Phillip was woken early the next morning by a loud knock on his door. A maid entered with a tray of food and a letter, which simply said:
Be ready at 9AM.
—Father
Phillip got dressed quickly and tried to eat, but couldn't manage to swallow anything. He ended up feeding the bacon to his cats again and leaving the oatmeal. At nine sharp, his father knocked on the door and led him to the library.
"Your punishment today is to write, I will follow the rules my parents have set for me 200 times." his father said.
"But—" Phillip started. He was quickly interrupted by his father.
"But nothing," his father said. "You will do as I say, and that is final. Do you understand, Phillip?" Phillip nodded and started to write, numbering the sentences as he went along.
After 2 ½ hours, Phillip finished writing the sentences and gave them to his father for approval. His father, finding nothing wrong with them, let him go back to his room to do the rest of his schoolwork and go to bed. The rest of the week passed uneventfully, and the day after he was released from being grounded, he was bold enough to try working on his story, with the door to his room open so he could hear if his parents needed something from him. He was not caught, however, and he finished the story, hiding it under a loose floorboard in the library so no one would find it. After he finished his work every day, he would spend some time working on the play he was assigned to write and then he would write more of the story he started after the first one. This story he hid under the mattress so he could access it easily. One day, however, disaster struck.
On Tuesday, the maids were doing laundry, so one of them collected the sheets from all the beds to wash. When she collected Phillip's sheets, however, she found the draft of his story that he had hidden under the mattress. She immediately brought it to the attention of Mr. Carlyle, who was no less than furious that Phillip had disobeyed his orders.
"PHILLIP!" he hollered. Phillip, who had been in the library looking for something to read, mentally cursed himself for whatever he had done to offend his father. He ran out of the library and found his father in the living room holding a folder. And suddenly, he realized—his father had found the story he was writing and had hidden under his mattress. Phillip's heart sank to the bottom of his shoes as his father approached him.
"What is the meaning of this, Phillip?" his father thundered. Phillip trembled in fear, wondering how his father had found the papers.
"I was… um… practicing my plot development techniques?" Phillip said. His father raised his eyebrows.
"Oh really? If this was for school, then why was it hidden under your bed?" he asked. Phillip cringed inwardly at his feeble excuse. "This has gone too far, Phillip!" He pulled Phillip outside into the garden. Phillip smelled the scent of roses on the air and wondered why, if his father was so angry, he had taken him out here. He soon found out.
"Stay here," his father told him as he disappeared into the shed. He came out a moment later with a whip, and Phillip choked back a scream as his father approached, rage in his eyes. He threw the whip onto the ground and ripped off Phillip's shirt as Phillip clenched his teeth, willing himself not to make a sound, trying not to give his father any satisfaction that his punishment had worked.
He screamed anyway.
That night, Phillip cried until he had no tears left to give. His father had warned him not to tell his mother, since 'she had enough to worry about already.' Phillip thought this was complete and utter baloney, since he wasn't allowed to swear, but he didn't say anything to anyone. He tried taking a shower, since that normally calmed him down, but the water hurt the lashes on his back too much, so he ended up pulling on a pair of pajama pants and falling asleep with his cats curled around his head.
In the morning, he woke to sunshine and the scent of roses streaming through the open windows. He slammed them closed. He went to his desk, where he found only a note from his father.
You will join us for breakfast this morning at 10AM sharp. Be fully dressed and speak nothing of yesterday to your mother.
—Father
Phillip angrily crumpled the note and threw it on the floor. Penelope picked it up and batted it at his leg. He almost yelled at her, but then realized that his cats had nothing to do with yesterday and that it would be unfair to blame them. He sighed and went to the bathroom to clean himself up somewhat, still avoiding the shower. He opted to clean off the blood as best he could with a towel and wear a dress shirt and a vest. He pulled on a clean pair of pants, his dress shirt, suspenders, and vest, and walked down to the dining room. His mother and father were already seated, but it was only 9:55. He gave a silent sigh of relief as he sat down at the table.
"How did you sleep last night, Phillip?" his mother asked. Phillip was tempted to make a biting remark about yesterday, but his father glared at him and he reconsidered.
"Fine," he answered. Although that would depend on your interpretation of fine, he thought to himself.
"Did you do anything interesting yesterday?" she asked. Phillip almost choked on his sausage.
Yes, he thought. My father beat me yesterday in the garden because I wrote something that wasn't for educational purposes. I can barely move without pain shooting through my body and I slept terribly last night, thanks for asking. My cats are the only ones who love me anymore, and my father hates me more than anyone else in the world. He decided that this was not a good answer and revised it to, "Just some schoolwork and reading, nothing much." His mother nodded her approval.
"How is your play coming?" she asked.
"Very well, actually," he replied. In truth, it was terribly boring and full of morals, but it was what his father had said to write. And since he didn't want to risk his father's wrath, he did what he was told.