He felt like he was in a battlefield

all silent around him, corpses and fallen soldiers and the tip of the silver arrows glinting in the harsh sun

and him laying beneath the feet of the enemy's king's horse

his lips were parched and his throat was dry

his right side throbbed blue and purple on his might-be broken ribs

his head pounded a thousand shades of red that had started bleeding into his vision

everything was a blur and he had trouble to remember

"Where are you going?"

"I…"

no weapon, no defense, nothing as he looked at his father, swallowing into his dry throat and trying not to avert his eyes from the shades of grey and red and hate and everything he knew might come

"Where are you going, I said!"

"I'm leaving."

"…What did you say?"

"I'm leaving this house."

and then there were screams and father exploded red and grey and blue purple black against the wall, against the house, turning everything into his weapons

he remember was kicked on the stomach, the floor hard and hot beneath him as the kick was repeatedly delivered, blind fury, white and hot just like his vision was and he choked and almost pleaded

almost

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again,

I won't do it again, please, please stop

please,

he curled into himself instead of pleading, the words trembled on the tip of his tongue, so close to falling, but he wasn't sorry, he wouldn't apologize

not anymore

he felt his hair yanked and saw grey and hate and red and fury and white blindness when father shoved his face onto the wall and broke some of his teeth, the blood was cold and red and all sin and love inside his mouth

I'm sorry, I'm sorry,

I won't do it again,

please stop

father was screaming, but he didn't listen

he tried to escape when he slid onto the floor but father followed him and kicked his side so he fell into the kitchen

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!

he rolled onto his side when father tried to punch his face and his ear rang deafening white as the fist landed on it

he tried to crawl back to the hallway but then his ankle burst white and red in his ears and his vision and he stumbled, his thirteen-year-old self screamed and cried and begged inside his mind as father stepped on his eighteen-year-old leg, breaking one of his ways to escape without mercy

he hadn't known that he was still capable of crying out of physical pain, the tears stung his eyes and it was then that he realized his heart had been hammering inside his ears, loud and desperate and scared, his fear bled black and deafened him from everything

he'd die like this,

die all red and blue and purple and black on the floor, would be no more than a body to be found by the police or to be buried so to never be found, no more than a corpse inside the autopsy room or down in the earth,

would be no more than a news in a small column in the morning newspaper

would be no more than bitter tears that would be picked up and dried by the wind

would be no more than clouds reflected in green eyes

would be no more than memories to be recalled and forgotten and recalled, times and times as they opened old albums and hummed old songs

he didn't want that

must run, must run

scared scared scared I'm sorry won't do it again please please

his right side exploded like water balloon he'd seen in his classmate's birthday party back then when he was seven, spraying blue and purple and red inside his body as he tried to get up

must run must hide no no don't hide must must

must fight back

fight back no weapon where where anything I'm scared won't do it again please please please

anything anything please must fight must run must fight fight fight

a glass shattered into million pieces next to his face, a cookie jar inches from

must run quick quick quick where weapon anything anything I'm scared fight fight fight quick

a glass, a cookie jar, a plate, he had no time

no time quick quick the knife inside the drawer which drawer

which drawer must hurry hurry

another glass, a jar of jam, hurry hurry hurry

he pulled out a drawer, saucers and coffee cups and plastic fork spilled out and shattered on the floor and father screamed like an infuriated animal

on the counter hurry hurry he left it there to dry hurry hurry I'm scared!

and then the inside of his head shook and exploded and screamed and the floor was harsh cold under him, the shards of the bottle slid down his face in a trail of red

must hurry it hurts so much must hurry all red and sin red red red sin is red my sunflowers are red blood is red

"You dare… to leave?"

must move must run must hurry must fight hurry hurry hurry on the counter I don't want to die

couldn't see where where must hurry run run I don't want to die I'm scared must fight must run must fight

he wasn't moving, the enemy king leered above him, eyes red with contempt and hate and fists itched for destruction

once father got his knife, his brush, his spear, everything would be over

must hurry

must hurry

must hurry

"Ungrateful"

mist and shadow everywhere he throbbed white and blue and purple and black all over red was hot on his head

where must stand must hurry must run must hurry must fight

"Useless whore"

Now the old king is dead, long live the king

his arm shook under his weight his ankle was still screaming but must fight must stand too far not too far just crawl

"Why were you even born?"

"I don't know"

he was shoved for talking back, shoved onto the counter and his eight-year-old self cried and apologized and begged please don't be mad I'm sorry I'll be good please-

please love me

there hurry your weapon your defense your fight don't ever back down

"Stay away."

the knife blinked back almost eerily at him in the white light of the kitchen, trembling in his hands but it was enough

his chest hurt his lungs ached but now the old king is dead, long live the king

"You-!"

"Stay away."

if he had to injure, if he had to kill, so be it

"I've had enough."

his seven-year-old self was drawing on the floor, his eight-year-old self was staring at the closed door, his thirteen-year-old self was staring at the mirror all blue and purple and painted his wrist red and please love me

his eighteen-year-old self was standing, had spoken, had had enough

father looked at him with his eyes wide and cloudy grey with disbelief and dying red of fury and hate and love both of them would never have from each other

with one hand supporting him on the counter, he wobbled out of the room

he dropped the knife when he'd opened the front door

he limped out of the house with his sprained ankle, the pain throbbed blue and purple and black and red and white all over

Now the old king is dead, long live the king

he didn't look back