by Dakota Cowart

Created on: May 27, 2010

"You'll never be ANYTHING to me, you are jus' as WORTHLESS as your mom was, is, and always will be!" the voice boomed with testosterone as it tore through the catacombs of his intellect, but also much deeper. Into the recesses of the boy's very soul, the words culminated into a future unknown at the time being, waiting. He could envision the speaker flailing his fists in contempt as he thrashed with his lucid tongue. "Your lucky Imma a GOOD man because you wudn't have a place to sleep your little friekin' head, but ya complain, and ya moan and groan," The boy began to look down at his feet noticing a small ant struggling to reach it's destination all the while tuning out the voice.

Random words like "piece of crap" and "waste of space" merely collected in the garbage disposal that was his soul. He didn't flinch, nor did he bat an eye at any of the insults which, by then, had become like a reflection of him. He kept his attention on the ant as it slowly crept between him and his reflection. He grew tired of the mirror that told him truths he knew, truths that stunted him, and only existed to cause him anguish.
A small voice in the deepest part of his being whispered to him, but oddly it was clear as a bell, "There's more to life than you've experienced my son." Confused, he decided to take a walk to settle his thoughts and to maybe relieve some anger if possible. On his way out his reflection came to life in the image of his father, "Hey! Son! Get your butt over here! I wanna word with you!" The voice ringed with the sound of alcohol, as it crashed like a broken bottle on the steel cage of his mind.
The boy ran with a fury like no other to escape. He didn't care where, but he wanted to leave his life. The thought of a permanent vacation often flirted with him, and had in the past persuaded him in some acts of desperation, but here still was he. The quiet voice spoke again reverberating with the clarity of a bell, "I am he who you seek child, your father" The voice calmed his anger, and he slowed to a walk catching his breath. The voice continued, "I know that you seek for escape, I am the one who can arrange that." An escape, he thought, that sounds...like heaven.
"You see, young boy, I hear the pain of my children, and I beckon to their mournful cry." The boy hearing this was beginning to wonder if he had gone crazy, but the voice seeing his thoughts replied, "No, you are not crazy, but blessed to be in such company." The boy was taken aback. "Be still, I am

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