"You know very well" the man said through clenched teeth, "That the boy is the cause of all our problems. If we didn't have to pay for his damned acting classes, we would have plenty of money!"
A young boy named Olaf sat on his bed, half-listening to his parents fighting in the next room. Is wasn't as though it was anything new... his parents had been fighting for years. But it was only recently that their fighting had started revolving around him.
The main reasons that his parents fought so often, was his father. His father was a cruel and heartless man, who became even more cruel and heartless when he started to drink. When he drank, trying to dodge his problems, he became violent, and would often hit his Olaf's mother. His mother was a complete and utter doormat. She never fought back. Sometimes Olaf wondered how she survived.
Today it sounded as if they were fighting about money... money that they didn't have. Olaf's family had never been rich, but they had always had enough to get by. But lately, his father had practically drained their savings, spending most of on alcohol. His father had become so drunk lately, that Olaf all but locked himself in his room, to avoid his parents.
He sat on his bed, trying to study the script for his play, when he heard his father's unmistakable drunken roar. "Olaf!" he yelled, "Get in here!". Olaf flinched when her heard his father call his name. He reluctantly got up, and walked into the next room.
His mother sat on the couch on the other side of the room, sobbing, and slightly rocking back and forth. Olaf's father stood, his eyes a bloodshot red. "Me and your mother were discussing the money problem in this house," he shot an angry glare at Olaf's mother, sobbing on the couch. "And we've decided to take you out of those idiotic acting classes that you take." he sneered at the word "acting" as though it was one of the most disgraceful things you could do.
"It's all you fault," his father continued, "That we are almost broke! How dare you waste our money on a stupid acting class? You'll never get anywhere in the acting world! You're awful! You're a filthy, rotten child who is horrible at acting!"
Olaf looked up into his father's eyes. "You are a liar" he said, his body coursing with anger, "The only reason we have no money is because you spend it all on alcohol! You're a lying drunk!" This was not the right thing to say to a violent man. Olaf's father's face filled with pure rage, and he hit Olaf so hard that Olaf fell back, and his head hit the front of the counter. Then he blacked out.
When he awoke, his face stung horribly, and his head was throbbing with pain from hitting the counter. His father stood over him, smiling, without a single look of remorse anywhere on his face.
"That," he said smugly, "Will teach you to talk back to your father. Now leave! Or I shall be forced to do this again." he said pointing at Olaf's swollen face. Olaf shuffled out of the room, giving one last look at his mother, sobbing in the corner, who had done absolutely nothing to help him.
Olaf tossed and turned all night, not able to go to sleep. He had never been as angry as he was now. Olaf sat straight up in his bed. He had thought of a solution. A brilliant solution to his mother and father. He was sick of their fighting. He was sick of his evil father. He was sick of his wimpy, helpless mother. He was sick of his life.
He found a pack of matches in the corner of his room. He knew they were there. But he had been saving them... and now was the perfect time. He slunk out of the room making sure they were both deep asleep. He then walked through every room of the small house. In each room, he dropped a match. When every room in the house had been set on fire, he escaped out of a window.
Outside in the dark night, he watched the flames licking the outside of the house, the fire spreading to every nook and cranny. He watched the smoke engulf the house, swirling around and rising to the clear, night sky.
He knew that it wouldn't be long before people awoke, and discovered the burning house. Olaf knew what he had to do. He fled, running as fast as he could. Every once and a while, he looked back at the burning house, as he watched his house, his family, and his life... go up in flames.
A young boy named Olaf sat on his bed, half-listening to his parents fighting in the next room. Is wasn't as though it was anything new... his parents had been fighting for years. But it was only recently that their fighting had started revolving around him.
The main reasons that his parents fought so often, was his father. His father was a cruel and heartless man, who became even more cruel and heartless when he started to drink. When he drank, trying to dodge his problems, he became violent, and would often hit his Olaf's mother. His mother was a complete and utter doormat. She never fought back. Sometimes Olaf wondered how she survived.
Today it sounded as if they were fighting about money... money that they didn't have. Olaf's family had never been rich, but they had always had enough to get by. But lately, his father had practically drained their savings, spending most of on alcohol. His father had become so drunk lately, that Olaf all but locked himself in his room, to avoid his parents.
He sat on his bed, trying to study the script for his play, when he heard his father's unmistakable drunken roar. "Olaf!" he yelled, "Get in here!". Olaf flinched when her heard his father call his name. He reluctantly got up, and walked into the next room.
His mother sat on the couch on the other side of the room, sobbing, and slightly rocking back and forth. Olaf's father stood, his eyes a bloodshot red. "Me and your mother were discussing the money problem in this house," he shot an angry glare at Olaf's mother, sobbing on the couch. "And we've decided to take you out of those idiotic acting classes that you take." he sneered at the word "acting" as though it was one of the most disgraceful things you could do.
"It's all you fault," his father continued, "That we are almost broke! How dare you waste our money on a stupid acting class? You'll never get anywhere in the acting world! You're awful! You're a filthy, rotten child who is horrible at acting!"
Olaf looked up into his father's eyes. "You are a liar" he said, his body coursing with anger, "The only reason we have no money is because you spend it all on alcohol! You're a lying drunk!" This was not the right thing to say to a violent man. Olaf's father's face filled with pure rage, and he hit Olaf so hard that Olaf fell back, and his head hit the front of the counter. Then he blacked out.
When he awoke, his face stung horribly, and his head was throbbing with pain from hitting the counter. His father stood over him, smiling, without a single look of remorse anywhere on his face.
"That," he said smugly, "Will teach you to talk back to your father. Now leave! Or I shall be forced to do this again." he said pointing at Olaf's swollen face. Olaf shuffled out of the room, giving one last look at his mother, sobbing in the corner, who had done absolutely nothing to help him.
Olaf tossed and turned all night, not able to go to sleep. He had never been as angry as he was now. Olaf sat straight up in his bed. He had thought of a solution. A brilliant solution to his mother and father. He was sick of their fighting. He was sick of his evil father. He was sick of his wimpy, helpless mother. He was sick of his life.
He found a pack of matches in the corner of his room. He knew they were there. But he had been saving them... and now was the perfect time. He slunk out of the room making sure they were both deep asleep. He then walked through every room of the small house. In each room, he dropped a match. When every room in the house had been set on fire, he escaped out of a window.
Outside in the dark night, he watched the flames licking the outside of the house, the fire spreading to every nook and cranny. He watched the smoke engulf the house, swirling around and rising to the clear, night sky.
He knew that it wouldn't be long before people awoke, and discovered the burning house. Olaf knew what he had to do. He fled, running as fast as he could. Every once and a while, he looked back at the burning house, as he watched his house, his family, and his life... go up in flames.