ENSLAVED

o n e

♦️♦️♦️

It's had always been like this.

Walking home alone with bruises and patches of dark coloration on his face and body. With his hands clutched on the straps of his old ragged backpack, his soulless eyes glassy from the tears, eager to fall down the dry pavement.

He felt the stinging pain on his right cheek. A reminder that he had been into a good beating on school again. He kicked a rock and it broke the windy silence of the empty road. He starts to wonder what he'll go through again tomorrow.

But now, he sighed as he must think about how he can even endure again tonight as he entered the front door of their house with a creak.

"Where have you been?" There goes the voice that he had been fearing ever since he was still a small boy.

His heart quivered as he bowed his head on the dirty floor as smoke filled his weak lungs.

"School." He mumbles quietly peaking on the group of men who are busy playing cards at the dining table. Bottles of emptied alcohol scattered all around. Weeds neatly sat on the old mahogany table.

"Don't go to school so you won't be late to do choirs in my house." His father spoke as he darted his eyes on the cards on his fingers.

"Cook something for us." He ordered and the boy tiredly nodded.

His father had been pretty decent and nice to him today as he didn't get another beating from being late to go home. Or maybe he was just lucky that his father is busy wasting his money instead of governing his only son and encouraging him to go to school.

His stomach never fails to growl as he started preparing decent food that he had never been allowed to eat unless permitted. His father had been very tight on groceries. He's just allowed to eat when there're leftovers and he's not lucky all the time to have one.

As he put the bowl on the table. He never misses glancing at his father's friends how they looked at him in disgust. His large shirt and boxers show how lacking he had in clothes, it also showed how petite he is and how pale his skin is because of lack of nutrients and sunlight.

He averted his eyes on the floor and backed away.

"Why don't you brush the floor boy? I'm sure your father would be glad if you cleaned it." One of the men told him with eyes never leaving the boy's body. He almost shivered from the tone how the man spoke but he obliged, praying that his father would spare him a little of the food he cooked.

Grabbing a floor brush and a wooden pale filled water. He started scrubbing the plank floor, crouching in the floor. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, looking at the work he needed to accomplish.

"Your son has beautiful skin." He heard one of his father's friends. His father just raised a brow and shake his head with a chuckle.

"He's a piece of disgrace. He looked like his slut mother." His father laughed casually. His ears perked in hurt and anger upon hearing the words but he knew better than confronting his father talking like that to his wife who happened to be his mother.

"You wouldn't mind if I touch him right?" The man licked his lips as he eyed the fragile boy's body. He cringed at the sound of it.

"You can do what you want. Who cares about a faggot son." His father spat targeting the poor boy's vulnerable heart and bringing tears to his eyes. He swore he thought he could take those words without feeling like this but from all the times he'd been hearing these words, he never seemed to get used to it.