Cold And Inhuman
"You whore!" A masculine voice.
"You philanderer!" A feminine voice.
"I'll kill you in this house!" He bellowed as he charged straight to the woman and started beating her up.
The little boy stood at the door and watched his parents go about their daily routine, tears spilled from his eyes.
He stood in the shadows, just watching and crying. If he speaks out loud, they'll remember him and his father will beat him also. No one remembers him. Not unless they want to beat him too.
Then he saw the blow, heard the awful sound. The blow that made a difference. The blow that made that day stand out from every other day.
His mom stopped screaming, she laid there on the floor, staring into nothingness. Dead.
"Gia." His dad paused mid-beating.
No answer.
"Gianna!" He patted her white arms turned red from being beaten.
Terror filled the little boy's system, a sound escaped his mouth, drawing the man's attention.
"Oops. I've forgotten about you." He said to the little boy.
"Mom's dead..." The little boy said in a tiny voice.
The man looked down at the lifeless white woman, "Seems like it." He looked at the boy with an eye filled with menace. "You'll pretend you didn't see a thing. You'll......"
The siren rang outside. The police had arrived.
A neighbour had alerted them when he heard the noise.
He watched as the policemen pointed their guns at his father. He watched as they took his father away.
He remained hidden, his blue eyes returning to the woman who laid on the floor, with eyes as blue as his. She was staring right at him.
Finally, she sees him. Only in death, did she really see him.
Something died in that little boy that day.
Replaced with bitterness.
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