Hostile Afterthought
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,094
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,094
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Hostile Afterthought
WARNING: This story is going to be violent and full of graphic images. It will also involve drugs, mention of rape, self mutilation, sexual scenes, and possibly incest. It will take a few chapters to get there but it will come. You are reading this on your own will. I don’t really care for reviews saying how sick I am or what not but it is dumb to send them after this warning.
Summary: Warning: violence, drugs, and sexual scenes. Since he was a child, Bren obsessed over finding the reason why people outcast him from society. At the age of 17 he is going to find out when one person shows him what he really is.
Little note: They live in Germany, so the conversation between the two of them is in German.
--
“There shall be three.” A pensive voice spoke, breaking through the air of silence in the dark room. It spoke slowly and weakly yet demanded authority, “One of chaos, one of reason, and one of...possibility.”
“Never has there been one of this kind,” another voice broke in. “Never have we taken such a gamble.”
Soft mummers broke out through the small congregation as each began to voice their quiet response to the previous remark. Their voices never rose to that of a regular volume yet every word uttered was taken note of, no matter how soft, no word ever went unregistered in the small congregation. It was recorded, as all thing were recorded, in the Book of Times.
A feeble hand rose into the air, hushing the whispering that flowed through the small room. “There can be no other,” it said taking back control of the room. “We, like they, are slaves to this power. We can only watch-Never can be intervene or bring forth a new being- We will watch and wait until their fate is decided, then, we will deliver judgment. Until then, we watch.”
--
He wasn’t normal. He knew that. Ever since he could remember people would look at him oddly or avoid looking at him all together. He often found himself staring into the mirror spotting every imperfection on his body and wondering if that was the reason everyone strayed away from him. It became his obsession, to learn what caused him to be outcast from a society that never gave him a chance to be begin with.
He spent his childhood alone because he had no one to spend it with. He avoided all social interaction with the other kids at his school because they would beat or taunt him until he broke down into sobs or they grew bored of him and walked away; leaving him on the ground bleeding or clutching himself with tears streaming down his face.
His father was gone, exactly where he had gone off to, Bren did not know. The only answer he ever received from his mother was that his father was, “gone.” She never elaborated and he never asked for more information. He never really cared where is father was, he asked out of curiosity and nothing more.
His mother usually spent her days asleep and her nights out. She whored herself for money so she could buy the drugs and alcohol that knocked her out during the day. She was never there to help him bandage up his cuts or give him a comforting hug when he came home with his shoulders slumped forward and his expression grim. She never read him bed times stories or tucked him in at night when he was young and could still not fend for himself. She never came into his room when he woke up screaming from a nightmare and always kept her bedroom door locked so he could not get in if he wanted to.
At times, he wondered if she could remember what is name was. To him, she was simply a stranger that lived in his house and he saw everyday, nothing more, nothing less. She often looked upon him with confusion and disgust, as though he was some kind of beast that had strayed its way into her home and she could not find a way to rid of yet. On the rare occasion when he came home and found her awake, she would shoved him and harassed him with unceasing verbal assaults of how he ruined her life and how she wished he had never been born; then she fell to the floor and cried. She begged him for forgiveness of her harsh words and reached out her hands to embrace his small frame. He never went near her. He simply regarded her with cold eyes and walked away.
Life was never easy for them. They lived in poverty being as though there was no income and any money his mom did acquire went directly to her drugs. Their home was a broken down flat which did nothing to protect them from the harsh weather and had no warm water or stable electricity. There was rarely food in the house and when winter came he was forced to dig through garbage to find extra clothing or bedding that would keep him warm in the snow.
He often found himself musing over the idea of death but always cringed at the thought of taking his own life. No matter how harsh his life was, he did not have the courage to end it; he was not that brave. Though, he found no fear in death when it was caused indirectly. At the age of twelve he took up smoking because he heard it killed a man that lived down the street from him. The knowledge that cigarettes ended the old man’s life brought hope to him that they would end his too. He soon grew aggravated when he learned it took years for the man to develop cancer and months for the cancer to kill him. It made him want to give up smoking all together, though, when he tried for a few days he found himself on the streets stealing money from where ever he could to buy another pack.
He knew he was wasting away and often prayed that the whoever decided to beat him next would just take pity on him and end his life. They never did. And he continued to pray. He began to gamble with his life, placing himself in dangerous situations that could easily cause his death, but always won out. Nothing, or so it seemed to him, would put an end to something he so desperately detested, his life.
Most of his days were spent laying on the grass, looking up at the gray sky and wondering if things would change. He knew if he took the initiative he could make advancements in the proper direction but seldom did he ever think of ways to correct himself. Truth be told, he did not care if things - did - improve. He had grown accustomed to the life he lived and knew if he waited long enough, somehow, his life would come to and end. He just had to wait for that day. He would wait a long time.
When he was seventeen his life too a dramatical shift. He came home to see several suitcases scattered about the tiny living room and his mother pacing from one end to the other. Her body was trembling and sweat trickled down her face even though it was a cold winter day and he could see his breath even when standing inside the room.
“What’s going on?” He uninterested, eyeing her from a distance.
“Where have you been you wretched thing?” His mother snapped as she froze in place. “I had half a mind to leave you behind. In fact, I should have. I could have been rid of one less burden that I have hanging over my head.” She strode over to him and threw a suitcase at his feet. “Take it and fit only what you can into it. We’re moving.”
“Moving?” He questioned, reaching down to pick up the suitcase. His movements were slow, unsure, as though he were scared to touch the object before him. “Where?”
“Where? What does it matter where?” She screamed, frustrated by his questions. With a deep breath she calmed her trembling shoulders and walked to a cabinet to grab a bottle of pills, “To New York. We are moving to New York.”
Bren gasped slightly but did not utter a word. They were moving to America, to New York. He recalled seeing a few photographs of the city in magazines he happened to spot on the street, it looked exactly how people described it, glorious. It was the city that never slept, the place where dreams were forged - the land of opportunity. It was a city he did not belong in.
He eyed the broken down apartment he called his home and then his mother. Both dirty and worthless, nothing to take a second glace at. He then turned his attention to himself. He was no better than his mother. His clothes were tattered and unwashed, his hair blonde hair seemed brown from the grease and dirty that covered the strands, it just did not seem possible that she managed to get the both of them into the city of dreams.
“What are you doing standing around?” She shriek and shoved Bren to get him moving. “Go. Pack. You think the plane is going to wait for us? I need to go halt a taxi. Remember, only what’s important. Get only what’s important. Hurry before I leave without you.”
For a second he wondered why she thought it would take a long time for him to pack. He owned nothing. He hardly had enough clothes to get him through the week, let alone enough money to buy anything to call a possession, he had no bedroom of his own to collect anything worth keeping, and he never planned to stay alive long enough to think of owning something to begin with. With a little sigh he dumped all his clothes into the suitcase, grabbed his cigarettes from the counter and went to join his mother. The small hint of excitement and wonder that had filled him earlier was now gone, replaced with his usual disinterest. Life would be just the same for him there as it was in Berlin, nothing would change.
Summary: Warning: violence, drugs, and sexual scenes. Since he was a child, Bren obsessed over finding the reason why people outcast him from society. At the age of 17 he is going to find out when one person shows him what he really is.
Little note: They live in Germany, so the conversation between the two of them is in German.
--
“There shall be three.” A pensive voice spoke, breaking through the air of silence in the dark room. It spoke slowly and weakly yet demanded authority, “One of chaos, one of reason, and one of...possibility.”
“Never has there been one of this kind,” another voice broke in. “Never have we taken such a gamble.”
Soft mummers broke out through the small congregation as each began to voice their quiet response to the previous remark. Their voices never rose to that of a regular volume yet every word uttered was taken note of, no matter how soft, no word ever went unregistered in the small congregation. It was recorded, as all thing were recorded, in the Book of Times.
A feeble hand rose into the air, hushing the whispering that flowed through the small room. “There can be no other,” it said taking back control of the room. “We, like they, are slaves to this power. We can only watch-Never can be intervene or bring forth a new being- We will watch and wait until their fate is decided, then, we will deliver judgment. Until then, we watch.”
--
He wasn’t normal. He knew that. Ever since he could remember people would look at him oddly or avoid looking at him all together. He often found himself staring into the mirror spotting every imperfection on his body and wondering if that was the reason everyone strayed away from him. It became his obsession, to learn what caused him to be outcast from a society that never gave him a chance to be begin with.
He spent his childhood alone because he had no one to spend it with. He avoided all social interaction with the other kids at his school because they would beat or taunt him until he broke down into sobs or they grew bored of him and walked away; leaving him on the ground bleeding or clutching himself with tears streaming down his face.
His father was gone, exactly where he had gone off to, Bren did not know. The only answer he ever received from his mother was that his father was, “gone.” She never elaborated and he never asked for more information. He never really cared where is father was, he asked out of curiosity and nothing more.
His mother usually spent her days asleep and her nights out. She whored herself for money so she could buy the drugs and alcohol that knocked her out during the day. She was never there to help him bandage up his cuts or give him a comforting hug when he came home with his shoulders slumped forward and his expression grim. She never read him bed times stories or tucked him in at night when he was young and could still not fend for himself. She never came into his room when he woke up screaming from a nightmare and always kept her bedroom door locked so he could not get in if he wanted to.
At times, he wondered if she could remember what is name was. To him, she was simply a stranger that lived in his house and he saw everyday, nothing more, nothing less. She often looked upon him with confusion and disgust, as though he was some kind of beast that had strayed its way into her home and she could not find a way to rid of yet. On the rare occasion when he came home and found her awake, she would shoved him and harassed him with unceasing verbal assaults of how he ruined her life and how she wished he had never been born; then she fell to the floor and cried. She begged him for forgiveness of her harsh words and reached out her hands to embrace his small frame. He never went near her. He simply regarded her with cold eyes and walked away.
Life was never easy for them. They lived in poverty being as though there was no income and any money his mom did acquire went directly to her drugs. Their home was a broken down flat which did nothing to protect them from the harsh weather and had no warm water or stable electricity. There was rarely food in the house and when winter came he was forced to dig through garbage to find extra clothing or bedding that would keep him warm in the snow.
He often found himself musing over the idea of death but always cringed at the thought of taking his own life. No matter how harsh his life was, he did not have the courage to end it; he was not that brave. Though, he found no fear in death when it was caused indirectly. At the age of twelve he took up smoking because he heard it killed a man that lived down the street from him. The knowledge that cigarettes ended the old man’s life brought hope to him that they would end his too. He soon grew aggravated when he learned it took years for the man to develop cancer and months for the cancer to kill him. It made him want to give up smoking all together, though, when he tried for a few days he found himself on the streets stealing money from where ever he could to buy another pack.
He knew he was wasting away and often prayed that the whoever decided to beat him next would just take pity on him and end his life. They never did. And he continued to pray. He began to gamble with his life, placing himself in dangerous situations that could easily cause his death, but always won out. Nothing, or so it seemed to him, would put an end to something he so desperately detested, his life.
Most of his days were spent laying on the grass, looking up at the gray sky and wondering if things would change. He knew if he took the initiative he could make advancements in the proper direction but seldom did he ever think of ways to correct himself. Truth be told, he did not care if things - did - improve. He had grown accustomed to the life he lived and knew if he waited long enough, somehow, his life would come to and end. He just had to wait for that day. He would wait a long time.
When he was seventeen his life too a dramatical shift. He came home to see several suitcases scattered about the tiny living room and his mother pacing from one end to the other. Her body was trembling and sweat trickled down her face even though it was a cold winter day and he could see his breath even when standing inside the room.
“What’s going on?” He uninterested, eyeing her from a distance.
“Where have you been you wretched thing?” His mother snapped as she froze in place. “I had half a mind to leave you behind. In fact, I should have. I could have been rid of one less burden that I have hanging over my head.” She strode over to him and threw a suitcase at his feet. “Take it and fit only what you can into it. We’re moving.”
“Moving?” He questioned, reaching down to pick up the suitcase. His movements were slow, unsure, as though he were scared to touch the object before him. “Where?”
“Where? What does it matter where?” She screamed, frustrated by his questions. With a deep breath she calmed her trembling shoulders and walked to a cabinet to grab a bottle of pills, “To New York. We are moving to New York.”
Bren gasped slightly but did not utter a word. They were moving to America, to New York. He recalled seeing a few photographs of the city in magazines he happened to spot on the street, it looked exactly how people described it, glorious. It was the city that never slept, the place where dreams were forged - the land of opportunity. It was a city he did not belong in.
He eyed the broken down apartment he called his home and then his mother. Both dirty and worthless, nothing to take a second glace at. He then turned his attention to himself. He was no better than his mother. His clothes were tattered and unwashed, his hair blonde hair seemed brown from the grease and dirty that covered the strands, it just did not seem possible that she managed to get the both of them into the city of dreams.
“What are you doing standing around?” She shriek and shoved Bren to get him moving. “Go. Pack. You think the plane is going to wait for us? I need to go halt a taxi. Remember, only what’s important. Get only what’s important. Hurry before I leave without you.”
For a second he wondered why she thought it would take a long time for him to pack. He owned nothing. He hardly had enough clothes to get him through the week, let alone enough money to buy anything to call a possession, he had no bedroom of his own to collect anything worth keeping, and he never planned to stay alive long enough to think of owning something to begin with. With a little sigh he dumped all his clothes into the suitcase, grabbed his cigarettes from the counter and went to join his mother. The small hint of excitement and wonder that had filled him earlier was now gone, replaced with his usual disinterest. Life would be just the same for him there as it was in Berlin, nothing would change.