Sailor Claudiusstory
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Sailor Claudius, originally named Severin Wolff, was born on December 28th, 1911. His biological mother was nowhere to be seen, Sailor however was left in a corn field.
There were rumors that the mother was a farmstead who couldn’t handle the burden of losing the job his adoptive family had given her so kindly, others said it was just luck. No matter, Sailor was taken in by two landowners, Juliet Wolff and Magnus Wolff.
Sailor lived a relatively alright life as a young child, before he could comprehend the horrors of home. His father was far from a good man, a farmer drunkard who was a sucker for America. His mother on the other hand was a sucker for nature, making quilts from stories she’d heard as a young girl.
Despite believing in mother nature, mother nature didn’t believe in Juliet. Magnus often beat her, sometimes leaving her on the brink of death. Sailor wasn’t a direct victim of this until he was taught about kindness from the nice old man next door. He spoke of warriors fighting the bad, of beasts turned tarred and feathered in the face of a true hearted soldier. It all inspired Sailor to take a stand against his father, putting himself in the way of his father during a brutal attack.
His mother tried desperately to push him away, yet his tiny feet stayed planted to the ground. He had a big heart, but a big heart didn’t make a big body. That day he learnt of loss, and in the arms of his crying mother he swore he wouldn’t let it happen again.
His arm was bruised terribly, making his attempts at drawing or writing painful. No matter, he stayed determined to make gifts for his mother, to make up for the damage he’d caused.
One day, he thought of a character, a cat lady with sharp eyes and claws that shimmered in the shadows. She stayed by him in the darkest nights, a bright light for his mother who loved seeing her little boy full of joy.
But through Sailor’s efforts to keep her afloat, Magnus always dragged her back down every time.
The most violent of attacks left his mother bare and begging, cheek slashed and bleeding. The worst was yet to come, Sailor knows it well.
He put himself in front of her again, memories of every beatdown in his mind. Not this time, he thought, never again. He kept his word, fighting back when his father began the punches. He wasn’t prepared though for his father to pin him down. His mother screamed and cried, but now Magnus had a new fixation. Sailor remembered the feel of cold cold glass against his throat, pressing in slow…
He remembered the way his fathers hands tore at his trousers like a wolf. He’d seen his father do it to his mother countless times, it made him scared. It made him see just how small he was.
He didn't have to stay there for long, the sharp eyed cat woman returned and scooped him into her arms. He remembers her only, but not the rest.
Once it was over, he could remember his mother holding him, sobbing into his tiny neck. He was wide eyed like a bug, trembling like an animal in a storm. But he did not feel anything aside from numbness, could not feel anything but a searing hot pain where his mother would wash him.
His childhood felt like a blur of his mother holding him, of family breakfasts that were so fake it felt like TV. Rare dinners where Magnus wasn't drunk out of mind, Sailor liked those. But of course, most of his memories consisted of the sound of belts, unclicking and whipping, either that or the coldness of the metal on his thighs.
Severin was a toy for his father to torment his mother with, a useless butterfly with it's wings tied to a board. But, he still had his wings. He had his creativity, his artistic talent, and even if everyday consisted of a new form of hell, Sailor wanted to see the color in it. The brush strokes of it.
He was more accepting of the pain, taking it easier and easier. Magnus clearly hated the submission, wanted him to scream. To fight back. To beg. Because those were the noises that hurt, that showed who was in control. If Sailor was quiet, if he took everything with a sniffle and a whimper then he wasn't hurt enough.
The beatings turned to torture, to boiling water, to being drowned, to being assaulted with items now instead of just his father's cock. His life was hellish, a never ending cycle of pain and torment. Everything in the house turned into a hazard, every strand of hair was a weapon, and Severin was the target.
But, one day, it all stopped. The day Magnus seemingly broke. An ordinary family dinner, one that was fake—as Sailor liked it. He was around 7 at the time, playing the part of the good son perfectly. But Juliet seemingly wasn't satisfied with pretending anymore. She was tired of Magnus. Of this life. Magnus's ranting turned to a fight, one that quickly got physical. But there was a big difference here, Magnus didn't stop. He kept pummeling and pummeling, more and more until the gorey gaping dent in Juliet's head gave way to Magnus's fist, knuckles painted red with blood from Juliet and the cuts of bone shard.
Severin stayed there, sat in his tiny dining chair. He for once, didn't defend Juliet. He couldn't. He was terrified. He watched as the fist drove deeper and deeper into her trembling body, screams turning to whimpers to gurgles. A sight Sailor would keep in his memories for the rest of his life.
Soon, Magnus snapped out of it, horrified at the realization that consequences were due for the murder of his wife. The people around knew her, knew her schedule, her disappearance would be noticed, his slaughter would be found. The thought of consequences drove Magnus to his shotgun.
He stared at a Severin who was now hugging his mother's still body, giving him a simple word of advice.
‘Freedom always comes at a price.’
Severin spent one month and three days with the bodies, eating what he could reach and find. He made art to pass the time, watched TV huddled with his mother's rotting corpse. He was still scared, but he was occupying himself. His bed was abandoned, all his time was spent with the corpses. He'd managed to drag his mother to the couch, lying her down. Magnus was dragged to his study, pushed into the chair he spent most of his days in.
He was scared. He was a child. He was breaking. He was… Alone. He couldn't even turn to his mother's face for comfort. His fragile young mind tried to put the pieces together, tried to manipulate the painting but nothing worked. His family was dead, and he was alone.
But not for long. He was found by the neighbors who had grown concerned. As he was escorted out by the police, he heard the neighbors whispering. They never liked the family anyway, found the wife annoying and the man to be too masculine. The boy?
…
Too submissive.
A word that stuck with Sailor even on the way to the orphanage.
IT WAS ALL A DREAM!!! (or something...)SPOILER WARNING
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i'm replying!
stop that.