Ungrateful

Trying to tear me apart, breaking me down to the bone. So listen closely, ‘cause what you don’t see. Is there’s still blood inside this beating heart.

“Where you going, Zacky?” His venom filled voice whispered to the dark haired boy. “It’s been a long weekend, you miss me?” The boy, Zacky, tried to run away, but he was grabbed by his collar and pushed to the ground.

“Help! Somebody help me!” The boy yelled. But no teacher heard his pleas over the rambunctious classrooms they were trying to teach over.

The older boy dragged him to the bathroom, where his other “friend was waiting for him. They pushed the boy back and forth between them, pushing him to the ground once again. The kicked, choked, punching the boy. Blood spilled from his mouth and nose. The boy looked up, a single tear against his pale cheek. One boy dragged him into a stall while the other removed the belt from his jeans. The belt was constricted around the boys wrists, forcing his head into the grimy toilet. They held him as he struggled, his blood mixing with the clear toilet water. Eventually they let go of Zacky and they were gone. Zacky’s frame shook as he fell onto the floor. He laid half dead there, water and blood spilling onto the tile flood and down the drain. The older boy now stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom and ripped off his black, button down shirt. Angry lashes, bruises and burns covered his back.

Rising again from the fire, a phoenix alive and inspired. You can’t erase me, won’t even phase me. No one hears a fucking word you say!

The older boy laid on his bed, bopping his head to the music spilling through his headphones. He was content but it didn’t last for long. The boy’s father stood in the doorway, downing the last drop of beer in his bottle. A drunken smirk swept over his lips and he took the bottle and smashed it over his sons bare back. His son let out a cry of pain, only to receive a lash to the face with a belt. He screamed, trying to get out of his fathers grip but he couldn’t. His dad just continued to hit him across the back and face with the leather belt.

“Clean yourself up, Brian,” and with the he left the room.

Spots of blood covered the crisp white sheets of the bed and all Brian could do was lay there and cry.

With bleeding hands I fight with the pride left in me now. Stand up and scream while the rest of the world won’t make a sound.

Brian’s dad, who was also named Brian, pulled on his bloody apron as he went to his daily duty of cutting meat. A co-worker looked over at him as his knife sliced through steak. The other man smirked, picking up a piece of ground beef, rolling it into a ball, and tossing it at Brian’s dad. He picked up another and threw it. Brian ignored it, just shaking his head and continuing to cut the meat while the other man gave a sinister chuckle. Brian angry threw his knife into the meat, harshly chopping the meat as the other man came over. He said something that Brian didn’t quite catch but made him angry. So he pushed the other man. The other three men in the room tackled Brian to the ground, punching him over and over until blood poured out of his mouth. The left him on the ground and went back to slicing meat.

With bleeding hands I fight for a life that’s beat me down. Stand up and scream while the rest of the world won’t make a sound. With bleeding hands I fight with the pride left in me now. Stand up and scream while the rest of the world won’t make a sound.

The other man from the butchery sat at dinner with his wife, waiting for their son, Zacky to get home from school. He picked at his food, taking small bites of his piece of steak. As the phone rang, he continued to eat as his wife answered it. Her expression went to one of horror as she collapsed to the floor, hysterical. Her husband looked over and stood up from his chair, running over to his sobbing wife. He pulled her tight against his chest as she spoke.

“Our Zacky, he’s dead.”

He looked over at the picture of them and Zacky as tears welled up in his eyes. He lead his wife back over to her chair. The two sat in silence, staring at the empty chair that was reserved for their son.

“Violence is a vicious cycle that had taken many lives…End the cycle now…”