Andrew's Tears

Chapter 1: The Beginning

{Chapter 1}

Andrew Crey was a heartbroken boy. He was far from the average boy who got his heart broken by a girl he "loved." No, he was heartbroken, because the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally, the man who had brought him to existence in the first place despised him. The man, who was supposed to tuck him in at night, and kick the soccer ball around during the day, had failed at his fatherly duties. Andrew couldn't begin to understand why his father hated him. Had he done something that was unforgiveable? Was he a terrible person? These thoughts always brought tears that pooled in the circular pores that the iron left.

Andrew's whole right cheek was destroyed by the image of an iron that had been imprinted on his flesh nearly two years ago. The memory was something bitter in his past.

He hated to think of it, but whenever he wished for the memory to leave, it forced its way right into his thoughts. Just like an annoying neighbor who comes in uninvited and unwanted.

As Andrew walked the deserted back streets in Salem, Oregon, big, wet tears escaped his eyes and blurred his vision. He didn't care when the occasional passerby looked at him with pity. He looked at them bitterly and continued walking, making one goal: get home.

#

Thomas Markham, Andrew's father, stormed through the living room in a meth-induced stupor. Andrew's mother, Anne, ran after Thomas trying to get him to change his mind. "Thomas, Calm down! You're drunk! Do not do what you're about to do."

Thomas spun on his heals and glared at Anne. He said nothing; he only pulled his fingers into a fist, and slugged Anne in the face, creating a loud resounding crack! Anne crumpled to the stone tiled floor. Thomas didn't care enough to see if Anne was hurt or not. Andrew lay in his room, sound asleep.

Thomas bounded down the hallway, to the closet. He whipped the doors open. He was looking for something that could be used for punishing Andrew. What Andrew had done, Thomas did not know, he just believed that he must punish Andrew. A little voice in the back of his mind was telling him his son had done something undeniably wrong, and that he must be punished.

What Thomas found was an iron. Along with the iron he found the ironing board. He pulled both things from the closet, making a loud clatter. Thomas couldn't help the noise in his fog.

He set up the iron board as best he could. He plugged the iron in, letting it heat. The water sloshed around as he set the iron atop the board. Remembering enough of his home economics classes, when he had gotten in trouble for leaving an iron facedown, he sat the iron up on its back side.

Thomas stormed into Andrew's room. There Andrew lay, snoring softly, pitifully. Thomas did not think his decision to punish Andrew through; didn't think that the voice in his mind was something caused by the vodka. He took two long strides and pulled the comforter off of Andrew. Andrew laid there, chest bare. Andrew wore sweat shorts, and white Nike socks.

Andrews's hair was smooth, as was his face. It was too bad that his baby-like cheeks would be destroyed by such a gruesome burn. Suddenly, Thomas grabbed Andrew's soft blond hair.

He pulled him from the bed with a strong jerk. Andrew yelped as he hit the ground. "Get up," Thomas said in a voice that held so much anger that it could have made the ground tremble.

"W-what?" Andrew stammered.

"Get your butt off this floor, now!" Thomas snarled.

"What did I do?" Andrew said, worried. He eyed the hallway, staring at the light, hoping his mother would come in to save him most likely.

"Go on! Get out of this room!" Thomas screamed. Andrew fled the room. As his left foot passed the door, it slammed against the door jamb.

"Oh, my... OW!" Andrew knelt to clutch his throbbing toe. Tears escaped his eyes as he uttered his next question. "Where's Mom?" Thomas was just exiting Andrew's room when he asked.