Rain was pouring down with no mercy against the fallen leaves and the muddy ground. The logs of the cabin looked like covered with oil, shiny and wet, under the falling clouds.

Noisy thunders stroke against the tallest trees, not so far from where he was, hiding terrified under a table, getting tormented by the noise, but knowing well, it wasn't his biggest fear, but the one of his so called father.

He had forgotten to prepare something for dinner. He always made dinner for them, but that day he only painted. He was so happy, absorbed by the colourful lines made by his crayons, all over the paper sheets...

He reflected the sunsets he had been eager to keep forever for so many years, and the raindrops that covered the glass of the windows, and the coffee colour of the autumn fallen leaves.

He forgot to make dinner, and soon the monster was going to arrive home, that murky, lonely home, and his hunger, unsatisfied, would become into anger. A terrible anger that would only be ceased by punishment, blood and pain.

If only he could escape, the unique thing keeping him locked into that wooden cage was fear; fear to the unknown world he had never seen.

Why wasn't he capable of running away? Why did he never thought about ending his misery by leaving?

He felt himself so weak and useless, that perhaps he was only a disgraced child, cursed to live his eternity as a prisoner of the one who gave him life.

He could only paint, and the monster had always looked to all those art books kept in dusty shelves with hate and repulsion.

So the kid never thought that painting or art was something worthy of his time. He learned that only hunting was a good ability, one he at no time wanted, but still inherited from his father. He knew well how to use a knife against deers or any moving thing, and to shoot a gun at the flying birds. He did it so many times, forcefully, but effortless, he hated himself for it.

It was some sort of gift he didn't want to have.

His heart clenched in a whirl of anxious pain. What else could he do but waiting for the time when the monster will end his short, ephemeral and meaningless life?

There was no future for a little man like him, who could only dive into his own imagination waters, hoping there to find some comfort.

The creaky door swung opened in a thunderstorm jolt, making the kid gasp as it almost, stopped his heart.

The sound of the heavy boots scattered even the stormy noises, and then he knew without seeing, that the monster was there.