The Boy

Soft moonlight danced through the branches of the olive trees above, their leaves appeared to shiver in the gentle breeze that blew down from the Alps in the north. Any other night he would be cold, but the boy didn't feel a thing. He should feel the soil beneath his bare feet, a trace of warmth in it still from that day's mediterranean sun, but the boy didn't feel a thing. Shame should be wracking him now, outside and naked for anyone to see, but still he didn't feel a thing. He stood in a hole, his hole, the last thing he would have. The last place he would be. He sighed.

He wasn't sorry it had come to this, in a way he was glad. It would all be over for him and, with luck, his passing would be noticed. Something would finally be done and his Mum, sister and brother would be free. He smiled.

The small village I lived in

The man - his Italian step father - had been drinking. Of course he'd been drinking. Dragged out of bed by his ankle it took the boy a few confusing seconds to realise that this wasn't one of his awful dreams.

'What didn't you do?' he screamed down at the boy, cowering on the cold marble floor

'I...I don't know what...' replied the boy, racing through the list of all his given chores in his mind.

I collected wood for the stove and grass for the rabbits. I cleaned the floors, I changed the beds. My homework is laid out for inspection downstairs. What didn't I do?

'What did I say would happen the next time you forgot?'

Forgot what? The boy had no idea.

'I...I don't know' he stammered. The man's anger rose further.

'THIS!' he hissed, throwing something at the boy. It was a toothbrush.

'Wh...'

'IT'S DRY! YOU DIDN'T BRUSH YOUR TEETH!'

He had. Of course he had. He knew full well that he would check.

'But I did, it must have dried out' he tried to explain

His fury erupted 'ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR, BOY?!'

'No papá' – Papá, the Italian for father. He wasn't his father, he insisted he would be called that or there would be consequences.

'So I am right, you didn't brush your teeth?'

It was then he noticed that the toothbrush wasn't his, it was his little brother's. Since his older brother had escaped back to England to live with his dad, the boy assumed the protector role. If he could he would deflect from his younger brother and sister. He would take the beatings, the cruel punishments and the week long starvations if he could.

'No papá, I didn't brush my teeth'

'I knew it! So what will your punishment be?' he demanded.

This was another one of his cruelties. Suggest too moderate a punishment and the man would beat him for suggesting it and keep beating until he suggested a castigation of the required severity. Suggest something outlandish and he would be punished for trying to get him mad. There was no winning this game. He had been through whippings, beatings, had stones thrown at his head, humiliated, made to stand leaning up against the wall supported by just his nose for hours – beaten if he dared so much as wobble. He was strangled to the point of passing out, made to stay up throughout the night writing lines until he was so tired he began to halucinate. Starvation diets were a new punishment, weeks at end being allowed just water and the odd raw onion or turnip. The worst was when the man would grab his head and dig his thumbs into his eyes, searing pain and blindness for hours later.

At the end of his tether he blurted it out, he didn't care any longer. This could not go on.

'Just kill me' he said softly.

The olive grove to the side of the house
The man was taken aback. A look of bewilderment crossed his face as he tried to make sense of the scrawny little ten year old boy lying at his feet. Believing it to be a bluff he replied.

'Alright, if that's what you want. Get up.'

The boy slowly rose, head down. Let it be quick, let it be finally over. A smirk raised the corner of his mouth, thinking the boy was playing some warped game. He went along with it.

'Outside, I don't want a mess in the house'

Barefoot the boy padded out of his bedroom and down the stairs, across the cold marble floor towards the front door. As he reached to open it he was stopped.

'Wait, if you are going to die tonight you will leave this world the same way you came into it. Take off your clothes'

Without hesitation the boy disrobed, even now taking the time to fold his pyjamas tidily before placing them on the table. His thoughts turned to his mother, still slaving away at the restaurant in the next village over. How would she react? God, I hope she won't be mad with me.

Near - the restaurant my mother worked in and in the distance my school
'Go'

The cool breeze met his naked form as he stepped outside. It was late, there was nobody in the small village square – for which he was thankful. The man told him to turn left and walk behind the house where the nearest olive grove stood, meanwhile he grabbed a shovel from the side of the house.

'Alright, stop there. I am not going to dig your grave, you do it'

He threw the shovel at the boy, narrowly missing his bare foot. The boy picked it up and slowly started to dig his own grave.


Photo Source - Other photos courtesy of Google Maps

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This is a true story. I was the boy. I obviously did not die that night but for many more later I wished I had. I needed to put this out there, exorcise my demons. Child abuse in any form is evil and wicked, it can affect you in many ways - even 37 years later, you never forget. Some times the abused become abusers. In my case it made me into the father I am today, overprotective of my children. I used to be very extroverted, now I am the opposite although I am working on it.


If you hear of or witness any abuse, don't wait for somebody else to do something about it. YOU have that power. Use it.