Train, train, train, all day, day, day. I sang along in my brain as I went down on my 500th one arm push up. Barely any time had passed since Father left and I expected to have the whole house to myself for several hours. Hope he brings something for me to play with this time. Didn't have anymore toys that weren't broken in bits. If I didn't break them myself, Father would had. I remember my favorite one. A plastic blue truck with a big ole' 'C' on the side of it. No one ever told me what it stood for though. Don't remember much things, but, I remember a happy old man gave it to me. Haven't met very many people. This old man had a fuzzy purple mustache that tickled whenever he held me. Didn't like no fuzzy ole' mustaches. I've asked Father about the weird memories I had of these people. Some of them included a funny blonde lady who smelled like gingerbread and cookies. She was good because she made me lots of food. But that's all I know of her.
The strangest little memory I got was with Father. The day was dark and sad with rain making me wet. Father walked towards someone. Must've been hurt since they were lying still on the ground. Father said something and crouched down for a long time. I stopped crying and stared. Don't remember why, though. Tried to get help from him and asked him why I was remembering all these stupid things. Told me they were just dreams and I shouldn't talk about them anymore. Can't help it when I know that the ole' man had the same hair as me and when I know the blonde lady was called 'Grandma'. I missed them. Feels stupid and dumb to miss something that's not even real. I wish they were real so they can take me away from this stingy house. Tired of looking at white walls with machines stuck into them. Wanted to fight monsters so I could sever their hellish faces and put them on display for all my friends to see. Probably would need friends first.
As my nose grazes the cold, tile floor on the next push up, my first bead of sweat drops off a strand of my hair, ending my train of thought. By the time I finished another 40 push ups, the second droplet falls. Bored now. Hate looking at the ole white, clean floor. A little boy like me don't deserve nothin' clean. With my free hand, I wind it back and tighten it into a small fist. In a blur, I punch down hard into the floor. Pieces of tile fly up and skim my face. I blink and staring back at me is a cob web of cracks newly scarred on the tile, matching the other dozens of cob webbed cracks. I smile, glad to see another pretty thing broken. Nothing deserved to be pretty for me.
I take a few moments when I think I forgot something."Oh, crap!" Wasn't supposed to be destroying things when I'm bored again! I need to take note of things more often or else Father will not be happy when he returns. Better find something to hide this obvious shattered floor. I shake my head to get the strands of hair from sticking to my face. I turn my head sideways as I get up and see the forbidden door. Perfect. I smirk to myself and narrow my eye brows to mimic my Father's. Wanna play pretend now.
I get low to the ground with all fours. I'll call this game 'Kill the Prey!'. My dirty, unclipped nails stab into the floor and my toes squeeze against it. "Gawr!" I roar. Haven't decided what monster I am yet, but my prey is the door. It's time to scare it off it's hinges so I can go out and eat ugly brutes so Father won't have to hate me no more. My lips part and stiffen to show my set of pretend fangs as I slip into my imagination. Slowly, I lurch my body back, ready to pounced for the kill as the room becomes a infested jungle.
"Let me out, damned door! Or I'll eat you! No mercy!" The last one is my favorite saying of Father's. With a vicious growl, I lunged myself forward. My feet slapped the ground and I hopped up with my hands. Without knowing I accidentally jump up too fast and plow my face into the metal hunk of a door. I couldn't help but cry out and I'm on my back the next second with my hands cradling down on my busted face. Felt my recently heal, split lip had re-opened. Father always said I can't control my own strength. Won't admit a door is stronger than me, just won't!
It felt worse than earlier. It felt like I had bruises on my bruises. Tears immediately streamed down my face and I couldn't stop them. Shouldn't play like that anymore. Carefully, I pulled myself up and I was sitting on the ground. "Feel pain later, feel pain later..." I said out loud to myself. I finally had my eyes open enough to see the damage I'd expected to see after that much pain. Blood blurred some of my vision as it seeped into my eyelids, but I clearly didn't do as much damaged to my 'prey' as I thought I would. Nothing but my own blood stained that cursed door!
My fingers fluttered up to my temple and I realized I split it from the bolts sticking in the door. Fleck of gore still glued to a nut. My thoughts switched to cleaning it all up. Got a special talent for cleaning up things when I'm under pressure. I lift my shirt up over my head and wrapped it around my hand. I pat and wipe the mess off my face first. Scurried towards the other end of the room and grabbed up towels in my arms from the workout bin. Smeared the rest of it unto my towels. After around ten minutes of clean up, I turned to find hiding places for my messy towels. Won't want to answer Father if he ever found these. I slid into the doorway of the waste room. The own room with a mirror that I knew of. Dropped what was in my hands so I could see into it. Staring back at me from the glass was an even uglier Trunks! Skin around my eyes and cheeks matched my hair, purple and bruised! A scab was forming over my lip. How was I going to explain my face to Father? Not good at making up excuses. Just will think about it later. Don't like to worry about things much.
a/n - Thanks for reading. I had more, but decided to put it on in the next chapter. Please review c:
