The Monster

With his fork, Daniel pushed around the food on his plate. For some reason it felt necessary for him to do some kind of movement, even though sitting completely still would probably have been the safer choice. The monster often seemed unable to see him if he wasn’t moving.

“You aren’t eating?” his father grunted and leaned uncomfortably close to Daniel in a way that just made him want to move back and away from him. Daniel shook his head, still without looking up.

“You’re supposed to answer when someone’s talking to you, kid.”

“I’m not hungry,” Daniel whispered and prayed that somehow, he’d be excused from the table and that they could leave it at that.

“You better eat what you’ve put on your plate. I paid for that shit, so you better fucking eat it,” the old man finally moved away and turned his attention to his own plate.

“You tryin’ to loose weight or what, faggot?”

Daniel felt like his stomach was tied in a knot and while he didn’t want to reply, however, he still knew that being quiet would just – a sudden smack hit him on the back of the neck.

“No,” Daniel suddenly blurred out.

“You look like a bitch,” his father replied with a sound of disgust in his voice as he briefly turned his eyes towards Daniel and added: “But I guess that’s your mother’s fault.” He slowly lowered his voice and once again, the room fell quiet except for the sound of forks and knives against half-empty dinner plates.

Original photo: Miguel Pires da Rosa



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