The Crooked Cellar

Chapter 3: The war above

Phil's POV

More mentions of depression, also some drug mentions, and parent abuse... I'll try at least some fluff in like five chapters or a little more but not much more if all goes to plan....

Darkness and deeper darkness. You never know what true dark is. There will always be the stars, the moon, a night light, or the city lights reflected in the clouds. There is always some light in the world.

Hope works the same way. It's always there. Something, someone. There's always the random stranger that smiles at you, or that unexpected talent that gives you hope. That lucky £20 to buy you your next meal when you are broke.

Not now.

I'm in darkness.

No light.

No hope.

Dark, hopeless, alone.

Hold on

Dark, hopeless, but not alone. They are here. Not the ring. I wish this was the ring. This is far worse.

I open my eyes. I'm on a tile floor surrounded by a smell similar to my moms coin jar she used to keep. She had always wanted to fly away. I know better than to think that smell is coins. I feel it's warmth comforting me like some sick blanket. My blood. The hits weren't usually bad enough to knock me out, but I would be lying if I said this was unfamiliar.

I know he did it. He only came home when his breath was wild, and rage was pent up on the inside. She tried to protect me. I remember now.

A hot salty tear slides down young Phillips cheek.

This time was different. He... He... He came back... With a gun... He was so loud... Destroying everything in his rampage.

The salty tear becomes the first of the many escaping his eyes

He is coming closer. I knew he wouldn't let me live. My mommy. My sweet mommy. She's all gone now.

It's like he could flip a switch. Turn the strong young boy into a puddle of worthlessness. That man could do that to him.

"Where are you, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!"

Phil didn't care. He didn't. The boy didn't want to die. That would upset her. No he just didn't care if what he did got him killed. He would run that day. Run far away. She would be found later. He would never be again.

One gun shot, two, and the third and final one softens. The edges of my vision blur as he turns the corner. He didn't need to see the end to know what happens. He could never forget the night he lost everything. For the first time. At eight years old.

I miss dreams. Dreams are sweet. They remind you of the good things in life. It's only when things are really bad that those dreams go away. You know then that even you're subconscious knows that there is no light, no hope, and therefore there can be no more dreams.

That's the funny thing about nightmares. It not the ones with creepy ghost and horrific monsters that are truly haunting. It's the ones that twist the memories that you try to suppress into a worse reality. Those nightmares never let you forget. You are forced to relive those nights when you wanted nothing more than to die. It is those nights where you find yourself asking for just one dream. One dream with the bright warm light of hope. Sadly in my reality those wishes are never grated. I never see that sun.

My bones are brittle, my watery eyes stings, and my feet are laced with pain. But my physical pain does not compare to what is inside my head. A war zone. Both sides fighting driving me over the very verge of madness. One side says he was right. You are worthless. Do the world a favor and kill yourself. The other says the you need to get up. She wouldn't want you moping. She wanted you to make the best of you're life.

"You know if you are on the streets at this time it's a 75% chance that you will be killed" a gruff voice said from behind me.

"I'm too much pain to care." I simply reapplied.

Silence.

"I honestly don't care, so if that's what you came here to do go ahead." I tried not to let the sadness show. I don't think that worked out. The man walked in front of me. I looked up at him, as my gaze was at the time focused on my blueish hands. He was wearing a thin and patched jacket, and had a strange lopsided grin. Messy brown hair, and red rimmed eyes completed the look.

"I'm Chris!" Said the strange man with a slight giggle as he stuck out his hand.

I know he is a mad man. Hell I know who he becomes.

He seemed so nice at the time to poor lonely Phillip. None had acknowledged his presence for months. That's what drew him to the ring, or at least that's what he tells himself.

For some reason Phil grabbed Chris's hand and let that mad boy pull him up, and followed him to the building that is where he lost it all again...

But what is loss? Loss is the fact or the process of loosing something, or someone. This describes the first time this poor boy lost it all. This time it was different. His loss was deeper, this was a loss of a soul. Of goodness. This was a loss of light. Of hopes, and of dreams.

Little did little Philly know that he would experience loss again. Another new definition of that dread inlaced word will surface in a futures time.

The city lights dim, as the world spins, and before he knows it Phil is in darkness. Full complete and still darkness once again.

Hiya
Updating three days in a row!!!
Madness...
I promise it gets less depressing.
Then more depressing... But let's not worry about that!!!

And thank the wonderful troyesgroupie for inspiring me to write more! Y'all are going to get sick of her name. (Though at the time she is the only one reading it.)

Love y'all's!
Byeeeeeeeeeee