The rain poured harder, each drop echoing the chaos within the small home. "Daddy stop!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice breaking through the noise of thunder and heartbreak. My father froze and turned to me, his eyes glowing with a mixture of fury and something darker, something far beyond reason. He dropped my mother on the cold floor where she wept bitterly, her sobs mixing with the sound of rain against the leaking roof.
"Please," I begged, my voice trembling as I stepped forward, "if you ever feel the need to punch someone or hit someone or whip someone, please hit me. I know you don't love us or my mother, but please, I cannot bear to watch her get maltreated this way." Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the blood that trickled from a cut on my forehead. "Don't hit my mother again or I'll kill you!" I shouted, my small fists clenched, my entire body shaking from both fear and rage.
My father's eyes widened in shock. For a moment, there was silence, as though the world itself had stopped to watch what would happen next. Then, with a sudden movement, he lunged toward me, his large hand wrapping tightly around my throat.
"You seem to have a lot of nerve," he hissed, his voice low and venomous, "to speak to your father that way." His gaze shifted toward my mother and sister, his grip tightening as I struggled to breathe. "Christine, your little hero has volunteered to save your life, so…"
"Wait! You don't actually mean that you'll beat your own son, right?" my mother cried out, her voice trembling in disbelief.
"Oh yes," my father said coldly, his eyes glinting like steel. "And from this day, you, Harrison, are forbidden to eat under my roof or sleep or even bathe under my roof. You are old enough to begin feeding yourself if you can speak up to me." His hand squeezed harder, cutting off my air as I gasped and clawed weakly at his wrist.
"Daddy, he's just seven years old," my sister Cecilia pleaded, her voice cracking, "please, show mercy. Forgive him and reduce his punishment."
He turned his glare toward her. "Oh yes, I will spare him death," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since I have lost my job and no longer have a source of income, both of you will fetch money for me. You, Harrison, will pay seventy percent of any money you ever make to me, and let it not be less than one thousand dollars. I don't care if you are hungry or weak or sick or unfit. You will pay me money every day to sustain this house. The same applies to you, Cecilia."
He paused, as though an afterthought had struck him. "And finally," he said, his voice cold and sharp, "you must return home before the sun sets. I don't care if you use magic or grow wings to fly. The day you fail to return before sunset, you will sleep outside in the cold."
I struggled desperately in his grip, my vision blurring as black spots began to form at the edges of my sight. Then, he leaned closer, his voice lowering to a whisper that was more terrifying than any shout.
"As for your question… if I loved any of you," he said slowly, "the answer is no. I don't like or love you."
My breath caught as he stared directly into my eyes. There was no humanity there, no warmth, only a hollow, burning hatred. "I hate you," he continued, his voice trembling with dark conviction. "Not because you did anything wrong, or because I have something to gain by hating you. I just do. I hate everything about you. You're my son, and yet I resent our connection. I hate you without reason, because hatred with a reason isn't real. It becomes an obsession."
His words echoed in my mind like thunder as he continued, "I hate you as a son, as a child, as a brother, as everything you are and everything you'll never be. I hate you for being you. And even though I don't like myself, I still hate you for everything you've done to me, with me, and around me. That's what true hate is… hate without reason."
He drew a deep breath, his eyes still locked on mine. "So even if you grow older and leave me for marriage, and I know you eventually will, I'll still hate you. Whether you are smart or dumb, rich or poor, ugly or beautiful, I'll still hate you because I've chosen to. Even if I die or lose my memories, my soul will still remember and hate you. Whether you love me back, hate me too, or walk away, I'll hate you forever."
His voice fell silent. The room was filled only with the sound of my mother's quiet sobs and the distant echo of rain. I looked into his eyes and saw it the truth. I understood it, but even then, I could not yet believe it.
The walls of the small home seemed to tremble with tension. My mother's voice cracked with anger and grief as she shouted, her eyes glistening with tears.
"How can you say that to your only son! Do you know how many children are sought for every day and prayed for, including male children? But you're blessed with a bouncy baby boy and you say mean and wrong words a child his age shouldn't even hear or know!"
Her words died in her throat the moment my father's hand struck my face with a sharp, echoing slap. The sound resounded through the house like thunder breaking a fragile sky.
"Why… why…" my mother trembled, clutching her chest as her voice faded.
"We just made an agreement," my father said coldly, his expression void of remorse. "If anything, I need to hit him more now. For every word you speak or action you take towards me, I'll keep beating this boy."
He dropped me to the ground, my knees scraping the cold floor.
"You can't do this…" my mother's voice quivered.
"Oh yes, I can," he replied, turning with a grim smile. "And if you ever think of calling the police, I'll continue and make sure you and your children suffer as long as I live."
He grabbed my arm roughly, dragging me down the dim corridor toward the basement.
"Come, Harry," he said in a low, chilling tone. "First, have to cut your weight. So no food for you tonight."
He yanked me by the ear and threw me inside the cold, damp basement.
What followed after and the days that cameif hell was real, it could be preferred as the most comforting place compared to what I endured, or what my sister suffered.
The next day came slowly. I slept in the basement, my body aching from the beating of the night before. My stomach growled in emptiness, but hunger no longer frightened me. I had learned to live with it. The sun rose over our little village in Otis Town, Nevada, Texas, yet its light barely reached the dark corners where I slept.
My companions were mosquitoes, rodents, and restless insects that crept through the cracks. They kept me company through the endless hours of pain. Exhausted, I drifted into a heavy sleep until a sudden whip lashed across my back.
"Ah!" I screamed, my voice piercing the silence. My skin burned where the lash had struck. As I looked up in horror, I saw him again...my father, towering above me, holding the whip in his hand.
"Why are you sleeping? Aren't you supposed to be out looking for money for me?" he barked, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking me upward.
"I wasn't sleeping, sir, I…" I stammered in fear, trying to lie my way out.
"Don't lie to me, you useless child!" he roared, throwing me across the basement. I hit the ground hard, pain shooting through my ribs.
"I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry, Daddy!" I cried desperately, tears streaming down my face.
"Tch. What good does saying you're sorry do for me?" he hissed, dragging me by the arm and throwing the door open. Sunlight blinded me as he pulled me outside.
"Get going to work, you two!" he shouted, shoving my sister beside me. "And don't waste time outside. Come back before dusk!"
My mother rushed forward, her voice trembling with desperation. "Darling, you can't do this to our only two children! They are still young, and they're supposed to be in school. Because of your incompetence, Cecilia dropped out, and Harrison hasn't started school either! And now you're sending them outside to go look for jobs on their own and magically bring money?"
"I'm just teaching them to be resourceful and independent," James said calmly, taking a sip from his bottle of beer. "Nothing much. And again, I don't like you or your sorry asses eating all that I have."
He turned away, walking slowly down the corridor, the sound of the bottle clinking faintly as he vanished from sight.
My mother stood frozen, her trembling hands covering her mouth as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. My sister and I stood there barefoot, frightened, and silent
beneath the burning morning sun.
That day, childhood ended for both of us.