Have they ever wondered that the monster they so hate, is the monster they created!!.
ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ
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Dimitri
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Nine years old.
The kitchen smelled of burning bread and blood.
Dimitri Ivanov pressed himself into the corner, his small body trembling, his hands clamped over his ears. But nothing could block out the sounds. The wet, rhythmic thud of fist against flesh. His mother's choked whimpers. His father's guttural roars.
"You made him weak! You coddled him like a girl!"
Another blow. Another cry.
Dimitri wanted to run. Wanted to scream. Wanted to be brave like the heroes in his mother's bedtime stories—the ones who charged in and saved the day.
But he was just a boy.
And heroes didn't exist.
His mother's eyes found his across the room. Even through the swelling, through the blood streaming from her nose, she smiled. A broken, beautiful smile.
"Close your eyes, my love," she whispered. "Don't watch."
He couldn't obey.
He watched as his father grabbed her by the hair. Watched as he slammed her head against the kitchen counter. Once. Twice. Three times.
She stopped moving.
The silence that followed was worse than the noise.
His father turned to him, chest heaving, knuckles split and bloody. His eyes—those same dark blue eyes Dimitri had inherited—were wild with rage.
"You," his father spat, pointing a trembling finger. "You did this. Your weakness killed her."
Dimitri opened his mouth to deny it, to plead, to beg—
But no sound came.
He was already broken.
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Three days later.
The camp.
They came for him at midnight—men in dark coats with hard faces and harder hands. They dragged him from his bed, his sister Maya screaming in the next room. He'd tried to reach her, tried to hold her hand one last time, but they'd torn him away.
"You're going to become a man," his father had said, watching from the doorway. "Or you're going to die trying. Either way, you're no longer my problem."
The truck ride lasted hours. Dimitri huddled in the corner, his wrists bound, his mind replaying his mother's final moments on an endless, torturous loop.
Live, my love. Live.
When they arrived, the camp was nothing but a nightmare made of mud and barbed wire. Other boys were there—some younger than him, some older. All of them hollow-eyed. All of them already dead inside.
"Welcome to your new home," the head instructor said, smiling with yellowed teeth. "Here, we break you or we make you. And there's no in-between."
They started with the water.
Dimitri was held under until his lungs burned and black spots danced across his vision. They pulled him up, gasping, then pushed him down again.
"Beg," they said. "Beg for mercy."
YOU ARE READING
His Malyshka |18+
Fanfiction"You can't say things like that," she whispered. "Why not?" "Because..." She trailed off. "Because what?" I pulled back and looked into her eyes. They were dark, stormy, full of conflict. "Because you want me to say them?" "No-" "Liar." I tilted he...
