Growing Pains

Chapter III

My first outward show of violence was directed towards the local bully. I must've been around aged eight and as I grew I naturally wanted to venture further into and around the area I lived. But being chased constantly back to my home by the older boys certainly saw me wise up real quick as to what area's were mine to explore. I felt this limited me somewhat and so I stayed, because of the fear, in my own realm.
I made the most of my short perimeter as best as I could and for a while all seemed well.
But over the next few months it became apparent that some of these older boys were widening their territory and encroaching onto my own.
Being spat on is never pleasant. In fact it became such a regular happening that my development clearly was being altered in order to simply survive the name calling and put downs..the constant chasing knowing that if they ever caught me then I would be seriously attacked.
Well one day I was pretending to modify my skateboard into a hoverboard and at the very moment that I had accomplished this I was pushed in my back and kicked in the ankle which tripped me to the hard floor, causing my knees to begin bleeding. Id never seen my own blood before and just as i were swearing to myself that id never witness my own blood again..my hoverboard was thrown against a wall, breaking one of the skateboards wheels which trundled off leaving me half in a state of tears..but the other half of me was pure fury. I resolved there and then that this was going to stop right here and now and so frantically sizing the bully up I almost immediately realised that I was physically no match for this opponent. Not wanting to let him escape or for my anger to ebb away I looked around me and in a pile of rubble bits that I'd earlier gathered together, for no particular reason, I caught sight of a window peg with the attachment to the window still connected..a sufficient piece of metal that even now I'm still thankful for adding to my rubble heap. My bully was just in the process of going for my skateboard again when standing behind him I raised my weapon and gave it all that an eight year old boy can give when you completely piss him off.
I struck the back and top of his head with a force that not only resulted in the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard, metal on bone, but a single blow which cracked the top of his head wide open and sent his body straight level with the floor. I watched as his closely cropped blonde hair was suddenly completely over taken with claret..crimson ribbons rolling down either side of the ears and cheeks as he struggled to raise his bashed in skull. I felt no sorrow..no shame. In fact I smiled as I stood over his body and spat the spit of disdain and disgust. I felt strengthened..light as air in my body but the mind already was threading steel into my soul. No-one was ever going to take liberty's with me again..for if they did then it would surely come at a price.
I simply sat on the ground for five minutes right next to his body as he begged for help with a mouthful of blood. Within a short while neighbours were running out. Ten minutes or so the ambulance was on the scene..and then so was my father.
From the age of around six my father would beat me regularly and this day would be no different from any other. My feet and backside endured the white hot pain of the wooden spoon being continuously smacked as they always did..but I'd never cry out again for it to stop. Let it happen..let it galvanize my own need to be violent myself one day. I would be justified. Cause and effect. Action..reaction.
I never was bullied again and never saw that bully of a kid again either. I kind of hoped secretly that I'd removed him permanently from this earth with my justified action..though if I had of then the consequences would've been far greater than any beating that my father could offer.
But I never forgot that moment when the head split open..the vision of blood blooming and blossoming before me..the sun reflected beautifully in the ever widening pool as he lay prone on the concrete. The temptation to dip my finger in and compare it to the blood that had gushed from my knees.
I tried explaining to my father that I'd had enough of being bullied..the name calling, being spat on and chased everyday, but he just dragged me in the house to my bedroom without a word uttered and he simply refused to listen..or he simply didn't care to hear.
You see, as i said, the beatings from my father started at about aged six and stopped at around eleven when he left the family home.
But those five years with him were spent in fear of the one person who should've protected me from such soul destroying beatings. Instead it was soul developing if anything. There were not only beatings, there was lectures that seemed to last forever or being made to stand in th hall at night for hours at a time. So my soul had no choice but to develope in a certain direction..it was inevitable.
Once he had a fit or some sort of seizure right in front of me after working himself into a right fizz over why I wet the bed..his eyes and there blood vessel's suddenly exploded before me as the whites of his eyes flipped to ruby in the tick of a second. He shook horrifically for a few moments and then fell to the floor at my feet. I ran upstairs clapping my hands not in celebration, maybe as it should of been, but to get my mums attention, because it had left me in absolute shock in all fairness. Much as I hated him, I did love him. But to see him so weak suddenly when all he'd ever shown me was dominance..well it certainly changed matter's between us from both side's of things. Because the beatings stopped immediately.
Many years later I asked him why..why be like that to me..I were just a child. His reply to me was that if he hadn't then my mother would've killed me. It was the only way he could be seen to discipline me that satisfied my mother. My bloodlust was the creation of both parents. But then I could never take my father on his word, for all I knew he was probably twisting things to pose himself in fairer light. Plus from the age of six, as stated, I'd known about his nightmares..all those years later he never mentioned them and because my mother, according to him, was complicit in my abuse, I never thought to ask either about these nightmares. But I know he knew that I were aware of them. At night sometimes I were woken by his blood curdling screams and my mothers voice trying to comfort him. Disturbed I would often lay awake there for hours afterwards wondering just what exactly my future self was doing, had done and was probably now about to do again.

Reviews

[SpaceySpace]

Such a beautiful chapter! This is amazing bro...

[LuciusGray]

Brutal as well as Beautiful lol really appreciate your opinion..thankyou, Elgy