Tumgik
#i cant place my finger on why but his silhouette is so very pleasing. shapes....
tiabwwtws-art · 3 years
Note
Tumblr media
Here you go 👀
Tumblr media
HOOOOAAAAAUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💕❤️❤️💕❤️💕
This is SO good I am kissing you on the LIPS oh my godd
5 notes · View notes
sending-the-message · 6 years
Text
My father had an odd way of disciplining his Children by Red_hatted_carpenter
These events took place long ago, when I was nothing but a little toddler and a teen. I’m telling you this so you manage to create a somewhat accurate image in your head as to how all this happened. All right, onto the story.
Now, I know all parents have their own methods of disciplining their children. I would only hope they would at least teach them some manners, some kids are just unbearable these days. But problems start to take shape when some educational treatments become a bit extreme. Like, if your mother is screaming her head off and smacking your hand with a ruler every time you forget to wash your hands, that should give you a hint. And that brings me to my father.
I cant say that he was the most “natural” father in the world, (whatever that means) but he definitely loved me. That much he would let me know. To put it simply, he could be a bit odd in some occasions. Sometimes he would appear cheerful and play games with me and try to perk up my mood. Then other times he would close himself inside his room for days and only ever come out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. (My mothers death when I was 4 most definitely played a part in those days.) That part made me really sad. Not only because he wouldn't talk to me but because it made me feel as if I didn't know him. Like he would only be himself when behind closed doors, and when he left he would simply put a friendly mask on so that I wouldn't feel miserable. But by far the one thing that stood out amongst the crowd was (coming back to what I said earlier) what he would use to discipline me and my brother. The first time I ever aroused my father`s anger to such a high degree so that he would use his special method on me was sometime between my 9nth and 10nth birthday.
Me and my brother, the little brats that we were, were once again engaging in one of our favourite pass-times: “Socker” (pardon the pun). A fun little game where we would kick and throw around little balls made of socks, always aiming to hit each other in the head. Caught up in all the fun, neither me or my brother could notice my father`s rather steeply priced prescription glasses resting on the floor. In the commotion they ended up crushed under my foot, the hinges were uncoupled from the lenses with a loud and sharp crack.
At first my mind was only interested in the pain erupting from the sole of my left foot, (it had been so strong that I even let out a yelp) but when I spotted my brother with a worrying look in his eyes, glaring at something on the floor, the ache soon diminished from my thoughts. I walked over to him and shared his worry when I finally found what he was looking at. My anxiety was not only increased by the broken glasses but also by my father`s footsteps stomping their way up the stairs (I remember praying and wishing with all my heart that he hadn't heard my shout, but no such luck ever came my way). In a hopeless frenzy I knelt down and tried to reassemble the broken pieces, but the mixture of nervousness and the fact that that the glasses couldn't actually be fixed resulted in an empty outcome. Soon enough, my dad stood tall and strong at the doorway staring open-eyed at me and my brother.
‘What happened?’ He said, curiously but cautious. All we could do was remain silent. The temperature in the room had felt like it had dropped two hundred degrees and tears stacked up around my eyes but I wouldn't allow them to skate down my cheeks. My father took one step forward and got down on his knees. He gently plucked the specs in his hands and raised his head to look at me and my brother.
‘Who did this?’ This time, emotion could be seen, but the worst kind of it. He was as stern as stern could be, making my lips run dry out and causing the hairs on the back of my neck to strike up. My brother slowly raised his finger and aimed it at me. - Yeah, he ratted me out. That`s what younger brothers do, I guess. Still didn't make me any less mad though. – My father turned his eyes to me. Even though chills still crept throughout my body, sweat managed to drip down my ears and chin. He got up on his feet, still grasping the fragmented glasses, and let out a long-standing breath before screaming: ‘What the FUCK did you FUCKING DO?!’. Then he rapidly clutched my shirt neck with his free hand and hurled the broken specs to the floor before raising his open hand, ready to strike me and burn my skin red with his palm. But he didn't. Instead, he calmed himself and said: ‘Come with me.’. After that I was lead down to the bottom floor (his hand gripped my shoulder so tightly my muscles were left aching for a week) and to the scruffy wooden door of the basement. - I very rarely went to the basement. At the time (as it did to most kids that age) it terrified me. No specific reason for that, I just found it unsettling and the creaking sound that came from the door every time you moved it never failed to make me anxious. Even an inch would make it screech so loud I had to cringe.
‘Go on.’, he said calmly. ‘Open the door.’. ‘Dad, please I`m sorr-‘
‘Go.’ His cold and wooden answer left me trembling with fear.
I wrapped my fingers around the knob and twirled it. The door gradually opened into a pitch black darkness that seeped onto my surroundings. I could make out a small illumination that lightened the very end of the last step. Suddenly, I felt a push on my shoulder that suggested I should get going, or he would get going on my face. I threaded my way to the creaky floor below and stopped for a moment. The door was slammed behind me. My fathers figure remained visible for a second before being concealed in darkness. There was a small bulb hanging from a wire percolating from the roof. It shone its way around the room revealing a small freezer (it still baffles me how I never noticed it down there.). My father then stepped in front of me and walked up to it. He popped the door open, discharging the cold, glacial like air onto my tense flesh. My vision was blocked by the tall silhouette of my father from seeing whatever was inside the freezer. That aspect left me tense and relieved at the same time. He then knelt down on one knee and shuffled through some things inside. It didn't take long for him to uncover what he was looking for, and when he did, he released a short-lived chuckle.
‘You ever wonder what happened to your first brother?’, I asked him what he meant but he simply ignored me. He stood up and said: 'Then let me show you.' And with that he spun around, divulging the most repulsive, horrifying thing my eyes have ever fallen upon.
He was holding a human head.
A child`s head, to be more exact.
It must've been, at most, a couple of years older than myself (thats what how old he might have been, not accounting for the rotting features he had.). Ill try my best to accurately describe what saw, but the terror that was caused by that night hazed my memory for years on end.
It had dark blue eyes opened wide passing on an expression of fright, and the remaining patches of hair had some sort of yellowish colour to it but It was mostly ruined and covered in small blotches of dirt, strangely. The nose was missing little pieces of skin and in some spots you could easily make out raw bone. The mouth was fully agape contorted in a face of trepidation with at least eleven teeth missing and half rotted gums. Many holes of flesh could be seen all over the neck and cheeks that displayed black trickles of dried streaks of blood.
I screamed.
My father nudged the head in my direction, it got so close I almost got to kiss its lips. My feet carried me sturdily up the stair, I smashed my shoulder on the door so hard it broke off its hinges and toppled on the floor. I went straight into my room and didn't leave it until the next day. That night I spent curled up in the fetal position repeating ‘I didn't mean to do it’ to myself, over and over again, reposed atop my bed, quivering and twitching. I must've had horrible nightmares, but I think the whole experience was blocked from my mind as I didn't remember it for years.
Remember how I said I previously feared the basement, but that there was no specific reason for such fear? Well, after that night it got a hundred times worse. Of course, since I couldn't remember what had actually happened, it was still irrational to me. But soon my memory was refreshed to why, every time I would walk past the open space that used to be covered by the basement door, my body would freeze up and my breath would be caught in my throat.
4 notes · View notes