The dark hole

Hématome – Injurie (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The mommy monster grabbed the little boy’s upper arm, squeezing hard while pulling him toward the bed.  She suddenly stopped, taking him by surprise with a swift slap to the face.  “Take off your clothes, you dirty, dirty boy.  You peed yourself.  What?  Do you need to start wearing diapers again?”  The mommy monster was so angry that the skin on her face turned red and she was spitting in the boy’s face as she shouted.

The boy looked at the mommy monster, tears welling in his big brown eyes.  He knew he was a bad boy, a dirty boy.  Only bad boys pee their pants when they’re three.  His bottom lip was quivering as he pulled his shirt over his head.  He knew better than to argue or even to plead.  Both would only lead to increased punishment and he knew he was about to receive severe punishment, he didn’t want to make it any worse.  He pulled his pants down and stepped out of them.

The mommy monster jerked him toward her, bending over so her face was only inches from his own.  “You know we don’t like doing this to you, but you make us do it.  When you steal or lie, we have to beat the evil out of you!  This is all your fault, you bad, dirty boy!”  She then threw his little body onto the bed.  “On your stomach!  Don’t you dare move!”

She yanked his skinny little arms up toward the railings on the headboard, squeezing his fingers around  the posts.  “Keep your hands there!  You know you’ll only make it worse if you let go.”  She then walked toward the foot of the bed, reached over and grabbed his ankles, holding tight to keep the boy from moving.  As she glanced over the child to make sure all was exactly as her husband demanded, she vaguely noticed the varicolored bruises on the boy’s body.  Old, nearly faded yellow bruises.  More recent, blue bruises.  And the more vivid purple/black bruises from the last punishment session.  Then there were the thin scars on the boy’s back and thighs.  Scars from the punishments when her husband used the whip-thin switches, drawing blood, as he raised the switch over and over, high above his head, only to bring it whistling down to bite into the flesh of the boy.

With that memory fresh in her memory, the woman’s gaze met that of her husband,  a smile slowly forming on her lips.