The Beginning

Vic's early years were an unending carousel of turmoil. The tiny house on Maple Street, where he lived with his family, was a battlefield. His father, Henry, was a drunken brute, whose booming voice and violent temper echoed through the walls every night. Vic, a slight boy of six, often found himself huddled in the darkest corners, clutching his threadbare blanket, hoping to become invisible.

"Mary, where's my damn dinner?" Henry's voice, slurred and full of menace, reverberated through the house one evening.

"In the oven, Henry," Mary replied, her voice trembling. She was a slight woman, her face etched with worry lines and shadows of bruises, both fresh and fading. She moved quickly, hoping to appease her husband's unpredictable moods.

Vic watched from the doorway of his small bedroom, his eyes wide with fear and sadness. He knew what was coming. He had seen it too many times before.

Henry stumbled into the kitchen, yanking the oven door open. "This is cold! Can't you do anything right?" He hurled the plate against the wall, the food splattering across the faded wallpaper. Mary flinched, but said nothing, her eyes downcast.

Vic's older sister, Sarah, stood at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed. At ten, she had already mastered the art of sneering, her face twisted with jealousy and resentment. She glared at Vic, blaming him for their father's wrath, for their mother's misery, for everything that was wrong in their lives.

"It's all your fault," Sarah hissed one night as she passed Vic in the hallway. "If you weren't here, things would be better."

Vic's heart ached at her words, but he said nothing. He had no defense. He felt like an unwelcome guest in his own home, a burden everyone was forced to carry.

The days passed in a blur of fear and loneliness. Vic spent most of his time alone, wandering the woods behind their house, finding solace among the trees and the whispering leaves. He would sit by the stream, watching the water flow over the rocks, wishing he could escape with it, away from the chaos of his home.

One afternoon, as Vic sat by the stream, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Sarah approaching, her face flushed with anger.

"You're hiding again," she accused, standing over him. "You're such a coward."

"I'm not hiding," Vic muttered, looking down at the water. "I just... I just want some peace."

"Peace? You'll never find peace," Sarah spat. "Not here. Not anywhere."

Vic looked up at her, tears welling in his eyes. "Why do you hate me so much, Sarah?"

"Because you're weak," she snapped. "You let him walk all over you. You let him walk all over Mom."

"I'm just a kid," Vic protested. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Fight back," Sarah said, her voice hard. "Stand up to him."

Vic shook his head. "You don't understand. He'd kill me."

Sarah stared at him for a moment, her expression softening slightly. "Maybe," she said quietly. "But at least you'd be doing something."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Vic alone with his thoughts. He felt a pang of guilt. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was weak. But what could he do? He was just a child, powerless against the storm that was his father.

That night, the usual arguments erupted once more. Vic lay in his bed, listening to the sounds of breaking glass and angry shouts. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise, but it was impossible. The walls of their home seemed to vibrate with tension.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash, followed by a scream. Vic's heart raced. He jumped out of bed and ran to the living room. Mary was on the floor, clutching her arm, tears streaming down her face. Henry stood over her, his fist still raised.

"Stop it, Dad!" Vic shouted, his voice shaking. "Leave her alone!"

Henry turned, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "What did you say to me, boy?"

"I said, leave her alone!" Vic repeated, his fear giving way to a surge of defiance.

Henry took a step towards him, but before he could strike, Sarah appeared in the doorway, holding a baseball bat. "Touch him, and I'll make sure you never hurt anyone again," she warned, her voice steady.

Henry stared at her, the bat, and then back at Vic. For a moment, it seemed like he might back down. But then, with a snarl, he lunged at Sarah. She swung the bat with all her might, hitting him square in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

"Run, Vic!" Sarah shouted. "Get out of here!"

Vic hesitated for a split second, then turned and bolted out the door, into the night. He ran through the woods, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay. Not there. Not with him.

He ran until his legs gave out, collapsing by the stream. Tears streamed down his face as he curled up on the ground, feeling more alone and unwanted than ever before.

Morning came, and with it, a sense of resignation. Vic knew he couldn't stay away forever. He had nowhere else to go. Slowly, he made his way back home, dreading what he might find.

The house was eerily quiet when he returned. Mary was sitting at the kitchen table, her face pale and drawn. She looked up as Vic entered, her eyes filled with a mixture of relief and sorrow.

"Vic," she whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. "I was so worried."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Vic said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I didn't know what else to do."

"It's okay, honey," Mary murmured. "You did the right thing."

Sarah stood in the doorway, the bat still in her hand. She met Vic's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. They were in this together, whether they liked it or not.

Henry was gone, taken away by the police after Sarah's desperate act of defense. The house felt different without his oppressive presence, but the damage he had done lingered in the air.

Life went on, but the scars remained. Vic still spent most of his time alone, finding refuge in the woods, while Sarah tried to fill the void left by their father's absence. Mary did her best to hold the family together, but the strain was evident in every line on her face.

Vic's early years were marked by constant turmoil, but they also forged a bond between him and Sarah that nothing could break. They had survived the storm together, and though the road ahead was uncertain, they knew they had each other to rely on.

And so, in the quiet moments by the stream, Vic found a glimmer of hope. A sense that maybe, just maybe, things could get better. That he wasn't as alone and unwanted as he had once believed.

But deep down, he knew the shadows of his past would always be there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to pull him back into the darkness.