Six years being brought into the earth, Lou was yet to sense the comfort of his parents' arms. Never mind getting some adequate sleep after being read a bedtime story (or in Belle's case — Lou's twin sister, a fairytale), to hell with resting his tiny head and body on a pillow in the middle of a dry hardwood floor; he needed nurturing like every other damned child in near proximity of his family's residence.

Around his bright green eyes, there were pitch dark sockets, pleading to finally shut to cease his sleep deprivation once and for all. Then again, by the time Lou would arise from his mattress, he yearned to stay in a dream miles away from a horrid reality. The clothes he wore were hanging by a thread and discoloured in stains, all the way down to his shoes. Lou had to tape the holes and crevices in his leather shoes, in a futile attempt to salvage them for another wander at nighttime.

Lou's father, to put plainly, was a good-for-nothing piece of shit. There was no saving grace to that sluggish specimen, not even his shadow could endure to stay around him. Not only was he verbally (and somehow physically, given how out of shape and intoxicated he was) abusive towards his spouse and children, his approval rating from neighbours was at the bottom of Hell, subsequently penetrating its bedrock. What was supposed to be a serene evening for unwinding was spoiled by his belligerent, incoherent tirades — and if that weren't enough acid to pour onto the open flesh wounds, his choice of neighbours to scapegoat was a Catholic family, which strive to remain isolated and even neutral to that burlap sack of a human's shenanigans.

© Shin Shady
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