Rob sat alone in his bedroom, looking out his window at the cloudy sky, only a few patches of blue shining through. Rob, sitting quietly, was scared. The fear of what he knew was to come was rushing through him, he shacked, paced and held his head in his hands, but he could not get rid of the fear. He knew that soon his Dad would come home, and he’d see the results sheet he’d left on the mantel, it would tell him he’d only got Bs in his first set of A-Level exams. Most people would be happy with that grade, but not Rob, or his Dad. That rage would pulse through him in almost an instant. He’d shout at Rob, and Rob would have to try and navigate the maze of his fathers rage. And try and avoid earning another bruise. But he knew today that it was inevitable.
Rob is currently seventeen, and study the three sciences and math at six form, much to his displeasure. He hated science, but if he ever told his Dad that he’d probably end up with a broken arm. He longed to tell him that sometimes. He read a lot, when he could. But he knew now that he might have to go through another book burning. Last time he got a bad grade his Dad had burned all his books because they were, apparently, a distraction. Rob longed to study English, he watched the English students walk to there class, and had to fight the strongest urge to follow them. Rob stood again, he was around six foot, and skinny. He was taller than his Dad, and that had shocked him when he first realised because he didn’t feel like he was.
He had chocolate brown hair, and dark green eyes. His face was round, but his eyes always had dark circles, he never stopped revising. But then it hadn’t been good enough this time. His chest was covered in bruises, his dad never hit his face, unless he was exceptionally made. After the time Rob was asked about a bruise once he’d flipped, and given him several new ones for letting people see them. His dad didn’t see anything wrong with hitting his son, he thought that’s how kids got disciplined. And Rob had quickly learn’t how to avoid it on the majority of days, but he knew this time it was beyond his control. Then he heard it, the sickening sound. It was the sound of the key in the latch. He knew he had a minuet, if that, until his Dad would burst through that door. He listened to his dad heavy breathing, the sound of his tossing his keys aside.
And then a silence. It was like he could feel his Dad’s mood changing, building, as he looked at the grades, and grew angry. Rob thought about his Mum, she was dead, she’d died giving birth to him. But she’d loved his Dad, when he saw pictures of her and his Dad together it made him sad. He’d made his Dad like this, that’s what he told himself, that he killed the person that made his dad a decent, and happy person, and now he was paying the price for it. Then it came.
“Bs!!” He shouted. “What a load of crap.” There was a pause. “Rob! Get down here.” His farther knew, he knew how much he feared him, but I think he liked it. When he was drunk he boasted about how much control over his son he had, and any achievement he made was his achievement as well. Rob made the solemn walk downstairs, it was never long enough. He knew the steps, the top one was his best friend, and the bottom one his worst enemy. And walked down, and into the from room. He felt the wind get knocked out of him as his fathers fist went into his stomach. “What the hell?!” He shouted, his fat unclean face just centimetres from him. “Are you brain dead of something? Ah?”
“No.” Rob says quietly.
“Well then what are these Bs?”
“Well then what are these Bs?”
“There not that bad grades Dad.” He pushed him against the wall, and grabbed a handful of his hair, and pulled. Rob didn’t yell.
“Do you think that’s funny?” He said, menacingly.
“No I just meant...” he pulled his hair a little tighter.
“You won’t get these grades again, will you?”
“Yes, I’ll do better.”
“Good, you got go lightly.” he let go and took a step back. “If I had any sense I’d throw you out, your an embarrassment sometimes. No son of mine get Bs. Your mother would be disappointed if she saw you.” She’d be disappointed in you, Rob thought. He looked at his farther, and then to the floor. He had to wait before he could go, he had to be told whether he was done or not. He could hit him again.
“Why do you look at me like that?!” His dad suddenly shouted.
“Like what?” Rob asked quietly, the fear etched in his voice.
“Just go,” his Dad said, his angry gone as quickly as it had come. “I can’t look at you, or this.” He thrust the paper into his chest, which hurt. Rob quietly walk away, and back upstairs. He skipped the creaky one, because sometimes when his Dad heard it he got angry again. Rob knew he’d got off lightly. But it never felt like he’d done bad, or good out of a situation like this. He went into his room, and sat on his bed again, looking out the window. It was dark, he hand’t realized it was going dark until now. After a while of sitting quietly, reliving the event over and over Rob got up, stripped off and got into bed. He curled up into a ball, hugging his legs to his chest, his head resting on his knees. Everything around him was black, he heard his house creak, and felt his body ache. But worst of all was the screaming in his head. Because he’d forgotten how to scream out loud.
Darkness descends in the dead of night,
Washing over your world, rippling to the sides.
Red stained fists blot your white skin, smudging,
Staining. A word, a number, a letter, a movement.
They all trigger the landslide, the crushing.
Thousands of tiny birds cross the sky around you,
You spin your head as you watch them fly, silently.
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