The Mistake That Broke Me

Chapter Two: The Unknown Boy

Song: Give Me A Sign by Breaking Benjamin

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The child watched with wide blue eyes as his parents handed the evil man money. The boy, only being six years old, did not understand the sight before him, rather, he just sunk deeper into the corner of his dingy room and clutched his small blue blanket tightly against his chest.

The scary man was big and he wore a scowl on his face. He was pale, sickly looking. The remnants of his black hair hung just below his ears, and his once muscular frame was shriveling away.

The boy had a bad feeling.

He knew something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

"Momma." He whimpers, sniffling as he does so.

The woman, a grey haired, scraggly looking thing that resembled more like one of those naked, hairless dogs squats down in front of her son.

Shoving an accusing finger in his face and gripping his wrist tightly with her other hand, she speaks, "You will go quietly with this man. He is taking you to your new home, we don't want you here anymore. I should of fucking aborted you when I had the chance but your father insisted we keep you for God knows what reason."

The little boy's bottom lip trembled. He didn't want to go somewhere with this strange, scary man, nor did he knows what his mother was talking about when she said aborted. What did it mean? The way she said it didn't sound very nice. On top of that, he didn't understand why his momma didn't love him back.

He didn't understand why because he had never done anything wrong. He was always a quiet child who liked to doodle in the dirt and soot of his bedroom floors.

He had never talked back, or raised his voice, or disobeyed his mother in any way. He hadn't stolen any of the food she made, ever.

He didn't, he couldn't, understand for the life of him what he had possibly done wrong. 

He wasn't going to ask, either. Too many times his father had tied him down to his rickety old bed and beat him with a switch til he bled and was black and blue. Several times he would pass out during the beating.

A switch is a long, bendable rod. The switch that the boy's father had used on his son was eight feet long, complete with several sharp, pointy edges that was made to cut through skin.

A tear slides down the boy's cheek at the memory, and he shudders.

"The boy's name?" The scary man asks, glancing over at the frightened child.

The parents look at each other, and shrug. "We never gave him one," His father speaks, "We didn't believe he needed one, since we was not to live very long, any way."

The scary man raises an eyebrow, and shrugs. "Good doin' business with you." He says, and takes heavy steps towards the shaking boy.

The boy falls to the ground, cowering in fear as the man grabs him with large hands and throws him roughly over his shoulder.

The boy drops his blanket, his only item he has ever owned. Sadness strikes his heart when he sees his blanket lying on the dirty floorboards of his home.

But soon his blanket is the last thing that's on his mind.

Fear.

Terror. Absolute terror filled the boy's veins as the man carried him farther away from the only place he knew as home.

"Momma, help me!" He cries at the last minute, hoping that his momma would change his mind and embrace him in her arms.

But she doesn't.