Micky
Man
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
- Messages
- 2
- Points
- 8
- Age
- 23
Hello. As you have likely concluded, my name is Micky. Micky Rossi, that is. This is the name that I was... issued at birth; decided upon by my inscrutable father, Reginald Rossi. As you may have also concluded, my father demonstrated... little regard for grammatical standards at the time of my birth, as he did indeed fail to spell 'Mickey' correctly when completing my birth certificate. My mother, who's name I shall refuse to divulge, attributed this... instance of carefree behavior to alcohol abuse. In fact, she perceived much of his activity to be heavily influenced by alcohol. Not to imply that she was in any social position to judge...
My father was the more prominent... parental figure throughout my childhood. This was an easy feat, considering that my mother was completely absent for the vast majority of my days as a child. By all accounts, my birth was the accidental product of desperation and careless risk-taking. However, to my father, my existence claimed priority over his... tendency... to consume large amounts of alcoholic beverages. As difficult as it may be to believe, he truly did need to drink. The universe had been mercilessly cruel to him, and the only two objects with which he shared mutual... love... were alcohol and of course, myself. Not even my mother was at all enthusiastic about supporting him, as indicated by the suffering he was forced to endure in our version of... divorce court. She bore false witness against him, wrongfully... informing them that he was an adulterer and was physically abusive toward me. Investigators did not seem to show interest in asking me to verify these claims, based on the... argument from my mother that I was too... "traumatized" from his "torment" to give a reliable response. Upon examination of my lack of injuries at the time, the dreadful... conclusion was somehow reached...
Definitive evidence was never their field of expertise. They trusted every lie that she allowed herself to share, though paid my father no mind when he offered the truth. Perhaps they were painfully unaware that women are capable of lying. Weeks passed until my father's punishment. My mother did not acknowledge that I could... understand the injustice unfolding before me on that day - watching with a dull, defeated expression plastered on my face as the guards mercilessly whipped my father, shredding his skin and tearing out small pieces of flesh with every lash upon his exposed back. The... salting of his many wounds somehow encouraged her to smile, which I remain confused about. Did she believe that he truly deserved what he received? That he should be suffering? I would dare to wager that it was likely because to her, the act of manipulative evil was a sinister... pleasure.
At this point in time, you have in all likelihood made the observation that I had no desire to live under the custody of my mother. It was two grueling and exhaustively painful months of... living... with her. Every fortnight, the... enforcers that were tasked with the forceful acquisition of my father's finances would arrive at our front door, ever-so-kindly delivering to her the spoils of evil; 'child support' funds. "Oh I admire you, ma'am." "You are so brave to speak out against him, bless you." Whether or not those compliments were deserved is debatable. One must not find themselves stumbling over the thought that none of the funds actually went into support for my upbringing. Though she did squander an approximate 75% of the... stolen assets on a range of bizarre and surely unhealthy narcotic products, the remaining resources were allocated to rent, clothing and food for herself. The leftovers were mine. Sometimes, she would return to the house (that I dare not regard as a home) feeling... generous... and would beat me with some of the items that she had purchased. I recall having an ice-pick... driven into my abdomen. It caused me pain. However, this was justified because according to her, I required an ice-pick in the abdomen for conveying to her the ultimate gesture of... disrespect - making the statement that I didn't hate my father.
The remarkably kind staff of our local hospital were... gracious in assisting my recovery. She, as conniving as usual, made the threat that I would no longer be holding the gift of life if I were to share with the nurses the true cause of my... ailment. For some foolish reason, I interpreted the threat as a promise. After being discharged from the safety of the hospital, I was once again in the psychological prison of my mother's house, far away from my perceived paradise that was my home; The Reginald Rossi residence. However, something was different this time. Mother was far more irritated than she typically was, as can be expected from withdrawal symptoms. The... payments were not reaching her any more. The investigators had treated my injuries as suspicious and temporarily suspended the alimony, which had devastating effects on her stability as a human being. Being a child, I was not fully developed and could not comprehend the danger that I was being exposed to as my mother began he descent into insanity, being deprived of the narcotic products that she so... desperately required to stay connected to reality, even if the connection was weak.
They came knocking one day, the inspectors, bringing an end to my two torturous months under her custody. Inviting themselves into the property and making their way past her, their intentions were clearly to interact with me in some capacity that transcended the need to even hold a conversation with my mother about the issue. One of the towering, uniformed men asked that one blessed question: "Is Mommy hurting you?" I glanced over at my mother, who was standing behind the two men. When our eyes met, she immediately held her finger over her mouth, making a 'shush gesture'. I have never been rebellious or a rule-breaker by any means, although an... exception was made as I informed them of the events that had occurred over the past two months. Crossing my fingers behind my back, I was... hoping that all would be well after this. One of the investigators took me into our back yard, where we sat for a short amount of time as he tried to distract me from the pseudo-interrogation being performed on my mother inside the house. I... somehow knew that she was lying to them. Meanwhile, I could additionally hear one of the men providing information to somebody in the front yard. After the investigators had completed whatever strange operation that they were conducting, they simply... absquatulated. That is to say, promptly exited the property without an explanation.
Returning to the interior of the house, I came to... discover that the only occupants were myself and my mother. Without so much as a single word, I was met by her with a barrage of punches and kicks that forced me onto the cold tile floor, losing blood from the nose and mouth. This did not continue for an extensive period of time, due to being halted by the front door of the house swinging open, followed by a familiar voice. "Enough of that!" My father hastily approached me, inspecting my injuries. She made numerous threats as he confirmed that I was 'okay' as most individuals say. During this process, my mother... acquired a kitchen knife, utilizing it as a weapon in an attempt to intimidate him into allowing my suffering to continue. He stated that "it was over" and that she had "lost custody". In an apparent last-resort effort to prevent her social power being wholly revoked, she rushed toward me as I was still on the floor, knife in her hand. In reflection of that scenario, I... hypothesize that my mother was possibly attempting to use me as a hostage of sorts. This activity came to a standstill almost immediately when my father implemented a swift tackle to prevent her from reaching me. The whiplash from the tackle was so severe that her blade jerked forward and added a minor cut to his back, which was akin to adding a drop of water to an ocean, because his unjust punishments had transformed the back half of his torso into a wasteland of scar tissue. After taking time in short recovery from the tackle, my mother once again tried to reach me, except I was now standing upright. You should be aware that my father would not have allowed her to do this. Standing with the immovability of a statue between myself and her, he sends a... devastating, seismic punch into her face which appeared to have... exceptionally adverse effects on her physical health. In fact, if I recall correctly, I believe that I could audibly hear the breaking of bones.
After the particularly... awkward event came to a conclusion, my father made an especially appealing promise to me; the promise that he would never hit me. Adamantly, he stressed to me that I should never replicate the behavior that I witnessed my mother exhibit. I felt a glimmering optimism when entering his house - my home. For the remainder of my childhood, I would live there in safety and happiness. We both found reliable employment and were able to accumulate enough financial stability until we could relocate to a more favorable nation, a nation in which all of the previously mentioned... negative events would have never even had a chance of transpiring.
Anyway, my name is Micky and that is how I procured the means of gaining access to this community that I am... delighted to join.
My father was the more prominent... parental figure throughout my childhood. This was an easy feat, considering that my mother was completely absent for the vast majority of my days as a child. By all accounts, my birth was the accidental product of desperation and careless risk-taking. However, to my father, my existence claimed priority over his... tendency... to consume large amounts of alcoholic beverages. As difficult as it may be to believe, he truly did need to drink. The universe had been mercilessly cruel to him, and the only two objects with which he shared mutual... love... were alcohol and of course, myself. Not even my mother was at all enthusiastic about supporting him, as indicated by the suffering he was forced to endure in our version of... divorce court. She bore false witness against him, wrongfully... informing them that he was an adulterer and was physically abusive toward me. Investigators did not seem to show interest in asking me to verify these claims, based on the... argument from my mother that I was too... "traumatized" from his "torment" to give a reliable response. Upon examination of my lack of injuries at the time, the dreadful... conclusion was somehow reached...
Definitive evidence was never their field of expertise. They trusted every lie that she allowed herself to share, though paid my father no mind when he offered the truth. Perhaps they were painfully unaware that women are capable of lying. Weeks passed until my father's punishment. My mother did not acknowledge that I could... understand the injustice unfolding before me on that day - watching with a dull, defeated expression plastered on my face as the guards mercilessly whipped my father, shredding his skin and tearing out small pieces of flesh with every lash upon his exposed back. The... salting of his many wounds somehow encouraged her to smile, which I remain confused about. Did she believe that he truly deserved what he received? That he should be suffering? I would dare to wager that it was likely because to her, the act of manipulative evil was a sinister... pleasure.
At this point in time, you have in all likelihood made the observation that I had no desire to live under the custody of my mother. It was two grueling and exhaustively painful months of... living... with her. Every fortnight, the... enforcers that were tasked with the forceful acquisition of my father's finances would arrive at our front door, ever-so-kindly delivering to her the spoils of evil; 'child support' funds. "Oh I admire you, ma'am." "You are so brave to speak out against him, bless you." Whether or not those compliments were deserved is debatable. One must not find themselves stumbling over the thought that none of the funds actually went into support for my upbringing. Though she did squander an approximate 75% of the... stolen assets on a range of bizarre and surely unhealthy narcotic products, the remaining resources were allocated to rent, clothing and food for herself. The leftovers were mine. Sometimes, she would return to the house (that I dare not regard as a home) feeling... generous... and would beat me with some of the items that she had purchased. I recall having an ice-pick... driven into my abdomen. It caused me pain. However, this was justified because according to her, I required an ice-pick in the abdomen for conveying to her the ultimate gesture of... disrespect - making the statement that I didn't hate my father.
The remarkably kind staff of our local hospital were... gracious in assisting my recovery. She, as conniving as usual, made the threat that I would no longer be holding the gift of life if I were to share with the nurses the true cause of my... ailment. For some foolish reason, I interpreted the threat as a promise. After being discharged from the safety of the hospital, I was once again in the psychological prison of my mother's house, far away from my perceived paradise that was my home; The Reginald Rossi residence. However, something was different this time. Mother was far more irritated than she typically was, as can be expected from withdrawal symptoms. The... payments were not reaching her any more. The investigators had treated my injuries as suspicious and temporarily suspended the alimony, which had devastating effects on her stability as a human being. Being a child, I was not fully developed and could not comprehend the danger that I was being exposed to as my mother began he descent into insanity, being deprived of the narcotic products that she so... desperately required to stay connected to reality, even if the connection was weak.
They came knocking one day, the inspectors, bringing an end to my two torturous months under her custody. Inviting themselves into the property and making their way past her, their intentions were clearly to interact with me in some capacity that transcended the need to even hold a conversation with my mother about the issue. One of the towering, uniformed men asked that one blessed question: "Is Mommy hurting you?" I glanced over at my mother, who was standing behind the two men. When our eyes met, she immediately held her finger over her mouth, making a 'shush gesture'. I have never been rebellious or a rule-breaker by any means, although an... exception was made as I informed them of the events that had occurred over the past two months. Crossing my fingers behind my back, I was... hoping that all would be well after this. One of the investigators took me into our back yard, where we sat for a short amount of time as he tried to distract me from the pseudo-interrogation being performed on my mother inside the house. I... somehow knew that she was lying to them. Meanwhile, I could additionally hear one of the men providing information to somebody in the front yard. After the investigators had completed whatever strange operation that they were conducting, they simply... absquatulated. That is to say, promptly exited the property without an explanation.
Returning to the interior of the house, I came to... discover that the only occupants were myself and my mother. Without so much as a single word, I was met by her with a barrage of punches and kicks that forced me onto the cold tile floor, losing blood from the nose and mouth. This did not continue for an extensive period of time, due to being halted by the front door of the house swinging open, followed by a familiar voice. "Enough of that!" My father hastily approached me, inspecting my injuries. She made numerous threats as he confirmed that I was 'okay' as most individuals say. During this process, my mother... acquired a kitchen knife, utilizing it as a weapon in an attempt to intimidate him into allowing my suffering to continue. He stated that "it was over" and that she had "lost custody". In an apparent last-resort effort to prevent her social power being wholly revoked, she rushed toward me as I was still on the floor, knife in her hand. In reflection of that scenario, I... hypothesize that my mother was possibly attempting to use me as a hostage of sorts. This activity came to a standstill almost immediately when my father implemented a swift tackle to prevent her from reaching me. The whiplash from the tackle was so severe that her blade jerked forward and added a minor cut to his back, which was akin to adding a drop of water to an ocean, because his unjust punishments had transformed the back half of his torso into a wasteland of scar tissue. After taking time in short recovery from the tackle, my mother once again tried to reach me, except I was now standing upright. You should be aware that my father would not have allowed her to do this. Standing with the immovability of a statue between myself and her, he sends a... devastating, seismic punch into her face which appeared to have... exceptionally adverse effects on her physical health. In fact, if I recall correctly, I believe that I could audibly hear the breaking of bones.
After the particularly... awkward event came to a conclusion, my father made an especially appealing promise to me; the promise that he would never hit me. Adamantly, he stressed to me that I should never replicate the behavior that I witnessed my mother exhibit. I felt a glimmering optimism when entering his house - my home. For the remainder of my childhood, I would live there in safety and happiness. We both found reliable employment and were able to accumulate enough financial stability until we could relocate to a more favorable nation, a nation in which all of the previously mentioned... negative events would have never even had a chance of transpiring.
Anyway, my name is Micky and that is how I procured the means of gaining access to this community that I am... delighted to join.
