1Disclaimer: Lets just face it, I don't own Naruto :(
Author note: I don't use any names specifically, but it's all in Naruto's POV
In the room where there is no carpet but only concrete. In the room where the walls are so red it's not red anymore, but black, like the black blood that would drip from a throat after being sliced. In the room where there is no window and only a wooden door which locks from the outside. It is in this room where I lie motionless still, not breathing, not saying a word. I try not to make a sound, being as silent as a mouse, but for some reason I cannot control the deep heavy breaths that escape from my throat and out between my swollen lips. I cannot control the soft whimper, nor can I tame the tears that fall from my eyes.
I'm desperately trying now, trying to control my emotions and my actions. I can hear the angry thumps of footsteps running through the hall. The door rattles with fear when strong hands grab the handle forcefully shoving the key in the lock. I see the hideous face of my father look directly towards me, his eyes burn and claw their way into my very soul. I give him a pleading look, silently begging him to reconsider the actions he is about to take, but I can see in his empty black holes that he calls eyes, that there is no chance in hell that I'm getting out of this beating.
The man before me that I once called dad wore nothing but a pair of track pants and an old T-shirt with stains. His greasy black hair clung to his face with sweat, and his face showed that of an old bum, his face unshaved and food occupying the sides of his mouth. He walks towards me, his bare feet quietly slapping on the concrete floor, a completely different sound from when his feet had made the angry thuds on the wooden floor running towards my room. I cowered back trying to bury myself in the wall behind me. His dirty tanned fist made contact with my face and blood began to pour from my nose. Another hit made my eye swell shut. A smack over the head and I felt my world begin to spin. Punch after punch after punch, and finally I felt myself slide into my subconscious. Although I was glad that I would no longer fill the pain of the abuse, I was also terrified to think of what this filthy man, that I once called dad, would do to my unconscious body.
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