Saviour - don't save me, I don't care

A small boy shuddered in his mother’s arms. Both were shaking, though his sobs were louder than the rest.

“My boy. My little boy. It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Tears punctuate each word as if it is the only way to express the depth of wrongness about the reality they live in. “I hate him!”

“He’s your father. You can’t.”

“He hates me!” The cry became a shout. Was it fear? Anger? Sorrow? Rage? All of them seemed so similar in this empty room when the only sound was terror, the only emotion was silence. “He hates you.” The shout became a whisper.

“He doesn’t.”

“He’ll kill you!”

“He won’t.”

Lofty hopes mixed with childish ideals. “When I’m big I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

“Oh honey...”

“I’ll take you away. I’ll take you somewhere that he can never find us. Just you and me.”

Footsteps up above and all fear escalated as every sound in the room ceased. It was still the fear. It was always the fear. Tyranny with love. Fear with supplication. Obeisance with spite.

Nothing made sense.

“I’ll take you away. When I’m big – ”

“Hush now.”