Peridot- War and Peace by M D Grimm

Author:M D Grimm [Grimm, M D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781610405140
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

I knew it was a memory, a nightmare, but I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t wake up. It was like I was watching it as well as reliving it. What I knew or didn’t know then, what I knew now, it was all there, at the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t stop it.

The flat piece of wood, sanded and shaped just for this purpose, smacked once more against my ass. It hurt, and I cried out. Our house had a small porch and a railing upon which I was bent over, my ass bare and naked to the world.

But we were on a small farm, and the world was kirons away.

My father spanked me again, hard, and I managed to choke back my cries. My hands were bound before me, and tears burned my eyes. My brothers were currently working in the fields along with my mother, leaving me alone to be “trained” by this sadistic bastard.

“You will fear me,” my father said in his thick, bellowing voice. He was a burly man with a large belly and always smelled like alcohol. His eyes were an unfeeling brown -- which he’d passed on to me -- and they always looked upon me with hunger: hunger for power, for control.

He wanted to rule the world and was going to use me to do it. When he’d found out the legend of the seventh son of a seventh son, he’d set out to make it a reality. He was a seventh son himself and knew, through me, he could become a world conqueror.

Another smack ripped a cry from me.

“You’ll obey me,” he grunted and hit me again. “And until I have your absolute obedience, this will continue.”

I was four years old. And yet I knew I would be unable to sit for several weeks after this punishment. Not that I sat much anyway -- my father always made me stand. There were some days that I would stand all day and only get to sit at night, in my little basement bedroom. I also had to wait for everyone else to be done eating before I got one bite. There were always just scraps for me, and I had to “earn” them, as my father put it.

My father finally put down that cursed paddle and grabbed my hair, yanking my face up so I met his eyes.

“You were born for only one purpose, brat.” My father breathed into my face, making me cough. “And that’s to be used as I see fit. Now go help your mother in the fields.”

He untied my hands and yanked my pants up, and I nearly screamed at the pain it caused on my backside. Then he shoved me down the three steps that led up to the porch, and I hobbled away. As I rounded the house, out of his sight, I fell to the ground and curled into a ball, sobbing.

“Morgorth. Morgorth, wake up now.”

I knew that voice. I liked that voice; it was kind and loving.

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