Chapter 2: The Basement

 "Michael, Grayson, you've come back just in time! Dinner is already on the table, you guys just go on ahead and start eating. I'll be joining you as soon as I'm done with these dishes." Mother said giving us one glance then continuing to wash.

 "Hello Clara." Michael said turning his wife around and pulling her waist closer to him.

 He gave her a deep kiss, which ended up being longer than it should have in front of their son. He swiftly lifted her up then gleefully placed her around his waist.

 He then began pressing his lips on her neck, feeling her pulse rise with each peck as he listened to her breathing get heavier. However, just as his hands began going lower....

 "Michael, you stink...go and wash up." She said with a heavy sigh.

 "I will, after you go and eat. Allow me to finish the rest of the dishes." He replied with a victorious grin on his face then proceeded to take over the dishes.

"*sigh*

 "Sure, that would be a big help." She said defeated as she dropped from his waist.

 My mother was currently wearing black tights and a tight yellow t-shirt. With each of them hugging her body firmly, they left little to the imagination. As she walked away, my father did not miss the opportunity to slap her round, plump ass, causing them to wiggle like a collision of two water balloons.

 "Michael!" She said startled.

 "We will finish this later." He replied with a grin filled with expectations.

 "I think I lost my appetite; I will eat my dinner another time." I said as I got up to walk away.

 "Bring those pile of bones back here young man!" She shouted, surprisingly with a serious tone.

 "You need to start eating properly, don't you want to grow up to be handsome and strong like your father?" She added.

 "HAHAHA, listen to your mother boy, even though that could never happen." Father added a comment of his own.

 "No thanks, being able to hold a woman around my waist isn't really a priority for me at the moment." I said walking away....

 "There is something seriously wrong with that boy." Michael said putting away the last dish.

 "Well, there's going to be if you keep agitating him like that. He can obviously still hear you!" Clara replied with much concern.

 Just like my mother said, I could still hear them speaking as I was going up the stairs. My father may have already given up on me, but he is right.

 Anyone with two eyes and a functioning brain can easily deduce that there is something wrong with me. My mother appears to be blinded by what others may perceive as love, but love is relative.

 Some parents beat their child and call it discipline, whilst others turn a blind eye. Some may discipline them in an entirely different way. All these types of people may consider their actions to be acts of love.

 However, love is neither of these things. To love is to be perfect, and nobody is perfect in this world. Thus, there is no such thing as love on Earth; just people making excuses for their self-interests.

 The fact is that humans, by nature, are selfish beings who only show compassion for selfish reasons. The concept of good and evil are two sides of the same coin. One might think they are choosing one over the other, but ultimately it is still the same coin. 

 Acts of good will, like evil deeds, are driven by self-interests. There is simply no good or evil, only self-interests, and that is human nature.

 'What better way to bring out this human nature than to threaten her life!' I began to think.

 Once she is in a situation where what she values the most is being threatened, her self-interest for it will completely overcome any morals or compassion she might think she has.

 'Tonight, I will show her the enlightenment!' I thought as I walked into my room.

 As I lay on my bed, I began to remember a time when I didn't know true human nature. Although it was so long ago, I remember the lessons imparted upon me like it was yesterday. This is me now, how I am truly meant to be...but I wasn't always like this....

 When I was five years old, my mother decided to continue her studies. She went to pusue her Master's degree.

 As for my father, he wasn't always a farmer like his parents. My father used to be a pilot. He flew multiple missions for the US air force and was required to serve for eight years.

 With both my parents' consistent absence, my father decided it would be best to leave me with his parents at their farm. My mother wasn't coming back for another 2 years, and two years were all my grandparents needed to get through to me.

 Throughout the first month at the farm, I was living with the old bastards just fine. They seemed to be good people. They would occasionally give me treats, and made me feel special. The old hag even sang me lullabies to fall asleep. Her voice was old and dry, but back then, it was the thought that counted. Her lullabies quickly became something I looked forward to.

 However, one fateful day, as if possessed, they burst into my room and dragged me out of my bed by the hand. This was in the middle of the night. Naturally, I was still processing what was happpening as they threw me in their basement.

 It was dark in there and I was all alone. As soon as the reality of my situation sinked in, I blaringly began to cry. I cried so loud and for so long. Even after my head bean to ache, I never stopped.

 It was simply the only thing I knew how to do in such a situation. For the rest of the night and half a day I cried and slept, repeating this routine. My tears eventually ran dry and was now just making loud, irritating noises.

 Later in the afternoon, the old man finally came down to the basement and told me, "If you want to eat, you will have to stop crying."

 He swiftly left after. I begged through the door for them to let me go, then helplessly opened the handle. Surprisingly, it wasn't locked. I found them both standing five feet from me. The old man was holding a belt, "I was wondering how long it would take you to open that door." He said.

 With rejuvenated tears in my eyes, and mucus coming out of my nose, I ran towards my grandmother. But then just when I was within arm's reach, she kicked me in the stomach. I lay on the floor lamenting the pain, but I couldn't do even that.

 Immediately after, the old man began beating me with his belt. In between his beating, he would switch it up so the belt buckle would strike me. This gave me bone fractures and some minor internal bleeding around my body. I quickly ran back to the basement and hid in the bathroom. Fortunately, they never came after me.

 I cried for another 2 hours in that bathroom, as blood drooled out of my wounds and dried. I eventually lost the energy to cry any longer and finally fell asleep. I woke up not sure of the time nor how long I had slept.

 As I peaked through the slightly open bathroom door, I surveyed the basement. Nothing about my situation had changed, except for the plate of food and a glass of water that had been placed by the door.

 I quickly got on my knees and started to devour the meal before me. As I was eating, I heard the basement door open and the old man slowly came down the stairs.

 "This is the last time that we will be feeding you, from now on if you want to eat you will kill." He said dropping a live rat on the floor, which quickly ran into a crack in a dark corner and disappeared.

 "What do you mean kill?" I asked hoping he didn't mean what I thought he meant.

 "You kill, we'll cook." He replied with a grin.

 I began to cry again, but then he quickly slapped my face. Clearly, he disliked the noise.

 "This is life, you cannot depend on anyone else but yourself. This is a lesson we have tried so hard to instil on Michael, but we've come to realize that we were too soft on him. By letting him make his own decisions, he went on a different path.

 Only those who have felt the sweet, liberating embrace that is pain, get to decide how they live. We should have forced this lesson upon him. People are always out to look after no one but themselves, remember that. I know it, my wife knows it, and soon, you'll come to know it as well. We will make sure you experience all that pain has to offer.

 It may be too late for Michael, but we won't make the same mistake with you," he said with a powerful but soar voice and the most unusual, spine-chilling smile forming on his face.

 "Now get yourself cleaned up, you stink. I will be bringing you a change of clothes every week." He said as he walked up the stairs and shut the door.

 After that day, the old man would drop a live rat each day, alongside a glass of water. I didn't want to kill a rat, in fact, I was afraid of them. For three days I was reluctant about it, but then my hunger got the best of me.

 At my breaking point, I finally decided, for the first time, to hunt for my food. It's already difficult to catch a rat as it is, but in this basement, where the only entry of light was a tiny window that was about 15 inches in width and 5 inches in height, it was darn next to impossible. I had to wait and listen carefully to where the rats were.

 For hours I found myself running around in circles as my hunger grew even more painful. I quickly began to lose the little energy I had left to chase them down. So, instead, I decided to sit cross-legged and listened motionlessly. I then began to evaluate my situation.

 In this basement there are multiple cracks where a rat could easily slip into. Occasionally, they would come out, but when they do, it is often too dark for me to even follow their movements. I'm not fast enough to catch them so, my only option is to wait for them to come to me.

 For a full hour I waited for the perfect moment; for the perfect chance where I knew my next move would not go to waste. I was physically tired and mentally drained, I couldn't afford to be running around aimlessly.