayed unsteadily where he stood.

"We don't have enough money even to live, Jacob! How can you just take our precious money to buy liquor?" a woman, his wife, asked desperately. She had a pretty face that was spoilt by her frown. Her clothes were tattered and torn, caked with dirt and mud. The man swore and lashed out at her. A red mark appeared on her cheek where his hand had hit.

Crying, she ran into another room of their dilapidated hut. Her sobs could be heard from where he stood. The man huffed and collapsed on the floor as the liquor he had been consuming took its toll.

Unbeknownst to the two arguing adults, a small child, barely six, was watching the entire scene from a crack in the wall. He shook with fear when he saw his father slapping his mother.

"Matt, you insolent little wretch, how dare you spy on us!" his mother's shrill voice came from the door. The child nearly jumped out of his skin. He hastily peeked out to see his father's condition. He sighed in relief when he confirmed that his father was still out cold.

He turned around to face his mother. Her hardened brown eyes were rimmed with black rings from fatigue as well as lack of sleep. The red mark throbbed painfully on her cheek. In her hand was a tough stick. Lifting the stick above her head, she brought it down brutally on the boy. His cries of pain were ignored as she continued beating him mercilessly.

Matt tried to bear the brunt of the attacks but he failed. The stick made its first sting on his skin, making him cry out in pain. A red mark appeared on his skin. Before his free hand could cover the stinging flesh, the stick came down again, this time on his free hand.

Again and again the stick assaulted him. His body was now covered in red welts. They hurt badly. A few tears squeezed their way out, no matter how hard Matt tried to stop it. A trickle of blood came down his arm where the stick had cut him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his mother ceased beating him and left the room, her anger diminished. Matt crawled on his hands and knees onto a pile of dried grass, where he lay down, sobbing lightly. The rough, dry grass either brushed against the places where the stick had hit him or poked his wounds, hurting him even more.

"I know you're not angry at me, Mommy," he thought sadly as he ran a finger gently over one of his wounds, wincing slightly. "Deep inside, I know that you love me very much, or at least I hope so. You only did this to relieve your stress. Yes, that must be it," he consoled himself. Despite all this, he knew that she did not want him at all. She detested him, loathed him, ever since he came into the world, although not as much as his father does. She still retained a touch of humanity in her for her child. Both his parents only thought of him as another mouth to feed, another burden to them. It saddened Matt to know this. That night, like any other night, he cried himself to sleep, curling up into a ball as a feeble protection against the cold biting wind.

"Hey there brute. Carry this pile of wood to Mr. Crane. And be quick about it!" Jacob snarled at his son, whom he considered a piece of filth. Matt rubbed his eyes sleepily and got up. "Hurry up there you idiot!"

"Got it," Matt grumbled as he tried to hoist the pile of wood onto his small shoulders. His muscles strained and screamed at his fruitless efforts to lift the heavy pile of wood.

"Are you going, or do you want me ter whip yeh till yeh beg for mercy?" Jacob threatened. With a sour scowl on his face, Matt finally managed to pull the wood onto his shoulders, which sagged at the weight.

"I'm going already!" Matt snapped before walking painfully towards Mr. Crane's house. His legs were no less painful than they were last night. The only consolation Matt had was that the blood had been cleaned off, although it was a very painful process.

"Hello there boy. Put the wood there, okay?" a nasty-looking man leered at the small boy. Matt obeyed and felt a wave of relief as his burden was removed.

"How much is it?" he sneered.

"Five dollars, please," Matt said sullenly as he massaged his sore shoulders. The man maintained his sneer.

"It's too expensive. Why don't we…lower the price to…let's say, three dollars?" he suggested cunningly. Matt shook his head, too tired to retort.

"No?" the man said dangerously. "Well…okay then." He rummaged about his huge pockets. "Oops." He said as he dropped five one-pound notes onto the ground. Matt bent down to collect them, sighing. Casually, the man stepped on his fingers. Matt yelled in pain as his fingers remained trapped under the man's foot. Raucous laughter could be heard from above. Scowling, Matt tried to move to a more comfortable position as long as the man decided to keep his foot there.

The man smirked; he enjoyed seeing people suffer. He watched the pitiful form of Matt adjusting his position. Without warning, he twisted his foot. Matt's fingers were twisted painfully as well. Matt could not conceal a scream of agony as his hand was turned too far to the side. A twisted smile formed on the man's pasty face.

"You may go now," he said dismissively, lifting his foot off Matt's crushed fingers. Matt cradled his hand protectively after picking up the money. He scuttled away without uttering any more words.

Back at home, his father stormed at him. "Why didn't you get that man to pay more, you wretch?" he screamed. Matt remained mute. In anger, Jacob started flaying Matt with a whip. The whip licked Matt's already crushed fingers, drawing blood. Matt uttered a piercing scream. Instantly, Jacob placed a hand over his son's mouth.

"Quiet, you brute. One more sound, and I'll beat you up till you won't recognize yourself!" he threatened. Matt bit his hand defiantly and ran off into the forest nearby, ignoring his father's shouts. Wiping his tears away with his hand (not the one already hurt), he sat down under the comforting shade of a huge banyan tree. He knew that he would be severely punished for daring to go against his father.

He leaned back onto the trunk, still sobbing lightly. "Oh God, why must I livelike this?" he cried in despair. Several glistening drops of tears traveled down the boy's face. He felt like he wanted to die, die and leave this wretched world behind.

Suddenly, he stood up. "I'll run away," he proclaimed to the air. "But I will waituntil I am ready and able to be independent before doing so."

With that, he walked slowly back home. The owls and other night-hunters had come out by the time he saw the silhouette of his home. He went up the path slowly and hesitantly, knowing what awaited him behind the door.

He pushed the door open slowly so as to not make any noise. He tiptoed in then proceeded to push the door shut.

"There's no need to do that, boy," an unpleasant voice drawled from the shadows. Matt could distinctly smell the reek of liquor and tobacco in the room. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Come here."

Very reluctantly, Matt walked over to the person enveloped in shadow. A firm hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed it, hard. Matt yelled and instantly began to thrash about. This angered the man enough for him to step into the dim light. It showed his father, his messy black hair unkempt and his expression resembled a lunatic's. Without another word, he started hitting his son. Matt ducked and dodged instinctively; his reflexes were good thanks to years of undergoing this sort of treatment. Therefore, his father's punches slid to the side or hit empty air.

This made Jacob furious. "You want to fight, lad? I'll fight you!" he snarled, spit flying from his mouth. He then lifted the table above his head and aimed it at Matt. Matt stood rooted to the spot, his eyes trained on the table. Just then, his mother appeared.

"Don't waste that table, Jacob. We don't have the money to buy a new one," she said tiredly. The man turned his attention at his wife.

"Don't interfere, Janette. This boy needs a beating, and he's going to get one."

"Well, not with that table!"

"And may I ask you why not, lady? This is no business of yours!"

"I told you, we don't have money! If you buy a new table, you can throw the old one at him if you want!"

"Why don't you love me, Mommy, Daddy? I've seen other children with their parents. They were so happy," Matt interjected. Jacob growled, dropped the table and advanced on the poor, terrified boy.

"You want us to love you, boy?" he said sweetly, with a dangerous hint to it. Matt nodded, backing away from him. Jacob's expression changed from one dripping with false sweetness to one of absolute anger in the blink of an eye.

"Just forget it!" he yelled. Matt couldn't help a few tears leaking out. He brushed them away quickly. Crying would not lessen the tense situation.

"At least let me be free," he whispered.

"Jacob, your son has done nothing wrong. Let him go," Janette pleaded. The man turned to her.

"Let him go, Janette? He's been nothing but trouble for us. Might as well get rid of him."

Janette was horrified. She looked straight into her husband's eyes. They portrayed nothing but craziness and madness. "Are you mad, Jacob? He is your son! Your flesh and blood!" she tried to reason with him. Jacob dismissed it.

"Another word, woman, and you'll be sorry," he said in a low voice. She ignored it and stood in front of Matt, protecting him from harm. In a fury, her husband picked the table up and threw it at her. One of the legs hit her head. In horror, Matt watched his mother fall down, slowly, onto the floor. There she lay motionless, and probably lifeless too.

"Mommy…." He whimpered, crawling closer to his mother. Jacob kicked him in the ribs, making him fly across the room.

"Stay away from her!" Jacob yelled. Ignoring his father, Matt got up with some difficulty and started walking towards the lifeless form of his mother. In frustration, Jacob picked him up bodily and threw him outside. "You wanted to go away, right? Well, get out and STAY OUT!"

"Jacob, don't. Please," Janette's weak voice could be heard from inside.

"I don't care, woman. This piece of filth has burdened us for six whole years. It's time he learned to fend for himself," Jacob retorted rudely.

"He's your son!"

"Hell with that! Who cares who he is?"

"It's okay, Mommy and Daddy. I'll go away," Matt piped up, hoping to end the fight.

"No, Matt! You're too young! You'll die out there!" Janette cried desperately, appearing at the door. The part where the leg of the table had struck was cut open and bleeding badly, partly obscuring her vision, but she ignored it.

"Who cares? For the last time, Janette let him go!"

Matt's anger was riled up. "Fine! Maybe I'll find a better place to live than in this madhouse, anyway," he retorted before melting into the darkness. I guess I can't wait until I can be independent after all…

"Matt!" his mother screamed before the door was slammed. He could hear her cry for many miles, the sound vibrating in his head, non-stop, torturing him….

….

"Matt! Wake up, lad!" Andrew said as he shook the boy awake. Matt had been twitching and muttering in his sleep for the last ten minutes, and Andrew was getting worried. Beads of perspiration stood out against the boy's pale face. Finally, Matt opened his eyes, shaking violently.

"What's wrong?" Andrew asked, concerned.

"N-Nothing. J-Just a n-nightmare," Matt stammered. He wiped his sweat away and stood up shakily. Andrew watched him with concern. Matt cracked a small smile and headed to the bathroom to get changed.

"If you're really okay I'll be working on the farm, alright? Just holler if anything's wrong." The farmer called from the oak door. He listened intently for an answer. Receiving none, he shrugged and went of to work, happily accompanied by Frisky. Sandy was lying down in a doghouse nearby.

Inside the bathroom, Matt quickly cleansed his sweat-drenched body and put on fresh clothes. He still shivered whenever he recalled his dream. It had been more of a nightmare. Reliving his past was the last thing he wanted to do. Going to the kitchen, he picked up to slices of bread and started to smear butter on one of the pieces. His hand shook so badly that he didn't dare to use a knife.

After a simple breakfast, Matt ventured outside, where he was greeted enthusiastically by a very energetic puppy that went by the name of Sandy.

"Matt, you look a little pale. I think you should stay in bed today," Andrew called from the midst of a patch of sweet potatoes, ripe enough to harvest. Just then, Mary appeared, looking very shy and nervous. In her small arms were several heavy-looking books. She just stood there, adjusting her spectacles from time to time.

"Hi Mary," Matt said automatically. Mary nodded and stared down at her shoes, suddenly growing interested in them. Andrew grinned before returning to his patch of vegetables. Still the two children faced each other.

"Mary, could you help me collect the eggs in the coop?" he suggested, seeing that neither Matt nor Mary made any move to start a conversation.

"Are you going to help me?" Mary asked shyly. Matt nodded and headed off to the chicken coop.

"Why don't you put your books down first? They look very heavy."

"Oh, okay. I'll just put these on the table inside, okay? You can read them if you want."

Matt nodded nonchalantly as he opened the door for her. Mary placed the books down on the table carefully as if it were pieces of valuable treasure. It probably is to her, Matt reflected. What a bookworm.

"I'm done, Matt. Shall we go?" she asked, jerking Matt out of his reverie. Matt nodded briefly before heading out towards the chicken coop. He could hear chickens clucking noisily inside as he and Mary neared the feather-covered coop.

"Ladies first," Matt said as he held the door open, sending Mary into fits of giggles. A chicken flew into her face, making her scream in surprise.

"Ooh," she said woozily before falling onto the ground in a faint. Matt stared at her incredulously. Fainted because of a chicken? Okay, he wasn't really fond of them when they had chased him, but this was a single chicken! How could she be afraid of it?

"Wake up, Mary," he called as he shook her gently. When that didn't work, he braced himself and slapped her, softly. That woke her up.

"What -" she started to say then she remembered what happened. She looked around anxiously but was unable to identify the chicken. "Whatever. Shall we collect the eggs now?" Matt nodded and began picking up eggs scattered around the coop. The chickens clucked and moved away in fright whenever Matt or Mary came in the way. They ignored the chickens and continued collecting the eggs. Sharing the weight of an egg-laden basket between them, Matt and Mary trudged up the grassy field to Andrew, who was grooming Star.

"Uncle Andrew! We got the eggs for you!" Mary called proudly. Andrew beamed as he inspected the basket.

"My, my. So many eggs!" he exclaimed, pleased. "Why don't you two go into the house? And Matt, weren't you supposed to be in bed?" he said, frowning.

"Yes Uncle Andrew," Matt said meekly and went into the house. Mary followed him. Reluctantly, he clambered into his bed.

"Do you want to read a book?" Mary asked innocently as she handed him a book that must be about, say, 100 pages thick. Matt stared at it in disbelief.

"You want me to read that?" he gawked. Mary nodded enthusiastically.

"Why not? That's book's interesting. There's this man called Conrad…." She started.

"Okay, okay, I get the message. I'll read it," Matt sighed. He opened the book to page one, which pleased Mary greatly. Matt didn't notice the words. He only registered a dim black blur on a yellowing sheet of paper. In front of his eyes, the tragic nightmare he had had the previous night played itself, over and over again….

….

I know this one is very dark, but this is the best I could do. I mean, Matt can't run away from home if he was happy, right? Review, review, REVIEW! And thanks again to DarklightZERO for the idea. Oh, and I don't know anything about pounds, so I dare not add in more about that currency.