Chapter Text
February, 1988, A small boy sits on his roof staring up at the stars in wonderment. Its a cold night in Ireland. So cold that the boy's cheeks were turning red from the blood rushing through them.
He lay there memorising astronomical patterns and the constellations. His brown eyes looked dark in the night and his black inky hair pooled out slightly onto his only seperation from the cold hard floor, a dusty old matress. It is the same matress he knew he'd be beaten for moving. However, for this beautiful sight before his eyes, he felt it was well worth the beating. The boy knew it would come sooner or later anyways. He didn't even blink as he took in the sights. This, for him, was the only reason left to live anymore. Life was so dark and it seemed to never end for this poor Irish boy.
Soft music played in the distance which soon cut into a ridiculous sounding DJ speaking about some of his favorites top 100 hits. Ah, yet another reason the boy would be beaten, he took the family radio and brought it up the flights of stairs, just so he could actually relax and stargaze. Was that too much to ask for a boy who was abused every single day of his life?
If it wasn't bad enough with the beatings from his drunkard of a father nightly, then he had dear old Carl Powers to touch him in places the boy never thought of or wanted to be felt only then to pound on him in the rest of the daylight periods. It was odd to the boy how the same hands that somehow wiggled and forced themselves inside of his most private of areas were the same that knocked his teeth out and bruised his already sore skin. The small frail boy loathed Carl Powers for what he had put him through day in and day out. His mind shuddering through the constant torment he went through muggings for money (which he didn't even have) and the embarrassment of what he he would do to him whenever he had the moment of privacy. Every day that monster would laugh at the trembling boy. Every day was worse than the next.
One day.. One day he'd make him pay. He'd make Carl Powers pay for turning him into some fag he could twist and bend into his toy. He would make him pay for making him weak.
Why couldn't those morons just realize how ordinary they were? He was obviously right in his corrections. Anyone with eyes could easily see that he was in fact, smarter than his teachers. Sometimes, even speaking back to the teachers had gotten the boy grabbed and hit. He didn't cry anymore from the punishments and constant tortures of his life. He closed his eyes; fighting not to, yet remembering every single detail of his most recent lashing. He released a breath which fogged out into the harsh evening air.
It was freezing on the roof. The boy had brought a blanket up to stay warm but it was much too thin. He hadn't thick enough clothes either. He took what little he could for the small chance of freedom he finally could muster for himself.
Perhaps he should end the pitiful life he has? He's tried it before. He jumped off the roof of this poor excuse of a home in all of its shambles, hoping to die and just end it. No no, Of that hadn't worked, he squeezed his fists tight, instead he had fallen and merely almost died. He hadn't even been taken to the hospital. He was only hit for failing at his own death. If he were taken to the hospital then his family wouldn't have enough money to eat. If he were taken to the hospital it would mean his father actually gave a shit about him. He closed his eyes again, thinking back to the light he saw when he had almost lost his life. If only it had worked.
A tear slipped as he stood from the stiff matress and cold tiles. This time will go better. This time he'll end himself for sure. Properly.
He couldn't handle those ordinary people anymore. He hated being different. Why couldn't they be like him? Why couldn't they be intelligent? Why did they want him to be stupid like the rest of them? He hated being assaulted and not feeling safe in his own skin. Why couldn't they accept him? Why couldn't he be just left alone? Why couldn't he.. If he were so smart, why couldn't he make it end? He hated himself for being weak. "Let's go sissy gay boy," he hissed out in a thick Irish accent attempting to mimick the bastard Carl Power's bullying tone. "Just jump. Do the world a favor and die fucking faggot."
His legs trembled as he stood on that edge. He could easily jump off. He could easily die and do something right for just once in his pathetic life.
"Do it right, boy," he spoke in a deeper accent mimicking what his father said once. "You took my wife from me for what? A fuck up of a life, that's all you are. You aren't even man enough to win a fight. Just die, boy. Next time you try to.. Actually do it. Kill yourself." More tears slipped as he remembered her. His dear mummy. She had loved him, she had been the only person who showed him any kindness, and she died protecting the boy from his abusive father. It wasn't his fault. It was his father's fault, that barbaric gorilla of a man. No, but that isn't how they see it. Not his father, nor his stupid younger brother. He knew his family blamed him for it. He knew it.
Why was he even born? What, was he only created to be kicked around his entire life? He never wanted to exist. He didn't ask to exist. How dare they? Parents are selfish creatures, they create little bastards like him only to hate them and wish them dead? Hah, caring for others makes you weak. That's why mother was dead. It was her fault. Hers. It wasn't his, he choked back a sob at that thought. The poor boy knew he was only looking for someone else to blame. His final rationalization now formed in his mind as it had many times before: His mother died because his father wanted to break his ribs. Why did he want to break his ribs? Because the boy had been robbed by that disgusting Powers. She moved to protect her son and.... He couldn't think about it anymore. The memory although years old was still fresh in his noisy clustered mind. He couldn't recall how many times he saw it while trying to sleep.
Her death was his own damned fault.
So, here he was, about to jump. The gears of his mind still turning as he tried to make up his mind. Then, he heard the radio as it pulled him out of his morbid thoughts. It was playing something. Something he found oddly pleasing for something oh so ordinary. Ah, disco. That was music he had learned to associate with the idea of his mum like when she sang along off-key to the songs she adored. She was kind and loving, and enjoyed dancing and the arts. He always struggled to remember her. He wasn't sure what was a made up or the truth anymore.
The song played, the boy about to pop off. To die. He hadn't paid attention to the words until the chorus lines began again.
And we're stayin' alive
stayin' alive
Ah ha ha ha
stayin' alive
stayin' alive
Ah ha ha ha
stayin' alive
Mother would've wanted him to stay alive. She died to keep him alive. She died to protect him. Stupid woman! This song, he remembered, she used to listen to it. She wanted her first born to stay alive because she loved him. He teared up once more, hot salty tears streamed down his red cheeks.
Fine, only for now would he step away from that edge. Because deep down inside the thought of his mother protecting him graced his mind, and it gave him a warmth he would need to survive the night.