Try as he might he couldn’t hide it.
No matter how clean the house, how neatly the laundry was folded, or how perfectly he was dressed,
Everyday he swore he’d do better. He’d have dinner on the table promptly on the table at six, with dessert to follow at seven sharp. When The Parents retreated to the Den for their evening cocktails he’d be sure to clean up every morsel, leaving no trace that a meal had even taken place just a few short hours ago.
Still though, it was never enough. Without fail The Mother always found the smallest crumb in the most minuscule of spots. This undoubtedly set The Father off and then there was no turning back.
As the drinking continued, the beating continued.
He learned not to bother to cry anymore;
They seemed to like that
He refused to give them that satisfaction.
Eventually They drank themselves to sleep
and he Putnam himself to bed.
Dressing himself for school in the morning he knew he shouldn’t wear a long sleeved shirt,
But sometimes, sometimes he couldn’t help but wear shirtsleeves and let the Purple show through for all to see.
Maybe then someone would help him?