The mommy and daddy monsters left Sean alone in the dark, battered and bruised. He heard the click of the lock on the bedroom door, then their footsteps walking toward the kitchen. He didn’t know how long he stayed on the bed, his hands still gripped around the rails on the head-board. He wanted to curl up in a ball and drift into the dark place. The place no one could ever follow him. No one could yell at him or hurt him. The place where little boys didn’t live with mommy and daddy monsters, or get locked in their rooms, bleeding and hungry and hurting.
Finally braving the pain that wracked his little body, the boy began slowly moving, trying to make the hurt go away. He lay there in the dark, staring at nothing, holding and rocking himself, refusing to allow the tears to fall. He asked himself why he was always such a bad boy, why couldn’t he be a good boy? If only he could be good, then maybe his mommy and daddy wouldn’t have to be monsters. Maybe they could love him. He told himself he would be a better boy. No matter how hungry he gets, he won’t ever take food again. He will be so good that they will smile at him and hug him and read him bedtime stories like the nice people do when he gets to stay with them sometimes. Maybe, if he can be good enough, his mommy will let him help her bake cookies like the nice lady did that one time. And maybe his daddy will let him sit on his lap and they’ll watch cartoons on tv and laugh at the funny ones. If only he could be good enough for those things to happen…
As the little boy’s eyes began to close, he began rubbing the satin border on the blanket between his fingers and thumb, the thumb finding its way into his mouth. Sometimes, when you’re only three, you find what comfort you can, especially when you live with mommy and daddy monsters.
Filed under: writing | Tagged: child abuse, Family, fiction, Monster, short stories | Leave a comment »