This is part of a chapter from my book. A fiction based on real life situations. The language was the actual words used during these cruel times. Used in this book to help one relate to the way things really were.

Bernard arrived home at 8:15pm. Hoping his father would be sleeping after drinking all day. He crept quietly in through the kitchen door and made his way to his room.

Suddenly hearing a voice that made his heart miss a beat. "You were suppose to be home at 8 not 8:15." Bernard almost jumped out of his skin."You know what you get for disobeying, don't you?"

Without giving his son a chance to answer, he reached for his studded belt. But realizing he wasn't wearing it made him especially angry. Looking around the kitchen cursing. Picked up the broom and brought it down across Bernard's slender back. "This will teach you to get home at the right time." Beating the boy repeatedly until the broom broke in half. Angrily tossing the broom aside, he moved away from his son.

Sitting down to finish his jug of beer. Bernard barely able to move just lay on the floor. After a little time passed. Thinking his father had forgotten about him, tried to move.A sharp stabbing pain hit him, moaning lowly, not wanting to alert his father,almost blacking out. But it was too late. "Stay the fuck where you are, you little bastard." Bernard didn't move.