Bless the little ones for they cannot be helped. Seen through his eyes there is love; love is pain. Mother comforts the fragile. Frozen quick as zero’s sudden chill, life shatters, close your eyes. Hide from the pool’s crimson darkness. Bleed for them; in ways you always have.
Father sits at the kitchen table, rays of sun inspiring rainbows from the crystal of his tumbler. He contemplates the dark liquid inside: it clashes with the stench of bleach from mother’s cloth. The stinking cat is rubbing against his leg.
“Where is that little shit now?” asks father.
“He is at a friend’s house,” replies mother.
Mother doesn’t look at father. She keeps her right profile from his sight knowing the bruise will enrage him. Mother hopes boy has indeed gone to his friend’s house.
A door opens as though on cue.
“Lying to me again,” says father under his breath.
Father turns to boy.
“Why can’t you do as your mother expects of you?” father bellows.
Father scoops up the cat and throws it at boy, knocking boy off his feet.
For part three, click here.