One Shot: The Boy Who Likes To Dream

In a secluded woodland where tall, big trees occupy the whole area, and where the crows are noisy only at night, there stands an old, crumbling wooden house without any windows for the light to slip through. Only a door in front is seen with a small rectangular log on the side enough to clasp it beside the timber walls. 

Time passes by rapidly in that awfully quiet forest. Strangely, all the birds fly sundown, like they already knew they shouldn't be there. In the place where fireflies should emit their glow to light up the night, not a single one even dared to try. 

. . . Because in the hours of darkness, in the dead of night, only the agonizing sobs of a young boy are heard. All the creatures appear to be in hiding in order not to hear those unbearable cries. 

"..."

The silence is nauseating, the boy always thought. He knew that when he couldn't hear anything from outside, the woman would come and hurt him again. He scooped his body around his thin arms, placed his head in between his knees, and closed his eyes tightly. He is afraid and he does not want to see. 

His whole body is trembling. He knew that it was from immeasurable fear because he had already forgotten how it felt to be brushed by the cold winds . . . since he never left this rotting house, not once. 

Suddenly, he heard a loud thump. 

The woman is here, he shakingly pondered. He intensely grasped his body around his arms, because he knew he would smack her again. Multiple times. He is never used to torture, because he is scared . . . and terribly hurt. 

As his heart throbbed and continuously quivered, the woman took her wooden bat and swung it back and forth. The smell of his old blood spread across the bat made him feel like puking. 

BAM!

The woman began to hit the boy while he only answered with gut-wrenching whimpers. The boy did not plead nor did he try to defend himself. He knew it would be no use because the woman was too cruel to feel pity. 

The boy started to vomit blood and build up bruises. His bones which are damaged to begin with, prolonged to be injured. She walloped his body again and again as if preventing him from even moving a single joint. The boy's body began to get numb after a series of intense hitting. His arms petrified, legs immobilized, and his grasp around his body loosened. Laying down brazenly, he opened his eyes . . . only to see the woman shed tears. 

Why is she crying? The boy asked in silence. As she continued to hurt him, he saw her tears fall down under her emotionless face. 

Every single time the woman would hit the boy, he could witness her cry silently. Perhaps, this is the sole reason he could never feel hate towards the woman. It was because she cries . . .

BANG!

A loud noise from the woods made her stop. She hurriedly went outside, forgetting to close the door. 

It is open wide! 

The cold breeze swiftly made its way inside, caressing his lifeless body on the ground. It was as if the wind was forcing him to come and free himself from the shackles he had entwined himself his whole life. 

Unable to think, he crept his way out of the house. The floor beneath began to creak as if it was groaning . . . as if it was stopping him from leaving and abandoning the only thing that embraced him from all those years of suffering. 

The boy began to shiver in cold . . . but he was happy. At last, he is now able to freeze in a bitterly cold night than benumbed within those terrifying four corners. 

He needs to run! He mumbled. 

Despite his broken bones, he gathered all his strength left to drag his worn-out legs and free himself out of that place. 

Drag them! Just a little bit more. . . His mind murmured, both eager and agitated to get out of the hell the woman placed him in. 

"NO!" The woman erratically yelled, seeing the boy disappear into the wooden house. Her frantic shout was loud enough for the boy to hear, causing him to panic and head for the hills. 

She will hurt you again. You need to run . . . Run! Run! He desperately muttered to himself. 

Yet, the boy couldn't find a glimmer of light. Even a single sign of life he didn't see. The forest was dreadfully dark, he didn't know the way to escape. 

The boy is scared but the woman is getting near, so he shall not stop running. 

"Samael!" The woman squealed. 

No . . . You need to run more. Don't stop running . . . Or she'll get you again. She'll get you again! 

His body froze in fear, he couldn't take a step forward. He was becoming deaf to the noise inside his head. It was making him nauseous . . . It was making his ears explode. 

Why did you stop running? 

Isn't this what you wanted?

You will get hurt again!

But you did it first. 

You'll live inside that barren room forever.

You knew you would like that. 

"SAMAEL!" 

A man's loud voice woke him up from sleep. 

He was sweating bucks, eyes widely opened, hands trembling in fear. Samael grasped the man's white coat, still quivering. "I need to get out of here! You have to help me . . . She is going to get me!" 

Instead of getting worried, the man in white displayed an expression of disappointment. He didn't utter a word. Samael was angered and lashed out at the bed, violently begging to let him out of his cell. 

Five men in white rushed to the room and stopped Samael. Samael is strong, so the group still had a hard time pinning him down. 

While Samael struggled to free himself from being restrained, a lady came and handed a syringe to the man in white. 

"Mr. Morrison, did he have an episode again? It's happening a lot more frequently these days . . ." the lady stated. 

The doctor let out a sigh. "His mother's death anniversary is near."

The lady slowly nodded and looked pitifully at Samuel while being tranquilized. 

"What a miserable man . . ." she mumbled to herself. 

She remembered the first time Samael was admitted to that psychiatric hospital. He was then sixteen, now forty-five, was sentenced guilty of murdering her mother, beating her to death in their own house on the outskirts of Cincinnati Ohio. 

Even up to this day, his motive is still unknown. Samael refused to talk and from then on, he has always had nightmares about a woman assaulting him. Perhaps it's his way to free himself from the guilt of killing his own mother. To create a situation where he is the one being hurt . . . trying to suppress all those distressing memories.

"This poor boy . . ." She walked towards Samael's bed and fixed his blanket. And before the lady left the room, she saw him smile. . .

As if he likes what he is dreaming.