Kingdom Hearts Fan Fiction ❯ //.Angryhiss ❯ Ichi ( Chapter 1 )

This is my new angsty story of angstyness. Enjoy.

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“What are you doing?”

The chilling voice was used in a tone that was level, but deadly and full of the promise of pain. I felt the voice rolling right down my spine and I shivered. Freezing in place with my hands on the wall, I took measured breaths. I knew what was going to happen next, I knew that I wasn't going to like it, and I knew that it was going to be painful… For me.

So I turned to face and take my punishment like a man would in a dire situation, despite the fact that I was only seventeen. Looking up into my stepfather's icy blue eyes, I saw in them that I indeed was going to be punished, and that I indeed was going to feel pain.

“I asked what the fuck you're doing?” he repeated in a murderous tone.

Luckily for me, I could see a way out of this situation. If I just answered the question truthfully, maybe he would spare me. Maybe…

“I was rearranging the pictures on the wall,” I told him in a slow voice. “That's all.” I had to be cautious with my father. His temper was fragile; he snapped at any second. Before you knew it or even heard his trademark Angryhiss, as I called it in my mind, you were on the floor with blood gushing out of your nose and an angry bruise was darkening under your eyes. Talking to my father was like walking on broken glass.

My father's nostrils flared. He was angry… “Rearranging? My pictures?!”

I kept calm, knowing that if I panicked, I would regret it. If I showed fear, he would take it as weakness, and he would hurt me.

“Dad, it's okay,” I assured him. “I put them all back. Everything is where it's supposed to be. It's all right.”

That was when I heard the Angryhiss. My face went almost entirely pale and I tried to take a step backward. Sadly, I ran into the wall; I was trapped like a tiger in a cage.

“How many fucking times have I told you to keep your nasty-ass hands the Hell of my things?”

“But I—”

“How many times?!” he roared.

I fell silent quickly, didn't know what to do. If I said the wrong thing, then he would hit me. I really didn't want to be hit. Really.

The Angryhiss got louder. With each passing hiss, I felt more and more like whimpering. I was really starting to be frightened. I just wanted to run—to run and hide like a rabbit; to hide away in my burrow, my sanctuary, my mind.

It was a mere minute before I felt the stinging of the first blow. Another minute, another blow. It took me a few seconds out of the sixth minute to realize that I was crying.

I just wanted the pain to stop. I only wanted to feel the sweet feeling of reprieve, of the pain quitting. I couldn't take it. I could not take it. It was slow suicide.

Curling in on myself, I closed my eyes and tried hard not to feel. To not allow myself to feel any feeling within me, and to submit myself to oblivion. Alas, it was not to be. I felt it every time my father's fist connected with my face; every time the toe of his boot attached itself to my ribs. The pain—no, the agony… It was intense.

“Gonna cry, you bastard boy?” the Angryhiss whispered to me. I cried out by accident when my father's fingers tangled themselves in my spiky brown hair. He dragged me painfully to my feet.

“P-please…” I pleaded in a hoarse voice.

Big. Mistake.

My father started the beating afresh. He threw me into the wall. The back of my head smacked into the glass of a picture frame. I felt the shards sticking like glue into my head. Warm blood trickled down the back of my neck, onto my skin.

His hands curled around my neck and his fingers tightened, obstructing my breathing pattern, cutting off my air supply. I brought my hands up to his wrists, attempting to pull his hands away. I gagged; my eyelids fluttered shut. I had no air, no breath, no life. Ten seconds passed by… Then thirty… A minute. My knees went weak; my arms slackened. I wondered dreamily if he was going to kill me. Now that it was so near, practically in my hands, death didn't seem so bad…

Two minutes had gone by…

I was prepared to accept death. I was ready to give up on life; to let everything go. In fact, I wanted to die. I'd rather die than go on living the life that I was living. What did I have to live for? My father beat me, I had no siblings, my mother barely even looked at me and my friends were so caught up in their own lives that they wouldn't notice it if the universe was exploding.

I was alone.

Soon, I could see the darkness. It was creeping in through the edges of my foggy mind. I welcomed it, even encouraged it to come closer. I was ready to die. I wanted death to embrace me like am other holds her baby child.

And the darkness closed in on me, eclipsing me in unconsciousness.

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Did you enjoy it, loves? Good. Peace. Review.