Survivor?

Illuminating the past and the present

In The Frying Pan

The young boy was one of a very large family. Due to the size of the family and their boisterous nature he was somewhat overwhelmed, He was quite unlike his siblings. Shy, deeply introverted, undernourished, afraid even. He was the runt of the litter. As a result they took advantage of him. By the tender age of ten he had already been sexually abused by a member of his own family.

Another sibling attempted to kill him on three separate occasions. He had also been sexually abused by a next door neighbour, but was too afraid to speak out about what had happened. He had been warned that there would be harsh consequences if he dared to be a snitch.

In the street and at school he fared no better. A day did not go by without somebody lashing out to give him a thump.

Just about anybody who wanted to make a name for themselves, to curry favour with the big boys, to feel good about themselves, would swing a well aimed punch at the the easy meat that the boy was.

One day in metalwork class another pupil came up behind the boy as he was changing the bit on an industrial lathe. The boy had his whole arm inside the top of the latch with a chuck key, tightening the chuck. The other boy slyly stretched his arm past the side of the boy to touch green button to start the machine. Fortunately the machine was set at a slow speed. Nevertheless the boy intuitively let go of the chuck key and pulled his arm back, unintentionally smashing his elbow into the face of the culprit trying to maim him.

Later on that day, waiting to go into another class the culprit decided to get his revenge for the elbow in his face. He slyly stepped from behind the boy and spat a horrible gob of green phlegm into the ear of another pupil standing in front of the boy. The culprit then deftly stepped back into line behind the boy. The phlegm victim immediately presumed the culprit was the boy and threatened to get him back after school.

The boy protested his innocence and pointed out the real culprit, who protested his innocence. It was decided that the boy was the aggressor.

After school the boy was grabbed outside the school gates by a gang of about fifteen and frogmarched down the side of a parade of shops.

First the gang shoved a cigarette in the boys mouth. Inhaling the smoke made him dizzy.

Then they spun him around and pushed him from one side of the highly knit circle to the other. Suddenly the phlegm victim jumped on the boy and easily pushed him onto his back on the floor. The phlegm victim then sat astride the boys weak chest, trapping his arms down his sides. The bully then grabbed hold of the boys ears and began to repeatedly and forcefully lift the boys head and smash his head back onto the concrete paving flags. Others in the circle kicked the boy in the abdomen and spat on his face. Eventually a passing shopper went to investigate the melee and rescued the boy. The injuries were truly horrendous.

They almost killed the boy. The seething crowd of teenage animals were blood lust satiated and ecstatically gleeful in seeing an innocent young boy half beaten to death.

To SS and BM

Out Of The Frying Pan

Four years later the boy left school, just about intact and full of relief at managing to survive the jungle that was school.

The boy, now as thin and fearful of the world as ever, went to work as an apprentice motor mechanic.

And now started what were called the initiation ceremonies by older men. To them is was just a bit of not so harmless fun.

To the boy it was another round of terror.

He was set on fire with petrol til his boiler suit fell of him in pieces. He was electrocuted by means of a car battery. He had car battery acid thrown all over his back, ruining yet another brand new boiler suit. It seemed the boy was supposed to go along with these practical jokes. He didn’t find it in the least funny. On the contrary he found it humiliating.

The worst of the attacks came when there was nobody else around but some swarthy, stinking thug of a lousy head mechanic.

This animal was quite fond of stealing the boys new tools. He was equally fond of throwing spanners and screwdrivers at the boy if he made a mistake.

On this day in particular, this louse crept up behind the boy and slipped two mini tyres over the boys head and down his arms. He then pushed the boy onto his back. This felt just like school all over again.

The sweaty dirty monster then dragged the boy to the toilets and dumped him inside a cubicle. He then disappeared, only to return two minutes later with a set of two two metre tall oxyacetylene gas bottles. The idiot then opened the tap on the oxy-torch, threw it down next to the boy and, stepped out of the cubicle. From a safe distance outside the idiot started to throw lit matches inside the cubicle. The boy was terrified at an imminent explosion any second. The plan to blow the boy up in the cubicle failed.

Frustrated, the idiot senior mechanic ran outside to the street and found an dirty ice-lolly stick on the pavement. He also found a pile of dog poop and scooped some of it up onto the dirty stick. He then went back to the cubicle and forcefully prised open the boys mouth to dawb the dog poo all inside the boy’s mouth.

Finally the boy was left alone and by dint of lots of contortions managed to escape the tyres and the terror.

How do I know this story? Because I was that boy.

I survived those terrors and a hell of a lot more. I have two failed marriages behind me due to extreme emotional abuse and physical violence against me.I simply walked away from it. I have four lovely children who I haven't seen for ten years for nothing more than revenge and lies. And for all that, and a whole lot more besides, for a great many years I labelled myself first a loser and then a survivor.

Now here I am, not at school, not at work, not at home with a fire breathing monster with issues and a bad attitude. For the first time in my life since my dearly beloved mother passed away eight years ago, I feel well and truly loved.

I have a home, a loving wife, my keyboard and a coffee when I damn well please. I spend my days pouring my heart and my soul into Illumination. I am truly passing an Illuminating time.

Not any more am I just a survivor. I now label myself a resilient, tenacious, creative, hardworking, decent human being who has an enormous amount of empathy for the underdog. But survivor is ok if you prefer.

To FT