Lucas sat at the table focused intently on the pieces of paper spread out in front of him. Every form of poetry from acrostic to limerick was represented. The seventeen year old focused intently on a single sheet of paper, across the top were the words "To Wednesday my darkest dearest". Just as Lucas was about to begin yet another draft of a poem he heard the front door slam shut and stumbling footsteps. His head shot up, instantly alert. His mom was out for the evening and his father was supposed to be at dinner with his coworkers. The footsteps headed towards the kitchen. Swallowing, he turned around slowly, his overly slim frame shaking slightly.

The sound of footfall came ever closer till he heard it pause, he glanced up. There stood his father, obviously drunk, and his face twisted into a horrifying snarl. He stumbled backwards in surprise. "Dad...?" He asked quietly eyeing his father cautiously. Suddenly without warning his father stormed forward, Mal shoved Lucas to the side sending his son sprawling to the floor. He snatched up a piece of paper.

"Poetry?!" he whispered in a deadly tone. "Poetry is what you spend your time with?!" He pulled Lucas up by his collar with one hand. "What is your explanation for this?!" he shook a sheaf of papers in his sons face. When Lucas didn't respond he back hands him viciously sending the teen flying into the table before slumping to the ground.

Lucas groaned, "Dad? Why are you doing this?", he began to pull himself up. "Your drunk father, you need to lie down" his response was a kick to the stomach that left him winded.

Mal scowled and towered over his son. " You think you can tell me what to do?", he snarled at Lucas, " you worthless, pathetic, disappointing, excuse of a son". He punctuated each insult with a kick to the now curled up boy at his feet. At the third kick Lucas finally cried out, a long, devastating, howl of misery. "Quiet boy!" Snapped Mal, "Father please!" begged Lucas, any composure long forgotten.

There was a quiet pause before Mal bent down " Don't. You. Dare. Talk. Back. To. Me!" At that all hell broke loose, Lucas's screams of pain, and pleas for mercy echoed through the house, while his fathers angry rant mixed in with his sons cries creating a terrible chorus. Finally after an aggressive blow to the head Lucas lay still and let the blessed darkness of unconsciousness wash over him. His head hit the floor with a thud. Blood gushing from his nose, dripping from his mouth, clothes torn, and entire body covered in violent bruises he was a sorry sight to see. A slim body curled inward, protecting itself from blows coming from one he once though he could trust.