By Jack
published September 12, 2021
6013 words

What do you do when suddenly you can do anything?

Aiden cried out, his back arching as he fell to the ground. The strikes came faster and harder, wracking his small body with terrible, awful pain.

“Don’t be so fucking loud,” the figure above him growled. “You don’t want dad to hear you, right, little faggot?”

The boy quickly silenced himself, although the pain was so intense that small whimpers still managed to escape him. Preston, Aiden’s older brother, continued to land blow after blow onto his small body, the skin breaking in some places and letting blood ooze out. It wasn’t the worst beating he’d ever received from his tormentor, but it was close.         

“If I ever, EVER, catch you in my room again, shithead, it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” Preston snarled. He grabbed Aiden by the neck and shoved him against the wall, his massive biceps barely flexing. Aiden was being choked too hard to be able to explain that he had tripped and fallen just inside the doorway. He didn’t do anything, and he was out within a second, but it was long enough for his demented brother to decide to teach him a lesson in personal space.          

Aiden could feel himself getting close to passing out from lack of air, and he tapped desperately against his brother’s arm. Preston scoffed and carelessly tossed the boy towards the door. Aiden slammed into the hard frame, immediately feeling his shoulder dislocate. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, the warmth of the blood spilling into his mouth a sign of his desperation.    

“Close the door on your way out, bitch,” the larger boy spat, turning his back to Aiden. Moving quickly, but very carefully, Aiden crawled out of the room and closed the door. Every movement brought bolts of pain from his shoulder, but he knew better than to make a noise in an open area like this. As silently as possible, he made his way down the hall to his small room and closed the door.           

Testing his shoulder, he felt the joint grind. It was bad, but probably not broken. Lucky. It was a stupid idea to try to put the shoulder back in place by himself, but Aiden learned a long time ago that just because he was hurt didn’t mean that anyone gave a fuck. So, gently placing himself against a dresser, he prepared to be an idiot. Two or three agonizing hits later, he felt the joint slip back into place, leaving a dull ache that would probably last for at least a few weeks. Aiden shucked the shirt he was wearing. The streaks of blood would be noticed by his father.           

Turning to look at the mirror in his room, Aiden took stock of his injuries. Most of Preston’s punches just left dark bruises, but there were a couple that had broken the skin. Blood oozed out slowly, the wounds kept partially closed by the rapidly swelling skin around them. The boy pulled out his precious cache of medical supplies and began carefully rationing them out. He didn’t skimp on antibiotics, but he used as little bandaging as possible. It wouldn’t be until next week he could steal more.          

He focused as much as he could on the cuts. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror. But, inevitably, he caught himself in the reflection. Aiden’s body was pale, his ribs clearly visible through the bruises. What pitiful musculature he could claim was in his legs, a result of running from bullies and, when necessary, his family. Aiden turned away. He hated looking at himself and the results of all the abuse. He hated being so weak, so small, so easily hurt. At one time, Aiden had actually tried to start exercising. If not to fight off attackers, he figured it would be harder to injure a body with a little more padding on it. He never gained an ounce of muscle. Preston, it appeared, had gotten the full allocation of genetic superiority from their father.

Preston was everything that Aiden wasn’t. He was massive, topping out at 6’4" with a face and body that had women lining up for a chance to get between his sheets. Preston would frequently skip classes to spend hours and hours at the gym carving out muscles that would give Adonis confidence issues. Not that missing classes meant anything to him. His schedule was exclusively made up of female professors, who could be fucked all the way to his current 4.0 GPA. And what would a perfect body be without a perfect cock? Aiden had never seen it, but the moans and screams frequently issuing from his bedroom seemed to confirm it. The bastard had it all, but underneath the exquisite exterior was a cruel, unfeeling horror who had spilt more blood from Aiden than he could measure. Maybe it was just teasing when they were young, but it escalated quickly. The first serious injuries started before Aiden was even a teenager. It didn’t take long, though, for them to get worse. Broken bones, black eyes, and purple bruises were so normal for Aiden that he could scarcely remember a day when he didn’t have at least one.

Of course, things got worse right as Aiden’s junior year was ending. In fact, it was the last day of school when the nightmares came together in a perfect storm. It was his own fault, really. He knew better than to show any kind of happiness or excitement around his family. But, he had managed a perfect score on his Chemistry final and he walked through his front door with a smile on his face and a lighter step than he’d had in months. It took less than a minute for the first blow to cause his head to snap back.

One of Preston’s professors had been caught giving an “oral” exam to one of her students and was summarily fired and replaced by a tired old man who couldn’t give two shits how much Preston could lift. Having not attended a single class nor handed in a single assignment, Aiden’s monster of a brother immediately failed that course. His fury had been a perfect dichotomy to Aiden’s happiness that day, and Preston didn’t hold back.

During that summer, an academic investigation was opened on Preston. He managed to clear his name through a series of forced statements and blackmail, but the stress heaped upon him during the whole ordeal needed a release. For months, Aiden was mangled and scarred. His face, once soft and smooth, was beaten and left rough and misshapen. He had been given a limp that would probably never go away. Standing straight had become painful, so Aiden always moved with a small hunch. Over time he became the disgusting creature his brother believed him to be. Maybe some of the now-permanent damage could have been repaired had Aiden gotten proper medical care, but that would have required his father to actually give a shit about him.

Ian, Aiden’s father, was a sex fiend. It was all he ever wanted, and he was damn good at getting his fill. Aiden never knew exactly what started Ian’s obsession with sex, but he strongly suspected the bastard was born with some kind of defect. Aiden had never asked about the details, but he could do basic math. His father was 32. Preston was 20, and Aiden was 18.

For as long as Aiden could remember, Ian had been a powerful and successful attorney. He bragged constantly to friends and neighbors about various cases he had won and the paychecks that came with them. Being stupid rich ensured that he was always dressed in the nicest suits and drove the hottest cars. And, just like Preston, the fates seemed to give with both hands to his father. Ian didn’t just ooze sex appeal. It burst from him like a geyser. He wasn’t as tall nor as muscular as Preston, but Ian was by no means lacking. His body nearly popped the seams of his designer clothing with every step. His perpetual scruff and jet black hair had actually landed him several modeling gigs and some television work. And whatever moans of pleasure that came from Preston’s room were echoed by those coming from the master bedroom.

Ian’s beauty, however, was exactly as skin deep as his eldest son’s. Whatever screaming, begging, or crying that fell from Aiden’s lips while Ian was in earshot were ignored. His father couldn’t care less. In his eyes, Aiden was positive, the boy was an investment that never paid out. So, like all bad investments, he cut his losses and left him alone. Sure, there was the occasional food and clothing that Aiden could get his hands on, but Ian was about as willing to give to his son as he would a beggar in the street.

Aiden had finally finished bandaging himself up. He put on his last clean shirt and stepped out of his room at the end of the hall just in time to hear the raucous laughter of his father and brother as they left for the evening to go hit up the bars (Ian provided Preston with a fake ID) and come home with an eager slut or five. He crept down to the kitchen, silent even when alone, and found a few scraps of food that his family hadn’t devoured. It was barely a meal for a ghost, but it would be enough for Aiden to survive another few hours. Once he was done, he did the dishes and cleaned the entire kitchen area. An early lesson for him was that any mess or dysfunction in the house was exclusively his fault, regardless of where he was at the time. He chuckled lightly at the complete lack of logic, wincing at the pain that flashed through his bruised body.

Once he was done, Aiden retreated back upstairs. He was still starving, but any additional food taken would be immediately noticed and he was quite sure that neither Preston nor Ian would feel any kind of remorse at sending Aiden to the hospital. Or the morgue. That thought lingered on his mind as he tried to get to sleep, the pain from his beating keeping him from finding a comfortable position for over an hour before the exhaustion mercifully took over.

He was awakened by an acrid smell and warm liquid splashing on his body. He recoiled from the wetness, only to be pulled back roughly.

“Woah, bitch. You’re not going anywhere until I’m done.” The voice was heavily slurred, but the sound of his brother in his room still drove Aiden into a panic, especially when he figured out what it was that was pouring down on him. The urine was soaked into his bed, and all over his body. It stung his eyes and made him want to vomit. His shoulder was nowhere near healed enough for him to try to pull away, so he was stuck there as Preston emptied his bladder in the darkness. The one source of light in the room came from a phone illuminating their father’s face as his scrolled through his social media. Once Preston finished, Ian looked up and Aiden finally made eye contact with him.

“Do something. Please,” he whispered, barely able to hear himself. But Ian didn’t do anything. He held Aiden’s gaze for a few moments, then turned and left the room. His bored, uncaring expression unchanged from his Instagram account to his son, bleeding and covered in piss. Preston laughed and pulled Aiden back down on the bed. Aiden thought it was over until a giant hand came down and slapped him so hard the room flashed white.

“What do we say, faggot?”

Aiden was silent, fearing a wrong answer would result in more punishment. It turned out to be useless, however, as Preston attacked with two more slaps.


Confused, filled with pain, and blinded by both the slap and the near total darkness of the room, Aiden felt himself seize up. He couldn’t answer if he wanted to. He felt Preston kneel down next to him, the psychopath so close that he could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek.

“When someone does something nice for us,” Preston said in a tone that froze Aiden’s blood, “we’re supposed to say something. So, what do we say?”

It took all of his effort and concentration, but he managed to squeak out a reply.

“T-thank you.”

Preston laughed like a madman as he stood back up. His fist hissed through the air and landed right over the bruised area that Aiden had finished bandaging only hours before. He screamed out as an all too familiar feeling stabbed through his chest. Preston had just broken a rib. Maybe a couple. The next fist landed on his shoulder, and Aiden fell through the darkness, his mind finally giving out as the agony became too much to bear. It was gift.

Aiden awoke sometime the next day. He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, because his eyes didn’t seem to be working like they normally did. Reaching up with his good arm, he felt the swelling around one eye, keeping it shut. That explained the partial darkness. What he couldn’t figure out were the red dots stuck in his vision in the other eye. No matter how hard he blinked, they wouldn’t go away. Pushing himself up just enough, Aiden looked at his face in the mirror. It was puffy and swollen all over, his hair matted from the urine he had slept in. One eye was fully blocked, but the other was extremely concerning. His normally brown eye was ringed with a red tint. A line of text from a medical website Aiden had looked up in the past flashed into his mind. The appearance of many bits of debris, sudden flashes of light, or a shadow in the vision field are symptoms of retinal detachment.

A numbness spread through his chest like a rising river of ice. A detached retina could lead to blindness very easily. A world where he couldn’t see, he couldn’t defend himself, and he couldn’t take care of himself? He’d be dead within two weeks. He couldn’t let that happen. He had no money to go to a hospital. Explaining the injuries to someone felt like the worst thing he could do. The authorities would get involved, and Ian would use his knowledge of the law to avoid punishment. Aiden would be forced back into this house, and they’d find ever more unthinkable ways to torture him. They would never allow their lives to be so negatively impacted by a cripple. Aiden was sure of it.

The panic in his veins was becoming unbearable, so he carefully laid back down. For the thousandth time, Aiden wondered if it wouldn’t just be easier to end it himself. He could find a way to go painlessly, finally ending this pattern that he couldn’t stop, and giving him some peace.

That’s all Aiden wanted. Not revenge. Not vengeance. In all the time his brother and his father had abused him, he never dreamed of returning to them what he had endured. It was always just peace. An existence without pain and suffering, where he might find time to learn and discover and develop. He had seen other people his age laugh and cry and dance and play, and his heart ached for the opportunity. And maybe, just maybe, find love. The love he saw in movies he watched from the stairs; the love he saw budding at school.

And yet, for all his dreaming, Aiden knew it would never come. At least, not in this life. But a tiny spark in his heart kept his hope alive, as well as Aiden himself.

Knowing that spending all day in bed would never be an option, he carefully stood up. The bandages were ruined by Preston’s urine, and an infection was probably starting in several of them. He took off the bandages fully and wrapped himself in a towel before showering. The hot water stung as it drilled into Aiden’s wounds, but he still scrubbed himself thoroughly in the hopes of minimizing the amount of medicine he would have to use later. The water ran pink from his efforts.

He spent the rest of the day cleaning and doing the rest of his chores. They took Aiden longer than normal due to his injuries. This should have caused additional beatings, but his tormentors were away enjoying the last day of their weekend. It would be the only day of real summer vacation he would have until school started tomorrow.

Aiden sat at his assigned desk, skimming the topics he had to memorize before the day was out, the list flying through his fingers and pooling on the floor below. Beside him, he could hear the whispers of the many students as they watched him fail again and again. He glanced up briefly only to see that the teacher was writing unintelligible text on the whiteboard, text which everyone else seemed to understand just fine.

Aiden quickly pulled his notebook out of his backpack and tried to follow along, but the teacher was jumping too quickly from math to physics to chemistry to astronavigation. Not to mention his pencil kept breaking and his fingers kept rotting off. It wasn’t long before Aiden was weeping silently, his tears ruining his precious notes.

He pressed his fists to his eyes. He couldn’t show this weakness in front of everyone. This was his final year of high school, and Aiden knew he couldn’t survive if he was suffering at home and at school. He needed to stay under the radar.

Shoving his hands under his legs, Aiden forced himself to look up. The teacher had sprouted another few limbs and was now writing on a series of floating whiteboards, most of which Aiden couldn’t see. He was trying to pay attention, but the teacher seemed to be switching between languages every few words. There was just nothing he could do. As he felt the acid clawing up his throat, there was a sudden darkness in the room.

No lights were dimmed, and Aiden’s vision wasn’t blocked by anything, but there came into the room an undeniable, suffocating, tactile presence. The voices of the teacher and the other students slowly died. Simultaneously, all their necks twisted to look at the door. Aiden also turned and felt his mouth open in a silent plea.

Looking through the small window was a creature. It had eyes, but they had long stopped seeing. It had skin, but it was broken and oozing. It had hands. Too many hands. Too many limbs. Too many claws sweeping through the walls like a knife through flesh.

Aiden wanted to run, but the arrival of this … thing … bound him to his seat and forced him to watch as entity moved through the room, caressing his classmates into bits and pieces. It slid forward until Aiden could feel the pus dripping onto his face. It’s milky eyes stared into him, eating into his heart. It stared until all that was left was his spark, and then it kept going.

In all the abuse and torment, Aiden had never been this afraid. This wouldn’t just be his death. This would be his end, forever consigned to under the pit of wherever this demon came from. He was certain of it. But he didn’t look away. Not even when the charred skin split open and spoke in a way that left his ears bleeding.


It took a moment for Aiden to realize the scream was coming from him. He buried his head into his pillow, crying and yelling indiscriminately. His senses were still overwhelmed by the beast in his nightmare, and it would be another ten minutes before he realized it was only a dream.

Looking at his clock, Aiden saw that he had only been asleep for an hour. His father and brother were still out, and at this point probably would be for the rest of the night. Aiden was well aware that they saw no reason to come home to an empty bed when they could be filling someone else’s. And they hated having to change their sheets after sex.

Curling up into a ball, Aiden desperately tried to slow his breathing so he could go back to sleep. It’s all in your head. It was just a dream. There was no monster. You’re not going to die. Those claws can’t reach you. That voice can’t rip you. Those eyes aren’t staring at you from the closet.

Aiden silently limped through the halls, already late for his first class of the new school year and trying to keep his gaze fixed to the floor. There were plenty of other students still struggling with their lockers or who didn’t see any value of attending syllabus day, and so far they hadn’t noticed his swollen eye. His other eye didn’t sting as much, but those spots in his vision weren’t going anywhere.

Checking his schedule for the tenth time, he compared the classroom against his mental map of the school. He looked up to double check the hall number, and heard a gasp. Next to the entrance to the hall were a group of what looked like cheerleaders. They had flyers in their hands, no doubt trying to recruit fans for the first major sports game of the year. Each of them were looking at Aiden in horror and disgust, his visage too much for their refined natures. Aiden dropped his head back down and ran into the nearest bathroom.

It turned out to be a mistake.

“Buenas, bitch. Looks like you anxious to get this year started with a bang.”

Standing at the mirror, probably still deciding how many buttons on his dark silk shirt to leave open, was Omar. His regular entourage of Old Spice and protein was also there, standing around their boss. Aiden turned immediately to start running, but the loss of depth perception had him tripping over his feet and sprawling out onto the stained bathroom floor.

“Already running away from me, hijo? That’s not very nice,” Omar said.

Aiden wasn’t listening, instead pulling himself away with his one good arm. He didn’t get far before one of Omar’s acolytes dragged him back in by his ankle. His hope of escaping more injuries flickered along with the florescent lighting. A solid kick to his legs smothered it.

Aiden and Omar had grown up near each other, just as close as you needed to be to know the face of the person to avoid. Once Omar had discovered the joys of focusing his aggression at the gym, staying away from him became imperative.

“I missed you, Aiden,” Omar said. “It’s been so long since you wanted to hang.”

Omar squatted down, grabbing Aiden’s jaw and forcing his eyes up.

“In fact, it’s been long enough that I think you owe me an apology. Don’t you want to apologize, puta?”

The other boys in the bathroom laughed at the comment, the sharp sound bouncing around the tile and biting Aiden again and again. Omar’s zipper being lowered cut through it all. The prone boy did his best to meet eyes with Omar. Maybe if he could stave off his assailants long enough, someone would come into the bathroom and save him. His vision was cut off by a dark shadow draping over his face. Aiden could smell the salt, sweat, and piss. “Hard to apologize when your mouth is closed, Adito. Open wide.”

The fwip of a knife in his ear told Aiden that he didn’t really have a choice. As soon as his lips had parted, the latino boy was pushing his cock into his mouth. It was still soft, but it stretched his mouth out so much he was worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Omar’s gang laughed as Aiden gagged on the invader. It stretched further and further as arousal filled its empty spaces. After a few minutes of Omar rocking back and forth, Aiden was forcibly pulled back and Omar spat on his face. He snatched the knife and brandished it between them.

“Listen, bitch. Either I cum down your throat, or I stick you and leave you here to die. Entiendes? Bueno. Now, get back to work.”

Aiden leaned forward and captured the thick piece in his mouth again, willing his emotions and disgust away. The bully’s threat was probably an empty one, but people were not usually in the habit of coming to his rescue.

He swirled his tongue around the head, trying to bring Omar to orgasm as quickly as possible. When he could, he tried to swallow the cock, but it was simply too thick, especially after he was fully hard. Aiden was forced to simply suck on the head of the cock and a few inches of the shaft. Omar was apparently enjoying his efforts, his head thrown back and his groupies offering shouts of encouragement.

Aiden didn’t know how long he spent on the floor, trying to escape his tormentor, but it was long enough for his very unwanted feelings to start to bubble up. He hated Omar and his tortures against him. He hated all his stupid friends that even now were spitting on him. He hated himself for not fighting harder. Most of all, he hated that his cock was starting to harden. Aiden couldn’t help it. Not really. Omar was beautiful, and the way his wide dick stretched his mouth and spread its taste on his tongue was intoxicating. In a better world, he’d be draining this exquisite cock and feasting on those nipples peaking out from Omar’s open shirt.

Aiden closed his eyes and let himself escape into the fantasy for a moment. Omar, sweaty and exposed and heaving, holding himself over Aiden while he plunged his tongue into his mouth. He imagined the feeling of that fat member pushing against his virgin ass, and Omar’s silent promise that he would make every second of his first time more incredible than the last.

“Holy shit! Look at the puta going to town on him, jese!”

The boy ripped himself back from his fantasy to find that more than half of Omar’s length was down his throat. He looked up only to find the dichotomy of his fantasy staring back at him. There was no care or concern in Omar’s eyes, only cruelty and hatred.

“Finally getting into it, Adito? It’s about time, ‘cause I wanna cum!”  

Grabbing Aiden’s head, Omar began face fucking him hard enough that Aiden was worried he would pass out. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long for Omar to cum. After just a few seconds of rough pounding, the log in his throat somehow expanded even further and began shooting its load. He pulled back enough so Aiden’s mouth filled with the hot slime. Omar wasn’t a shooter, instead glugging out thick wads that never seemed to end. Aiden kept himself from moaning, but the cum filling his mouth was delicious.

It was pointless to watch his bullies as they surrounded him, so Aiden retreated back into the darkness behind his eyes. It was almost easy to believe for a moment that he was enjoying the rewards of milking the hard boy above him. The truth of the situation, and the fact that he would never have a single one of his fantasies, raked over the deep scars in his heart.

He was shoved back into the wall. The last few globs of cum splattered on his face and clothes and Omar finished, zipped up, and left with his cronies in tow. Aiden laid there for a long time, unwilling to move or be seen by anyone else. He laid there long enough for the automatic lights to go out, and through his one good eye he thought he saw a shadowy claw disappear behind a stall.

Lunch was the only sanctuary that Aiden had available to him at school. With a school so large, it was easy to steal some food and disappear into a classroom to enjoy his miniscule hoard. Naturally, Aiden avoided any corner of the school that might have any kind of athletic connotations or that might be filled with the various hobbyists that willingly skipped lunch to practice lines or memorize rook-based countermoves. In fact, it seemed the only rooms that were regularly abandoned were the ones associated with learning. So, on this particular day, Aiden found himself tucked into the shadow of an English room that sat next to the library. A timid knock came from the door before it opened. A small flash of light showed a tiny figure slipping in.

Aiden’s only friend in the world was Aleem. Born addicted to crack thanks to his mother, Aleem was somehow even smaller than Aiden. He twittered and flinched everywhere he went, especially if he was forced to sit still, and he stuttered almost all the time. Quick to anger and quicker to apologize, he was a kind boy who seemed to have an inherent understanding that his problems did not define him. If only the other students could see the same.

Aleem was bullied almost as much as Aiden. He had suffered his own share of punches and kicks during their years in hell, but he carried it much better than Aiden ever had. Aleem had occasionally hinted that his home life wasn’t as difficult as Aiden’s, but he clearly didn’t want to seem like he was lording anything over his friend. Aiden appreciated that very much.

“Oh my g-g-god, Aiden. What happened to you? Did something hap-p-pen when I was at the hospital?” Aleem said.

Aiden didn’t try to turn away from his friend. They had reached a point where they shared everything, including the bad.

“No, this was yesterday, Al. I tripped and fell into Preston’s room.”

Aleem sucked in a breath. He knew how monstrous his friend’s older brother could be. Without asking for any other details, he pulled out from his backpack several small boxes.

“I know it’s not a lot, b-b-but I got you what I c-c-could.”

He pushed the items into Aiden’s hands. With what little light they had from the window, he could see that they were boxes of bandages, antibiotics, and some crackers. A better friend would have thanked the boy, maybe even burst into tears and thanked him profusely, but those parts of Aiden had died a long time ago. Instead, he slowly stashed them away in his own bag and went back to eating his stolen apple.

“The g-g-gas station had some left over food that d-d-didn’t sell. Would you like s-s-some?” Aleem’s hands were stretched out with their offering, a couple of hotdogs sitting on top of a Lunchable.

Aiden tenderly picked up one of the hotdogs and began eating slowly. Aleem pushed himself so he was sitting next to him in the near darkness. They ate their feast slowly, if for nothing else than to try to keep from upsetting their stomachs. There were no further words exchanged between them until the bell rang.

Aiden quietly slipped into his bedroom at the end of the day. A football game was distracting Preston and his father, allowing him to enter unnoticed. His stomach roiled with the food he had gotten from Aleem. It was obvious now why they were trying to get rid of it, but anything in his stomach, even if it was rotten, was better than nothing.

Stripping out of his clothes and curling up into a ball under his still piss-scented blanket, he tried to will himself to sleep. But, after nearly an hour, the pain in his gut had become unbearable. Knowing that a retching sound from the bathroom would drive his father into a rage, Aiden crawled to his wastebasket and vomited into it. There, on his hands and knees, his body almost fully rebelling against him, Aiden broke.

Tears dripped off his nose and chin while the pain in his body throbbed and the knowledge of the abuse of his family and his rape at the hands of his bully shattered his defenses. Aiden had lived his whole life like this. He had never known a mother, or a family, or real happiness. He never joined a club, played a sport, stayed up late with friends, or felt the peace that came from safety.

It seemed stupid to be breaking down now. How much had really changed? This wasn’t the worst that Preston had done to him, and while forcing to blow Omar was new, the bully regularly attacked him. It was all the same song and dance he had been forced into since he could remember. Knowing that, feeling the futility of it all, cleaved Aiden’s weary heart. He had to bite down on his arm until it bled to keep from screaming out in misery. Nothing’s ever going to change. It will always be like this. I’ll never escape this.

Aiden didn’t know how or when he got back to his bed. He just laid there and felt the bed shake with his sobs. Blood and tears stained the sheets and the pillow, setting themselves next to the multitude of stains already there. Even crying in the dark wasn’t altogether new to him. This was just another in a long progression of moments that he wished he could forget forever. I haven’t done anything wrong. This isn’t how my life is supposed to be. This isn’t how people are supposed to treat me.

The emotions reaching a fever pitch, Aiden rolled onto his back, ignoring the pain that shot across his body. He looked up at his ceiling, and willed himself to whisper.

“Please. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I would give anything not to hurt anymore.”

He stared at the shadows above him, desperate for some kind of answer. He watched as they moved slightly with the wind outside his window. He watched as they began to change, and move in ways no wind would ever create. The sounds of the house seemed to disappear as they gathered together and began to form larger branches and sharper offshoots. Aiden tried to turn away, but his body wouldn’t move. He was trapped, forced to witness as the darkness began to take form. What were once tree limbs became twisted limbs. Shuddering leaves became quivering tendrils. Spots of moonlight became milky eyes. Wrenching itself from above, the monster descended until it was close enough to hear Aiden’s heart pounding erratically in his chest. It’s mouth splitting into a hellish smile, it spoke.


Feel free to comment and rate. This is a series that will have several more chapters. Huge shout out to BlackJinx for the support in getting my ass back to writing. Love you, dickwad!  

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