My Son

I can hear his breath. In. Out. The trembling disturbance of air. Cruel hands tear at his shirt, his naked back a pale blur in the moonlight, the muscles corded and tensed under vulnerable flesh. My hand is shaking, the whip slipping from my grasp.

He is my son…

But they do not care… their malignant eyes, their rancid breath hissing from behind razor sharp teeth. What do they care for beauty, for gentleness… for love…? Jones looks at me with cruel laughter in his eyes. Well…what are you waiting for…?

I can't… please… don't make me…

'Turner!' The voice is harsh and I cringe, my own breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. 'You will do what I ask!'

No…no… he is my son!

I feel the hot tears stream down my face. The world around me dissolves into darkness, as the sting of the whip vibrates very close to my cheek. But maybe... it is better this way than having him suffer under cruel hands.

Forgive me…my son…

I remember when you first opened your eyes in this world and looked at me. I thought my heart would break then from the strange ache in my chest.

The day you looked at me with unspeakable eyes and lifted up your arms so I could carry you...

But I realise now, that a father's heart is destined to break...

For you cannot love without losing a piece of yourself in return.

I have been slowly breaking into pieces over the years,

from all the little and big things that I've missed...

the pain of seeing the look of abandonment in your eyes...

the empty space I became in your childhood...

My heart will always break for you, my son.

Like now, right now... for far worse than the cries that penetrate the night air is the pain in my heart. I die slowly, with every blow, with every cut of the whip as you cry out under the pale moonlight. For such is the love of a father.