Theuses Atlassian, the prince of the kingdom, Atlasia was taken away from his home and family. Seven years later he lives in a small town called The Batiant, where a corrupt church leads. On the days nearing his fourteenth birthday Tommy can't help...
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Tommy's pov:
Hiding my hands under my wooden desk, I pull out a white piece of paper from my torn down backpack.
My minds swirling with ideas of what to do, after debating with myself I choose an idea and drag the Grey pencil across my page.
I've decided not to put any thought of what I might be drawing, just let my pencil control my hand.
The world around me dissappears, I watch the empty page get filled with pencil lines and coulers.
Everything comes natural to me. The movements of my hand. The sound of pencil meeting paper. The continuous use of the colour's pink, yellow, brown, red and black.
The drawing starts to come together, it starts to look like something familiar.
I let a small smile tug at the ends of my lips, it's always the same drawing.
My mind enptys it thoughts, as though they never really existed in the first place.
My wrist surges with pain when a ruler is met with it's bareskin, a red mark forming.
"Mr. Thomas, pay mind to my teaching, if you fail my upcoming test, I will make sure you earn yourself a beating, from either me or Father John.
"Perhaps both," The woman continues to spew rubbish about the history of the kingdoms land of which we live upon.
She wore a long navy robe on her small and frail figure, with a white piece of fabric over her head.
If you haven't already surmised, Miss Wimsfeld is a nun (A horrendously strict one).
The school I attend is run by the local church of my area, so all my teachers are either nuns or priests.
My principle is a horrid man, with a shaved face and piercing brown eyes. He wore an expensive tailored suit, made just for his liking.
The man had claimed to be a prophet of God, his voice. Many believed and many doubted.
The people who weren't brainwashed monkeys all moved away from this cursed town, leaving father John to take over.
I was seven when he overthrew the then leader of the church and schools. The old leader was much kinder, he never hit nor talked badly to anyone especially the kids.
Though I only knew Mr Barnet for a week before the mass destruction accured.
But enough yapping about the things no one cares about.
"Okay class, schools bound to end on a few minutes so everyone close your eyes,"
The classroom falls under an imidiate hush, everyone abiding to what the nun says.
"Dear lord our savior and loving father, pray for us as you watch our long journey to ascend to you. We prsy that Father John will help us and he our guide from you, take out lives and spill our blood, as long as we are with you my lord, our hearts will reign true and our minds remain pure."
That babbling went on for another ten minutes before the woman finally shut her mouth, and gave as the clear to go.
Bag in hand, I walk with the rest of my classmates in silence, all of us heading to the exit of the school, which was made of wood and tape.
The school was built hundred of years ago, so it isn't very sturdy.
Before I reach freedom, a hand from behind me grips my shoulder, forcing me to come to an abrupt stop.
"Thomas, Father wants to speak to you, go to his office," A cold voice demands.
I nod and turn slightly to walk to his office. "Hurry Thomas, he doesn't look to be in a good mood," It was my English teacher who had warned me, not that it matters.
The doors were already opened when I slowly step inside the office, closing it behind me.
"Thomas, your behavior this week has been very disappointing," A deep voice called out.
I remained silent as my eyes were fixated on the wooden floor.
"DAMN IT, THOMAS." He smashes his hand on the desk beside him.
I flinch slightly at the loud noise, fear is all I feel at this very moment. Fear of the raging man infront of me.
"Apologize," The self proclaimed 'Prophet' demanded, though I am never going to speak something out of my mouth at his command.
I don't like him. He doesn't like me. We make life difficult for eachother, Although being a Fifty-five year old man and having a thirteen year old enemie, should be enough shame
to make him never want to show his face, which is truly a sore sight to look upon.
"Put your hands on the table." My hands tremble as I lay them down on the table.
The students call it 'the Palpitating bastille'. Palpitating because of the fear and stress it causes your heart when he orders your hands onto the table.
Bastille because the singular second you walk into the office, you feel as though you are a prisoner, someone who can't escape the tragic doom that will fall upon them.
I try and stiffle a loud sob as a metal stick thrashes onto my fingers, then my wrists, then my ancles.
Usually he aims for the arms or chest area, but now he's making sure that I am hearing what he is staying through the pain he is conflicting on me.
Him hitting my fingers means I will never be powerful enough to even form scratch from my nail onto his skin.
Bashing my wrists means that I will never be able to raise my hand to fight with the thoughts of defying.
The lashing out on my ancles is a statement of which is stating that I will be able to run away from him.
I will never be able to stand in protest.
Its not like I am making these definitions of were he is beating me up! There are posters quite literally all over the school with those exact words written.
Though today he decided to change things up.
When the metal stick left my aching body, I knew something was wrong.
I waited with my head held low, as I try to calm down my frantic cry so I could breath properly again.
Though the effort of calming down was immediately stripped from me as I feel a sharp pain strike on my back.
A whip. He just whipped me. It's the most painful experience I will ever meet in the entirety of my life.
The marks that the small black contraption leaves behind are a whole pain in itself, the mending you need for it to heal properly is to be taken seriously or it might become fatal.
I scream and screech. Imagine being bitten by the devil himself, that's what I'm feeling right now, just know that there is more bruising on my side. You might have to get a rabies shot, but I everytime time I walk or even move, pains will overpower my under fed body.
It isn't long before the man stops, and lets me free. Although as I start my walk home, I can feel the slight breeze of the wind on my back.
Mother fucker broke my shirt.
The orphanage I am homed in will be fuming when I tell them, two beatings in one day, how fun.
