Full Summary: The Zen Master has a story of his own, one that has never been told. Just how exactly did he become this silently brooding, angry at the world, and apathetic (Yet really too afraid to show his emotions, and get attached to anyone) guy? Starting with age seven, this is the life and experiences that sculpted Steven Hyde into the calm, cool and zen guy he is.

Note: This does somewhat go against the plot that the show originally had, but that's why it's fan fiction.

Disclaimer: Throughout the story, as you figured, it will be quite dark, and rather graphic. There will be a lot of strong language, drug/alcohol use, and violent themes.

This prologue is a test to see how many readers I'll have, I'm weary of posting this, for many reasons. For one, I don't know how people will take it, it could go two ways. Also, the inspiration, other than the show itself, and my curiosity for how Hyde became "Hyde", it came from my own experiences... which is why it could get quite dark and all that jazz. I hope you do like this, and I'm posting it anyway.

Love,

ARH

"You worthless disgusting bitch! Why the fuck would you do that you fat cunt?"

"Shut up, Bud! Don't you fucking touch me, you asshole!"

The sound of Steven Hyde's parents fighting filled his ears, their voices barely muffled by the paper thin walls of his small room. Their drunken rage brought them to this point; but he didn't understand that it was alcohol. He figured that it was all normal, that this was love, and all parents hurt each other, and their children. Steven didn't figure that he had a broken home, a dysfunctional family, and that these experiences would end up marring his views of life for the remainder of his time. The fighting, the screaming, the abuse, neglect and violence cast down on him as well as both of his parents would eventually drag them all down beyond hope, past help.

Steven jumped, curling in his bed when he heard a yelp and a sudden loud thump against the walls, close to his bedroom. He knew his father had hit his mom's head against the wall. They were struggling against each other, the battle inching closer and closer to his small, dingy bedroom.

His exhausted eyes glanced at the cheap black clock on his mattress- they were too poor for a nightstand and a bed frame for him. The red digits displayed it was 12:25 in the morning, the seven year old usually ended up dozing off at about 1:30. He didn't really understand why they were poor; he had seen the money his mama brought home, as she pulled the crumpled bills from her shirt. Steven also didn't understand why his dad needed to take shots in his vein every night, or why his mom liked this guy named Jack Daniels more than his dad. But most of all, he wanted to know why they paid no attention to him; unless it was for their "stress relief" as they called it to their "friends".

"No! Bud, leave Stevie alone!" Panic chilled Steven to the bone and he began to tremble through the dirty bed sheet, his only blanket. All he wanted to do was sleep tonight, it was his first day of school, back from Easter break, and he wanted to be rested. His eyes burned with sleep deprivation, as well as the heavy amount of smoke that always seemed to fill the house. He couldn't stop shaking as he heard his door open.

Steven's mothers wails grew painfully loud as the door banged open, smacking against the frail wall. His stomach dropped when his eyes drowsily met his father's, he could clearly see he was drunk, and very angry. Then he searched for his mom, only to find her with a bleeding forehead, curled up on the ground, breathing heavily as she sobbed.

Steven's breath hitched as his dad staggered towards him, eyes glinting with a mad rage, the smell of alcohol permeating the room. His eyes brimmed with tears and he pulled the sheet over his face as his dad unbuckled the belt from his jeans, snapping it violently.

"Steven, how many fucking times have I told you that crying is for fucking pussies?" Steven whimpered as his father roared with a slur; spit flying from his cracked mouth. He tried to blink back the tears, yet they only fell and Bud laughed, raising the belt he'd use as a whip, and lashed the seven-year-old's face. He stifled back a scream that caught in his throat; the pain shot through his face, the belt had clashed right below his right eye. "Shut up, you fucking brat! All you do is whine and cry, you're a pussy boy. You're gonna be nothin', we shoulda dumped you off in the cold like we were gonna." Steven just blinked, biting his lip furiously to keep quiet. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he closed his eyes against the new pain. "One of these days-" Slap- "I'm gonna-" Punch- "fucking-" Lash- "kill you, boy!"

Bud grabbed Steven's shirt collar and tossed him off of his broken mattress, pushing the frail boy to the ground. Steven gazed at his father, confusion spread all over his face. What had he done to deserve this? Was this all his fault? His mom was long gone now, passed out from the level of alcohol running through her, and the pain. Now he was left alone with this drunk dad, who was in no way through with him.