The Story Of Soldiers

Chapter 24

Warning(s): sexism, heavily implied/shown abuse, gender discrimination,

Normalcy.
Such an odd term.
What was normal? How did anyone know what normal was? Where did the idea even come from?

What was normal.
Was this normal?
A hard hand comes down across the young boy's face, a sob falling from his lips at the impact.

The father crouched before his son, showing no pity for the child.
"Don't give me that look," the man rolled his eyes, "You were asking for it."

The boy sniffled and wiped at his eyes.
"Now dry those eyes and come to my office in ten minutes."
The kid looked up with confused eyes as if asking,
'How do you expect me to do that?'

The man rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed.
"Don't look at me like that you little brat. Do as you're told, you know what happens if you don't."
The child swallowed, shivering at the memory of his father's anger.

The man left, leaving his crying son alone. The woman, who had been standing in the corner, came forward and crouched beside him.
"Mom, why does dad hit us?" He asked timidly.

"Because he loves us," she said, taking a bandage from the first aid kit she had prepared in advance.
"But why would he hurt us if he loves us?" The boy whimpered, arms wrapped around himself.

"Love hurts." The woman stated matter-of-factly, pressing the bandage to her sons injured cheek.
The boy frowned, tears slipping from his eyes without his permission.

The mother rolled her eyes, giving the wrist she'd been holding so gently a squeeze.
The boy flinched, biting down on his tongue, lifting one of his hands to force the tears to a too short stop.

"Now go," she said softly, voice too kind once again, "You know what your father thinks of those who aren't punctual."
The boy nodded, standing and quickly making his way to the man's office.

He was about to open the door, hand froze right above the nob before remembering what happened last time he didn't knock.
With his newly shaking hand, he tapped on the wooden door with his knuckles, blinking away leftover tears.

"Come in," came his father's curt voice from the other side, and the boy comes into the room.
For a moment he worries that he entered too quickly, but at the same time he's also scared of what would happen if he'd entered too slowly.

"Come, over here son." The father says in a too soft voice, too melodic and causing the hairs on the back of the child's neck to stand up.
The boy makes his way up beside his father, who was standing at a seemingly random wall.

The man glances briefly at his son, before looking back to the wall and pressing his palm into one of the plates on the wall.
Following his father's lead, the child backs away from the wall as it opens into an entirely new room.

The boy opened his mouth to ask what was going on, before deciding it would probably be for the better if he just waited for his father to say it himself.
"This," he said with a wicked grin, "Is my master plan."

Inside was a massive cork board, several tiny words written on multiple sticky notes, along with photos, all connected by a red string.
"What?" The boy breathed, his heart beginning to pound too fast in his throat.

His father laughed, the evil in his eyes growing with each passing second.
"Oh son," he wheezed, "You have not a clue of what I have planned. Come, let me show you."

Hesitantly, the child follows his father to look closer at the large board containing... whatever the man wanted to show him.
"F-father," he cursed himself for stuttering, "What are you... what are you doing?"

The man smirked. "Oh, child, I have my ways. Let's just say I've obtained some... leverage."
The boy swallowed thickly, exhaling shakily, rubbing a hand up and down his arms.

The child bit his lip, his teeth grinding against each other and his leg threatening to bounce against his will.
"Leverage?" He mumbled, "For what...?"
The man grinned. "Oh. Allow me to... enlighten you, son."

The father wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder, either ignoring or not noticing how he flinched at the sudden action. It didn't matter anyway.
"You see, power is what matters in this world. Imbeciles will feed you lies about friendship, love, being good."

The man accented the last word bitterly. "But what good is being good when it gets you nowhere in life?"
It wasn't really a question. Even so, the child opened his mouth, as if he was daring to actually answer.

Unfortunately for him, the man standing next to him narrowed his eyes, hand tightening around the boy's shoulder.
"Care to speak?"
"Nothing," he muttered.
"No, you wanted to say something."

The father turns to stand in front of his son, eyes slanting.
"Well, go on then. Tell me how helpful being good is?" The man mocks, a cruel chuckle falling from his lips and sending a chill up the youngers spine.

The boy can't speak. His throat wouldn't let him. Nothing would come out, no matter how hard he tried.
"Well?" He prompts one last time before scoffing, "Exactly. Goodness brings you nothing. Remember that, son."

The man punctuated his sentence with a vice-like grip to the child's shoulder, causing said child to flinch.
"But power," he trailed off with a chuckle, his voice low and smooth, "Power brings you everything you need."

The glanced down at the boy, smirk spreading wider.
"It will bring you good fortune. Power is an extension of wealth. Wealth comes with the stability of a job. The higher you get on the corporate ladder, the more money comes of it."

He paused for a moment. His son was unsure why, simply looking down at the floor, eyes wide as he tries to process the information.
"You understand, don't you." His voice in a hum, buzzing in his son's ears. Good. He smirked again.

"Yes father, I understand." He nods, closing his eyes to keep himself from crying.
Why though? The pain in his shoulder was sharp. That was probably it. Yeah, that was all. The panic rising in his chest from his father's indiscernible tone didn't affect that.

"Good." His voice is gentle again. The father pulls the child closer, the two standing side by side.
"Atticus! Don't keep the boy all night! He needs sleep," his mother calls from the other room.

"Oh hush Iris!" He snapped back harshly, head turned to the door. He shook his head and looked down at his child again.
"Listen, son, never let a woman boss you around. I'll need to teach that mother of yours a lesson later."

The boy blinked obliviously. "Why does it matter if she's a woman?"
"Women are below us, child. A man is above them and should be in charge of them. Understand."

The boy wants to be convinced, but he didn't dare to fight back.
"Now head to bed," he said curtly, "You've got school tomorrow."
"Yes, father."
Without another word, he heads off to bed, confusion and fear mixing in his brain.

In bed, he rolled over in bed over and over again. He couldn't sleep.
Finally, he pulled the pillow over his head, pressing it into his ear. Still, no matter what he did, he couldn't ignore the pained cries from the other room.