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The Moonlight

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The boy sat on his bed next to his window in his dark bedroom, lightened by only the slim ray of moonlight that sliced the shadows of the eerie room, a thin river of silver that seemed to flow with the heartbeat of the skinny boy. But he avoided the light completely; instead he stayed against the wall of his black room, just watching the shadows of crows flicker in the river, or the light fall of a leaf from a gnarled tree. He never strayed from the spot in his bedroom, immersed in deep thought.

But the boy's arms, they were horrible. They were strangely twisted, covered in bruises from years of abuse. It was not just his arms, but in fact, his entire body. The back of his legs were red and swollen, beaten with sticks, his toes bent in all directions. He could imagine them appearing just by closing his eyes; like a nightmare, his mother raising the broom handle near his legs, his knees buckling as he fell to the ground, tears swelling in his eyes. His mother smiling a crazy smile, once again swiping the stick, with a force of unnatural desire, as if of evil greed. He could imagine his whimpers and yelps, like a tortured dog.

No, it wasn't possible. His mother could have never loved him. So many lies he had heard from her blasted mouth. Promising she would never do it again. Disliking beating him. Of course they were lies.

All his life he had felt pain. Vaguely he could remember happy, joyous memories. But then the dark shadow of his painful memories would take over again, and he would feel the pain once more. He could never get rid of them in his seven years of life. His seven years of torture.

He knew what he had to do to end the pain. He would show her.

Rope in hand, he leaped from his bed in a quick, rapid motion. Calmly and slowly, he climbed the ladder to the hatch that led to the roof of their thirty-floor condo. A flood of moonlight filled the roof as he climbed on top of the roof. As he walked closer and closer to the edge, the silver of the moonlight seemed to turn a blood red, scarlet and deep.

The wind sounded more and more like laughter as he peered down. Cars dashed below him on gray asphalt below dim streetlights.

He set the video camera near the edge, toward himself. The moonlight became more taunting every second, growing more scarlet.

He pressed the record button and tied the rope around his neck. He stared at the camera for two seconds before turning towards the edge.

With arms spread wide, the boy jumped.

The moonlight grew brighter and stronger.

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