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