the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

the lucifer effect

in lit, we learned about the stanford prison experiment, and this is loosely based on the theory that philip zimbardo created from the results

thanks to my best friend for listening and helping with the formulation of this idea

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trigger warning: rape and abuse

Mitch woke up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday to silence. He sat up, stretching, and his eyes landed on a note just inside his door. He carefully got out of bed and neatly made it up before he went to see what it said.

You're eighteen now, so you're not our responsibility anymore. Get the fuck out of our house. If you're still here when we get home, we'll kill you.

He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat and carefully stood, rubbing his eyes. He had no idea where his parents had went or how long they'd be gone, so he had to be fast, even though it hurt to move. As soon as he'd managed to fight off the threatening tears, he got to work packing a bag with the little possessions he had.

He finished within half an hour. As he left his childhood house, tears brimmed in his eyes again. He had nowhere to go, no one that cared about him. Perhaps he should've stayed and let his parents kill him.

+++

A few months passed, and Mitch was still alive. He was underweight before, but now he weighed even less, due to only getting a meal every few weeks as opposed to every few days. He spent most of his time in a concealed alley, singing quietly to himself and trying to avoid all attention.

One day, a businessman was walking by Mitch's alley when he heard the singing. He paused to listen to the mysterious voice. It was beautiful.

Hesitantly, the businessman went down the alley once he figured out that was where the singing was coming from. He softened at the sight of a small boy singing quietly to himself and put on a small smile. "Hi," he said gently, and the boy jumped. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. Were you the one singing?"

Mitch nodded and nervously fiddled with the hem of his tattered shirt, trying his best to hold eye contact with this strange man. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry if I bothered you. I'll stop."

"No, no, you didn't bother me. Your voice is very beautiful, actually."

Mitch blushed and turned his gaze down to his lap. His parents always told him that his voice was annoying. "Thank you, sir. You're very kind," he whispered, even though he didn't believe him.

"Are you homeless, honey?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, how about I let you come live with me?" the businessman offered. "In exchange, you can let me hear more of your beautiful singing."

Mitch blushed more and shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but I couldn't burden you like that. I have no money, I can't pay you back."

"That's okay, sweetheart. You can just stay for the night."

Mitch hesitated, glancing up at the man. "Just for the night?"

"Just for the night. I can feed you and give you a warm bed to sleep in, okay? Doesn't that sound nice?"

"It does, sir," Mitch whispered, almost as though he was ashamed.

"Then come on. Just for one night, and then I can let you go again."

"O-... Okay, sir."

The man smiled and offered Mitch a hand. "Wonderful. Come on. My name is Jonathan Smith, but you can call me John. What's your name?"