It was raining.
Tip. Tip. Tip
“Rain...” Chris sighed as he listened to the restless drops of rain hit the kitchen window, in an ironic rhythmical beat.
“In my days...” Chris’ father stared trailing as Chris tunned him off. Ignore him. Ignore the old man. Chris thought to himself as his father kept on babbling.
Shut up I don’t want to listen. Chris mentally scolded the man as his grip tightened on the spoon he was using to eat his cereal.
“Homosexuality, a white disease I tell you...” Chris’ father trailed off as Chris started clawing the metal of the spoon with his thumb. Ignore him. Chris said to himself and shut his eyes the cereal right in front of him had gone all soggy due to neglect.
“...All they need is some old fashion bashing.”
And Chris lost it.
The contents of the bowl flew everywhere as he slammed the table with his fists. The old man looked taken aback.
“Is something wrong son?” his father asked, looking up at his son’s enraged figure. The place was a mess and so was his sons lose sweater covered in soggy cheerios and various milk stains.
“Nothing... just.. Nothing,” Chris responded as the man saw the visible effort his son made to cover his sudden rage.
“Am going to my room” Chris stated and walked away from the dining table.
The old man sighed. Whatever was eating at his son was deep really deep but he had soon to find out what. The old man Elvis slouched in his chair as he felt pride fill him. His son was everything to him.... everything wanted to be at a point in his life.
“I’m sorry I’ll clean it up,” Chris said appearing from nowhere eyes looking worried. Elvis just smiled then nodded as he got up from his seat and walked right past the kitchen door to his room. After the faint sound of the door closing, Chris sighed.
Tip. Tip. Tip
It was still raining.
Chris sat silently on his bed Indian style as he raised his hands to his face in prayer. Help me. He pleaded.
Tip. Tip. Tip
Chris was beginning to think the rain was mocking him now.
Chris thought as he carefully registered the thought his head.
He mentally said again as he held his hands to his now teary eyes.
Yes, he was meant to cry. The book said so, demanded so, the acceptance...The recognition of one’s sin.
The part to help...
Chris wanted help no he needed help. So he cried to voice acceptance. He cried because he did not like his test...His cross on earth.
Tip. Tip. Tip.
The rain silently hit the glass of the window.
Yes, mock me rain. Chris thought.
“Because I, Chris Thomas, is a faggot,” he whispered between sobs.
And as if on cue Thunder clashed
Chris let his hands fall to his sides. His eyes, fogged by waiting tears shone with something different... Hope
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