The boy held onto the door of the closet tightly. The monster was trying to get to him, but even though he was crying and felt as if the monster was stronger than him, the boy held the doorknob with all his might. He could hear the snarls of the monster. . . he had attacked him many times before. Though the boy had tried to tell his parents—his friends— he could only do so through his actions, not his words, because the monster threatened to kill him and his family if he ever told.
The boy was losing his grip on the doorknob as his hands began sweating in fear. His small hands finally lost grip and the door flung open. The boy closed his eyes. He took it. He had to take it. Because as much as he wanted to tell others about what was happening to him, he felt he had to take it. . . the monsters touch. He had to protect his friends and family. He didn't want them to be killed. He didn't want to be killed.
So, he took it. Every humiliating touch…the abuse…the force. When the boy woke up, he was laying in tears, blood, and fear. It was his mother who found him. . . his father was nowhere in sight. The boy could still feel the monster’s presence. His mother picked him and carried him upstairs and they never spoke about it. . . his mother covered his bruises and his father ignored them.
And so, the monster kept coming and coming and coming back. . .
The boy was losing his grip on the doorknob as his hands began sweating in fear. His small hands finally lost grip and the door flung open. The boy closed his eyes. He took it. He had to take it. Because as much as he wanted to tell others about what was happening to him, he felt he had to take it. . . the monsters touch. He had to protect his friends and family. He didn't want them to be killed. He didn't want to be killed.
So, he took it. Every humiliating touch…the abuse…the force. When the boy woke up, he was laying in tears, blood, and fear. It was his mother who found him. . . his father was nowhere in sight. The boy could still feel the monster’s presence. His mother picked him and carried him upstairs and they never spoke about it. . . his mother covered his bruises and his father ignored them.
And so, the monster kept coming and coming and coming back. . .
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