"Congratulations, you're the one billionth soul meaning you've won the right to reincarnate! Rejoice! Master has given you the best gift possible, you shall select the world you would like to enter. But before we start, any questions?"
"Yes, um, ho...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Pain.
That was all I felt as I laid on the ground. My body was covered in brand new cuts and bruises, the ones from my previous beatings looked faded compared to the growing greens and yellows that were forming across my chest, stomach, and arms.
You would think that after years of this repeating cycle the pain would dull out, but it never does. Each beating as painful as the last, each beating taking a toll on me physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Why me?
Why did they hate me so much?
I ask myself this question after every beating, my dull, sunken grey eyes staring blankly at the molding yellow ceiling. I'm sure it was once a beautiful crack free white one but now it was as ugly as the rest of this rundown house.
I didn't flinch as I watched an empty beer bottle fly across the room and land next to me.
I didn't flinch as I heard my father began to yell out swears and yells for someone to bring him a new beer.
I didn't flinch when I felt my mother kick me in the ribs and yell for me to listen to my father.
My body felt like it was covered in weights as I picked myself up. I knew better than to disobey my parent's wishes, I made that mistake once and the result wasn't pretty but then again, even if I obey they would still find a reason to be upset with me and deliver my punishment.
I hate this. I hate them. I hate me.
Grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator I limped over to my growling father, who snatched the beer out of my hands once I was close enough.
"About time you fucking failure."
Failure.
That was one of the names my parents would often call me. Some others are idiots, useless, murderer.
I never understood the names, they would call me failure and idiot while my teachers at school would praise me with names such as genius and intelligent.
Maybe it's because my teachers at school didn't know my older brother, according to my parents he was way smarter than I'd ever be.
He was a detective, one of the best even though he was young while he was on the squad. He graduated high school at 14 and college at 17. By 23 he was known all over as a prodigy, a one in a million genius.
Or so he was until the incident.
I had asked him to take me out that day. I was the one who didn't listen to his shouts. I was the one who should have been hit, not him. If only he didn't shove me out of the way he would still be here. If only I had listened to him when I told me not to run into the street.
If only...
Not saying a word, I limped my way up the stairs, using the rail to hold myself up. Once up the stairs, I grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom before dragging myself to my room. It was more like a slightly bigger version of a closet. I use to share a room with my brother, but after his death, my parents told me to stay out of the room and forced me to move into this one.
