Every Day Is Exactly The Same {Hedrick/Kai}
Jan 1, 2018 13:42:38 GMT -5
Post by kap on Jan 1, 2018 13:42:38 GMT -5
[googlefont="Gloria Hallelujah:400"]Hedrick Berenson
Narration
"I Speak"
"They Speak"
Thoughts
Other
"I Speak"
"They Speak"
Thoughts
Other
I hated my parents for what they did to me, but at least they didn't do it to him. They didn't do it to my brother, because I convinced them not to. I took his beatings instead. Beatings weren't always punishments, either. Sometimes, dad would come home from a rough day in the mines, perhaps not having been able to dig up much, and would in turn hit me to take out his anger. Occasionally, it would even just be a few swats because one of my parents were bored. They told me that, sometimes. They would say they had nothing better to do as an excuse for hitting me out of nowhere. I also received daily beatings, which, according to my parents, was to keep me in line. It was supposed to teach me discipline, apparently.
Instead, it just made me afraid to come home.
Smack! My father's hand makes contact with my face. Hard. It stung so bad that tears started to form in my eyes. This was one of those daily beatings, but I got twice as much as I did before I started taking them for my brother. I didn't just get them once a day anymore. I got them twice. I suppose, in a way, it's worth it to protect him, but it hurts me so much that sometimes I feel like telling them I don't want to take his beatings anymore. So far, though, I haven't gone back on my word to protect him.
My brother insists that I shouldn't be the one getting hit for him, but I tell him that he's too young to have to deal with the pain. He's only twelve, after all. He has enough things to worry about, being in the reaping now. Sure, I'm entered in the reaping as well, but I have been for a few years now. I'm used to the fear that goes along with it. He's not ready for it yet. The reaping is something he'll eventually have to be ready for though. The beatings, perhaps not. If I can keep taking them for him, at least I'll be able to keep him safe in one way.
After being hit more times than I could count that morning, I stormed out of the house after shoving my feet into my boots. My father screamed at me as I went out the door but he didn't follow, and I didn't even grab my coat. It was frigid outside, and I wasn't ready for it, but I didn't care right then. I just needed to get away from him, even if it meant freezing to death. My arms were covered with very visible bruises. My face had a red hand print on it from my father, and I walked with an extremely obvious limp, as he'd stomped on my foot. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd broken a couple of my toes when he did, to be honest.
As I limped along, there weren't many people out and about. I managed to get pretty far away from my house, but eventually, I had to stop where I was. I put my hands on my knees and looked down at the ground for a moment so I didn't have to hold my head up. I took a few deep breaths to try to let myself recover, but it didn't really seem to be working. When I coughed, blood dripped from my mouth. I wiped it away and some of it fell to the ground, adding a crimson color to the snow. I'd never been beaten so bad that I coughed up blood before, but I suppose that things change sometimes.
I tried to stand up straight again, but as soon as I moved, I felt a searing pain throughout almost my entire body. I was in pain everywhere that I possibly could be. I didn't know a person could even possibly feel this much pain at once. It didn't seem real to me. It just wasn't right, however, it was happening anyway.
"Fuck, that hurts," I said aloud. I didn't know what to do at this point. All I wanted to do was lie down in the cold snow and die, but I didn't think I even could if I tried. I had to stay standing. I had to try to be strong. I was doing this for my brother, and there was no turning back. I promised myself I'd protect him, and that's what I was doing.
word count: 746