Shameless

Hello Death, My Name Is Unknown

He was breathing heavily, the feeling of being impaled countless times with a knife made him vomit, blood pouring out of his mouth instead of the undigested food that should've come up. He was gasping for air, wiping his mouth as he looked into the relentless eyes of his perpetrator. "Why?" He had asked this several times, most times it was answered with yet another painful act. Other times it was just met with a hateful gaze. "Just kill me already!" He would scream, his throat feeling as if someone had been clawing at it. "What's the point in this torture?!" Tears would finally stream down his cheeks when he closed his eyes. "I've never even met my father!" When he opened his eyes, he came face to face with his lovely daughter, Elizabeth, and a defiant son, Shane. Fear struck over his face, his daughter barely marking the age of 3 and so much terror already in her eyes. The scuff marks on her arms and legs indicated that she had been trouble enough for them to get, they must've dragged her there. Which would explain why she hadn't been throwing such a fit, just crying silently as she pleaded with her eyes. His son was even worse, blood trickling down his arms and legs from slashes of a small pocket knife and his hands were tied up with rope, making his wrists bleed. Though he didn't show any concern for the situation in his expression, his anxious gestures and impulsive twitches made it obvious he wanted to get him and his sister out of there.
"Daddy." Elizabeth mumbled, her shaky voice being met with an intense glare from one of the men who stood by as the other took a few steps toward her, raising his fist. Everyone, even the men who were with this horrible man, looked away to the sound of his knuckles colliding with her face. When they looked back, the girl was in her brothers arms, unconscious with blood dripping from her nose.
The brutal man was once again facing the father. His bulging biceps covered in visible veins and stretch marks. His face was covered with a cracked white mask stained with blood, and he wore a jacket that had part of the sleeves torn, dangling from his arms. He had blood stained boots, probably from standing in the puddle that spilled from the fathers wounds. In his hand, he held a bloody chef's-knife, which he was now raising above his head.
"No." The dad mumbled, his voice barely audible. He paused to clear his throat and spoke louder. "No. Not in front of my son." He plead, almost demandingly. His eyes got bigger with fear, not for his life, but for his son to witness such a horrible thing. It was bad enough that he had to see the sight in front of him right now, but to see his father be killed so easily, helpless to do anything to protect his children. "Please." He begged. "It'll scar him for life. Don't make my son watch this."
His pleas were met with a knife in the heart and an impertinent gaze. "You said to kill you. That is what I'm doing." His voice was merciless as well as the laugh that followed, drowning out the sound of his son's cries.