fixing imperfection -- d6 plot

It feels like this house been empty for way too long, and quite honestly, it has been. Each footstep created in the house on the marble floor, creating a melody that rings throughout the house to fade away quicker than a tribute. And I hated it. It meant that I was alone, it meant that I had nobody to love or care for and that was because nobody likes me. And since nobody likes me, I don't like them. Though I like kids.

That's why I found myself standing in front of a dozen or two kids who were starving to death only a week ago. I will give them shelter, I will give them food and I will give them a lie to life because it seems rare to have such of one with their riches. I saved them from the empty, cold streets of the district. They must think I'm a good guy; right? I'm a good person, I'm a good father, I really hope so, I can only hope they're as perfect as I hope they will be. They're dirty. It can be told easily from the thick amount of dirt and grime on their bodies.

Then night comes and it seems horrifying, they all don't know where to sleep and honestly it was a nightmare. After sleep had fallen over the house, I could finally rest. Or I thought so. I felt as if sleep wasn't overwhelming me as fast as it should've, so I decided that a couple drinks would do the trick. Though to my brain, a couple of drinks mean about staying up the whole night drinking the sleep away.

My drunken brain wasn't used to any type of person in my house, especially during the night. A little boy, almost about nine years old had come down because he was scared and couldn't sleep. "I'm s-s-s-scared, Sir." He was imperfect. The number one thing I can tell now is that he's imperfect, and I don't want that. I want perfect children, not those who are scared and afraid. He didn't even call me dad. The drunken brain of mine was in drive.

"You... Y-y-you must be fixed. You must be perfect. I won't accept such imperfect actions." It felt as if I were in a trance, I saw what I was doing, I heard my rough hard voice but I couldn't stop. I had strapped him to a wall in my basement and took out my belt. "You must be perfect." My deep rough of a voice cursed him, cutting scars into him. Four strikes, four whip marks on his back. Each being indescribably hard-sent. By the time he was released, and he had gotten upstairs, black dots and fire had blocked my vision. All was dark.

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Welcome to the Imperfected.

So basically, Grayson after being tired of being so lonely in his large home of his had adopted a bunch of kids, about thirteen from ages 7-15 and have invited them into his life. He's a heavy drinker, and he has always imagined tue perfect children. When he's drunk, if he finds a imperfection in them, he fixes it with his unbearable pleasure, beating.

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Any questions about the plot? PM me on here or Skype. (brando.park)