A slap across the face.
It didn't hurt like it used to. Seemed standard enough. A
blow, left to right, starting with the left cheek.
It wasn't until little Tim reached his room and stopped in
front of the mirror that he noticed he was bleeding again
from his lip.
As he stood there, gazing at the mirror with his bloodshut
green eyes and sobbing quietly, he realized that in fact,
over the years, the bashing and kicking became a lot less
painful.
He could still tell the difference between a kick in the
ribs and a slap but in general they seemed to trouble him
less.
Tim sat on the bed as soon as the door was kicked open. He
was used to this part.
Father staggered in, shouting about how Tim was a mistake
and he deserved the punishment and how bad of a child he
was.
The screaming too, over the years, turned into background
mumbling. They all said the same anyway.
He used to come crying to mother until she started hitting
him as well, though she didn't put as much effort into it as
dad did.
Now he just goes to his room and waits for bedtime.





"We got'em," yelled the policeman to his partner who was
sitting in the patrol car.
Comm's went online in a blink while the red and blue flashes
tore through the dark night's sky.
The other policeman was pointing the searchlight at his co -
worker as he was putting the handcuffs on the suspect.
"Yeap, we got him alright. Has the cross on his back and
everything. Guess our modern day ripper won't be stabbing
anymore people for a long time", said the cop in the car
into the radio. "He won't get away this time" said the
arresting officer and smiled as he was leading the tall
madman to the car.
The night fell silent as the killer staggered along the
road, drenched in blood, holding two badges. Forensics were
puzzled as to how he managed to hack them up with his hands
tied.


The days passed pretty much the same. And with each day his
father's wrath seemed a bit more bearable. Life went on as
the family was used to.
It was a midwinter night when Tim's world swung around.
It was cold. A light cover of snow was scattered around the
street. It seemed like the kind of night that brings nothing
but bad news, though made no difference to little Timmy in
his indifferent world.
The cold didn't bother him while he was making snow piles on
the front lawn.
He also learned to completely ignore the screams in the
house. They always fought. Disagreement was a way of life
for the family.
Suddenly Timmy's attention was distracted. The shouting
moved outside. Timmy's mother was leaving the house and his
father was standing in the doorway screaming with all his
might.
Soon after the car drifted into the thick haze of the night,
dad's screams died down.
He was staring at Tim with the fire of hatred burning in his
eyes.
It took only seconds for Tim's mind to realize that for the
first time in years he was staring back.
A quick dash across the lawn and Timmy felt his fathers left
foot in his ribs again.
Next thing he knew, he was being dragged back into the house
with a hand locked on his shoulder more powerfully than
ever.
From the doorstep it was through the living room and down to
the basement.
"There is nothing ordinary about this night's beating",
thought Tim to himself as he passed out from a well aimed
kick to his right temple.
As he was coming around, he came to grasp the fact that he
was laid face down on the heavy wooden table in the middle
of the basement. It smelled damp and stale like a
bat-infested cave.
And then a sharp pain.
Timmy felt something sharp slicing his back skin.
A slash from his neck to his lower back and before the chill
faded away, another slash across, shoulder to shoulder. This
time he knew he was bleeding since his amok - gripped father
dropped the blood stained knife near his face.
As Tim watched his blood trickling from the knife's edge the
pain disappeared as quickly as it came. At that point little
Tim's mind exploded with memories of his short childhood and
how it was taken from him by his parents.
In the corner of his eye he could see his dad leaning
against the wall with a look that seemed to be created by
Lucifer himself.
Suddenly all his memories spiraled into a decision. He chose
to act.
As he grabbed the knife he could feel the rage inside him
burn. The handle felt as hot as burning coal in his
bloodlust hands.
He rose, his sobbing turning into a revenge driven smile.
Tim is no longer a child.