The Spark That Started it All

A frustrated sigh escaped the lips of the young Australian boy.

"Mum, Can I please take a break now?" He leaned back in his chair, looking over towards his mother, Brown eyes pleading to take a break from his homework.

"You'll never get better at it if you don't keep trying. You've had a break already. Come on, when you're finished, I'll get you a treat, Alright?" She spoke to him, motioning for him to keep on working. He looked at her, questioning her offer.

"What kind of treat?" The question was curious, having a slightly anxious edge to it.

"That you'll have to find out." She replied, using her expert ways of convincing.

"Fine..." He huffed, returning his pencil to his paper.

With math being his worst subject, it always took him the longest to do. He hated per-algebra. He had concluded that numbers and the alphabet were better off not meeting at all. His pencil met the table once more, an annoyed groan escaping his mouth this time.

"I can't do it. Can't you help?" He nearly begged, looking at his mother once more. She was much better at math than he was, figuring if she helped him, he'd have less work to do. She looked to him, her face showing her debate in her mind over helping him or not. Finally, she caved.

"Alright. What can't you get?" She asked, now picking up her pencil, ready to help explain the problem to him.

"These ones." He said, pointing the the group of problems that were alike; ones that he hadn't understood.

She got right to explaining; writing down example problems, and using different types of problems that were similar, making sure he understood. He was surprised at how much patience she had with him. Others would have given up earlier, seeing that he just wasn't capable of understanding, but not her. She had much patience with him, and brilliant ways of explaining the work to him in ways he could understand. He was soon back to solving problems on his own, taking his time, double-checking with his mother at times. Progress was slow, but he knew it would be done in time. His father wouldn't come home in a few hours anyway.

He was in mid-problem when he heard the front door slam open. He had nearly jumped, his pencil point breaking as his head snapped over in that direction.

"But I thought..." He turned to his mother who placed a finger to his lips to silence him, shaking her head as well. They both knew he was angry. Hearing his mother's name shouted loudly confirmed it.

"Where the fuck are you?" His father stumbled towards the room they both occupied. By the sound of his footsteps, they also knew he was drunk .

"Mum..." He began again, but once more was silenced. Grumbles of his father was heard, as the door was swung open, the doorknob once more, nearly making a hole in the wall. He had lightly flinched at that.

"You. Out!" He growled at the boy, who nodded in response, giving a look back at his mother before getting up, and leaving the room, used to the smoke of the cigarette he brought in the house constantly. Usually he'd be told to go up to his room at times like this, but this time he didn't. He refused. The door had been slammed shut behind him, but it automatically re-opened a slight crack. He turned, and watched through it.

His mother had been grabbed, and she suddenly became weak, and scared. Drunken shouts were heard from his father. He winced as he watched his mother get hit, beat, multiple times. She had been dropped to the floor, tears streaming from her eyes.

"You're weak. Pathetic..." He heard him spit at her. He shifted his weight, which just happened to be a bad move for him. The door creaked. His eyes widened as he tried to quietly back away, but his father, even drunk, was too fast. The door was soon opened, as his raging mad father approached him.

"What did you see, boy? Huh?" His father growled. He just shook his head, doing what his father taught him to; not cowering, standing as strong as he possibly could.

"N-nothing..." He stuttered. It wasn't good enough apparently. His arm was grabbed.

"Weak. Pathetic. Just like your mother." His father growled again. He knew what was coming.

"Dad..dad, don't!" But he didn't listen. Cigarette still in mouth, he repeated on him what was done to his mother. He cringed at the contact, but tried to keep strong, knowing if he cowered, it would create something worse.

"Stop!" He finally cried out, breathing heavily. Anger and fear was pouring from him. He felt hot; hotter than usual. He clenched his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he soon found that the cigarette had exploded, his father's sleeve caught on fire. He panicked. His father yelling at him. Everything was a blur to him now. Panic had overcome him, and the fire grew. It wouldn't stop growing, and he backed out of the room. It was spreading, cries of both parents could barely even be heard over the flames. He shook his head, not believing any of this was actually happening.

"No.. No, what... This isn't happening!" He cried out. He stumbled backwards, nearly falling as the fire spread, panic still washing over every single emotion in him. Everything except fear. He had nothing as he ran outside, far from the fire. Far enough that it was only a glow. He stopped, falling down to the ground, exhausted, scared. Lost. Tears streamed from his eyes as he sobbed into the ground. Everything was lost to him. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where to go. He didn't know who to go to. He didn't know what he was...


End file.
