Something quite short as an interlude piece.

The beating had taken off a layer- if not two- from his back, he was sure of it. His ribs were bruised, his stomach cramping hard. His father had never beaten him quite like this. This was brutal; his mother had even started crying as she watched, even if she had done nothing to stop him.

Well, why would she? She may be his mother, but unless she wanted his rage to be on her she knew better than to intervene.

James had not shed a tear the entire time. He hadn't cried, whimpered or even cowered. He was used to the feeling of pain. It had stopped fazing him. He just accepted his punishment, noting though how it felt harsher than usual.

Most young boys would have not only cried during the ordeal, but would have protested and screamed until no more words could escape their cowering bodies. But even from a youth James was different.

He had taken note of for how long it had lasted, how many lashes with the cane he'd had, how many closed fists too the chest. More than ever before he noted. He had started writing it down in a journal seven months previous. Just as an extra thing to do to occupy his time...

Though there was something else that he would rather be doing... More than anything.