His starter sentence was…..He saw the orange Necco wafer on the counter top and started to cry. SO….here goes with my meagre effort..
He saw the orange Necco wafer on the counter top and started to cry.
“What the fuck are they? Are you totally stupid, boy? Why would I want those poncy, little fucking biscuits.”
His dad had always said that to him. He always sent him to the shop, knowing that he would bring back the same thing: almost as if he enjoyed the fact that he could beat up on him when he brought the wrong thing back.
“You always do the same thing,” SMACK.
“You can’t get a simple thing right,” PUNCH.
“You stupid, little retard,” KICK.
The tears ran down his flushed cheeks, the snot running from his nose like two miniature candle sticks. Thoughts flooded his mind. His mother’s face smiling at him, telling him how beautiful he was to her. Then her face changed. Her bruised eyes almost shut, her beautiful smile broken and swollen. Her love of life totally removed by the fists of her husband: his father.
Thomas sat there staring at the wafer, his vision clearing as he blinked his eyes free of tears. His thoughts were now filled with visions of the last beating.
“Not again, you stupid little fuck.”
A hint of a cruel smirk hovered on his lips.
“I’m going to have to beat it into you again!”
His father pushed himself out his chair, alcohol disrupting his balance. Thomas stood there with the packet of wafers in his outstretched hand. He’d never understood what he had done wrong.
“Necco wafers, boy!”
That was what Thomas had brought back. Necco Wafers. That was what his father had asked for and that was what he had brought back each and every time.
“Necco wafers, I asked for, chocolate Necco wafers!”
“N…n…n…no, d…d…d…ad. Y..y..you n..n..n.ev…e..er…s..s..said ch..ch..ch..oc..”
His father cut his stammering short with a drunken punch to the side of his head. Thomas dropped the wafers as he fell to the floor.
“N..n..n..n..n..no d..d..d..ad!” his father jibed. “You stuttering retard! You’ve always been an embarrassment to me.”
He kicked Thomas, just as the boy was trying to get up, but as he did he lost his footing. His feet flew into the air and he landed hard on his back, the tiled floor knocking the air out of his lungs. His head smacked on the floor with a sickening sound.
Thomas crawled away from the mumbling body of his father. He got to his feet near the back door, his eyes locking on the wrought iron coal shovel. A voice sounded in his head
Thomas picked up the shovel, heavy in his hand. He turned round, his father still mumbling on the floor. There was a smear of blood on the floor where the drunken man had moved his head.
The boy walked back towards his father and looked down at him.
“What d’you think you’re doing boy?” the man slurred.
Thomas lifted the shovel above his head…
He stared at the orange wafer on the worktop and wiped a sleeve across his face, a slimy trail sticking to his sleeve looking like it had been left by a mutant snail. The shovel fell from his left hand and made a clang as it bounced off the floor and came to rest next to his father’s dead body.
No excuses this week (Although I do still have my in-laws here. They are staying until 6th Jan so my wife and I can go out for my birthday on 5th. Yes….a cheap shot for birthday wishes!!!)
The usual applies, leave a comment if you want to………if not, may a thousand flies infest your arse and your arms be too short to scratch it.