In the storm cellar, he had no bed, no blankets, and no pillow, only a dirt floor. When the door closed, the place built for food storage and taking shelter from severe storms became his prison. When used for that purpose, Timmy often cried himself to sleep on the dirt floor.

            When he wasn’t crying or sleeping, he watched the shadows created in the darkness. Shadows and sounds combined with the smell of rotting fruits and vegetables shaped the world in Timmy’s dungeon. He knew when he got old enough it would be his job to clear out the rot. Therefore, he suffered quietly and waited.

            Just the thought of the storm cellar put fear in his heart and a tremble in his hands.  He didn’t notice the grapefruit-sized rock lying in his row behind him. Stepping back quickly, his bare heel struck the rock, tumbling him backward.

            As a result, a jarring crash to the ground was not painful and would have been fun if not for the damage caused by his fall. Timmy had fallen on the row of corn he’d just finished weeding. Feeling the roughness of the leaves through his worn shirt, he lay on his back, giving a sideward stare at the cornstalk nearest his head. Beneath him lay three broken stalks.

            Getting to his feet, Timmy turned to look down, inspecting the damage. The cornstalks were cleanly broken off at their bases. He knew there was no saving them. Knowing the likelihood broken corn would be noticed, Timmy quickly saw the makings of another beating.

             If Mom or Dad see this, I’m going to get killed, he shouted within his mind.

            On hands and knees, he gathered the broken stalks in his arms with the intention of throwing them into the nearby woods, but when he stood to his feet, he saw her.

            His mother stood statue-still, holding the screen door open with her body, watching him. Having been caught in the middle of the act was bad enough, but his mother had the wire in one hand, bouncing its loop off her other hand. From ten yards away, Timmy clearly saw the look on her face. His young eyes focused on her frown and the up-twist at one corner of her mouth; then she spoke. She did not say words of encouragement; instead, she spat out words he’d heard repeatedly in his young life.