Paimon [Part 1]

He looked up as a perfect snowflake made its way down from the sky. He jammed his tongue out of his mouth in a lewd gesture trying to catch it, and taunt the passing cars in unison. His experiment was cut short when a large hand came crashing into the back of his skull, forcing him to fall face first into dirty cigarette infested snow, dropping the groceries his mother had just bought. His mother stood over him, and glared at him in disbelief.

“Boy, you better get up, before I really hit you!”

He laid there looking up at the huge stature of his mother  with brown sludge all over his face, he could tell she was serious this time, her jaw was locked, and her eyes were burning into his, she was clenching her own bags till her knuckles went white. She gave him a swift kick deep into his ribs, sending colossal pain waves through his tiny frame.
She scanned the area anxiously for anyone who might have seen her punish the boy, as she snarled at him passed her clenched teeth.

“You bastard! You wait till we get home; I am going to beat you till you bleed! Now get up… GET UP!”

He scrambled to his feet, holding his aching side, and trying desperately to pick up the spilt food as fast as possible. He had already begun hoping that their long walk home would cool his mother’s wrath-like temper and persuade her to forget the beatings she had promised him. But he knew his hopes were in vain, she wouldn’t forget… she never did.

He didn’t always fear the beatings as much, not that he didn’t fear them at all, they still were beatings, but as of late, they had become much more than just simple punishment. He had been getting ‘punished’ as his mother called it, since as long as he could remember. He didn’t like them at all, but they didn’t cause him the same fear as these new ones. The old ones didn’t make him bleed, and there was no torment afterwards. Before, his mother would tell him why he was being punished, and tell him that she loved him no matter what.
 Now she wouldn’t say a thing, she would just smile the whole time as she beat him. And eventually she would start to incorporate new objects, such as; untwined wire hangers, extension cords, and broken pieces of wood. He had learned to fear his own mother more than anything he could ever imagine. Obedience and terror were the only things she wanted from her son anymore.

As they walked through the snow, there was not a word spoken between the two. He was too scared to even try. But that didn’t stop her from talking, every couple of seconds she say something like, “you didn’t come from me, you couldn’t have.” Or “I’ll teach you to lie to me you little bastard.

He frequently saw children in cars staring at them as they passed by; he often wished he could be one of them, maybe if his mother had a car, and a nice home, pretty clothes, and a husband maybe she wouldn’t hurt him so much.

Maybe they would be happy together again like before. And they would watch TV together and she would tuck him into bed, and read him stories, and lay with him until he fell asleep. And then when she thought he was asleep she would sneak away, but not before she would give him a kiss and whisper in his ear, “I love you”, and leave his bedroom door open just a crack because she knew that’s how he liked it.

How he wished he could be one of them. He had to stop his thoughts for fear crept back into his mind; he could see their apartment building coming into view. He began to pray, silently in his head, so as not to further add to whatever pending demise his mother had in store for him, praying harder than he had ever prayed before that, his mother would be too tired from their walk to do anything to him. But his fear was confirmed when she began to quicken her pace towards the apartments. He wanted to stop and yell and cry and scream, anything to stop his mother’s ravenous obsession, he knew better though. It was better to go along quietly; she enjoyed hearing him frightened.
 When they had finally reached the stoop to their building, his mother was taking short ragged breaths, so he knew she was tired.

“This is my chance,” he thought.

He sidled up close to her and reached out to clasp her hand into his. He looked up at her with his saddest face, only for it to be returned with a cold gaze from his stoic looking mother.

“Mama ... I’m sorry mama!” He pleaded, as tears began to fall from his eyes, “I didn’t mean to goof around again, mama really! I’m sorry ma… I love you... please don’t hit me again ma, I’m sorry.”

He knew she probably wouldn’t care, but he was scared and his back was still covered in welts form the last punishment. She stared at him, for what seemed like hours to the little boy, with a blank look masked over her face. Then finally she turned around and walked up the tall staircase that led to their door, and she was putting the key into the lock, she murmured just loud enough for him to barely make out the words.

“Not yet you’re not.”

His heart fell to his feet, and tears began to fall from his eyes again.

“Now get in here.”

He followed her whimpering into the musty apartment.