/-/ This one's kind of short. I may/will probably add more later, so make sure to keep checking it. \-\

He was growing. Where most boys his age had stopped their growth spurts, he was being stretched by the limbs far too fast for him to keep up with. Before he knew it his legs had been twice their usual size and his arms were not far behind. As a result he had been quite an uncoordinated fellow; it was hard to grow accustomed to his rapid expansion physically, and sometimes it felt like he was learning to walk all over again.

She did not like this at all. His legs were far longer than hers, making it easy for him to escape her grasp if he so chose. So, she decided to do something about it.

"Oncie," her susurrous voice had interrupted his slumber in an incongruous sort of way. He groaned, not wanting to wake up yet. The sting in his back was overwhelming, not that she cared much. "It's time for you to wake up. No need to sleep all day and make yourself even more useless. I've got something to show you."

His big blue eyes peeled themselves open at a snails pace. The light of the room invaded his corneas and temporarily disoriented him. She was standing over his too-small bed, a sinister look on her face. She always had a sinister looked on her face. He wished to hide under the covers and with enough chanting, convince her that monsters were not real and then she would go away. But he was not a child anymore, and that had stopped working for the nefarious shadows in his room years ago.

"Alright, I'm up I'm up," he mumbled half-incoherently in to the peak of a yawn. He had always believed that sleep was a sacred thing and should not be so easily interrupted, but his mother was a special case. He winced at the memory of denying her any sort of acknowledgement whilst trying to snooze; it was not something he wished to face again.

"Good," her menacing voice had purred. She had something planned, something twisted and reckless. He could hear it in her throat and listened as it boiled inside of her body. Regardless he got up anyways. His limbs felt tired, especially that of his arms. It felt as though some large beast was tugging on them for the course of hours.

His room was quaint. It may not have been as regal as the other bedrooms, but it was a place in which he could escape to; where he could be alone with his thoughts; where nothing hurt him except his own gruesome imagination, and even that was quickly going. His comforter was a dull maroon and had been patched up in places by other forms of fabric, making it appear old and worn. That was exactly as it was however; old and worn. The metal headboard was rusting, destined to fall apart.

She had receded to the doorway, indicating that he follow. And so he did, needing to duck his head a little as he stepped in to the hallway. "So what was it that you wanted to show me?" his chapped lips felt rough against one another as he spoke. He was thirsty, but she did not have to know that.

"It's right here," she explained as she opened the door leading down the steps to their cellar. For a moment, as he stared down in to the darkness, he was puzzled. There had been nothing there except an image he had seen many times over; cobwebs littering the walls and ceiling, a faint dust in the air which caught the light in given places. But then he felt a hand upon his back which startled him, and a voice against his ear which whispered, "Stop fucking growing."

He was falling, tumbling. At one point he had hit his head against something; perhaps a step, or maybe the wall, but it numbed his sense for what was to come. By the time he had hit the bottom, his leg had been crushed. He realized her intentions - prevent him from running away, even if only temporarily - and accepted his defeat. But that did not stop the pain.

"You freak!" she called down the steps as he whined, bawling incoherently. He had never had a broken bone before and now he realized how lucky he was. It was painful, enough to make him pass out. In fact, he kind of wished that he would pass out, but of course he was not that fortunate.

"Shit," he whimpered in to the back of his palm as he bit the flesh to keep from screaming, "it hurts..." his voice mewled.

"Get up," she commanded. His heart stopped in that moment. Had she really expected him to climb up the stairs on his own? The devious look on her face said yes. She wished for him to suffer, and suffer he shall.

It was excruciating just trying to stand. He had to use the walls for support, and they had been cold and slippery. His leg hurt - more than any pain he had ever experienced in his life. The first few attempts to stand were futile; he would fall and bruise himself in other areas, until finally his wobbly feet held him up. That was not even the worst part. Hobbling up the stairs was a nightmare, and she watched with amusement the entire time. It pleased her to see him going through hell. He shook and sobbed and tried to crawl, but she would only command once again, "Get up," and he would have to stand and make the journey on his feet.

Those stairs had never seemed so endless in his life.

Stop fucking growing, freak.