✨ Chapter 1: Shadows of Mondays
✨ Chapter 1: Shadows of Mondays
Every Monday was a day of dread.
As the sun began to set on Sunday evening, casting long, haunting shadows across the room, he knew what was coming. Monday wasn’t just the start of a new week — it was a storm waiting to hit. And when his father returned, it felt like thunder crashing through the walls of their home.
He was just five years old — small, quiet, unnoticed. A tiny boy with an oversized burden. And every Monday, he learned how to disappear better than the week before.
🕳️ Invisibility Was Survival
The creak of the front door was his signal. Like clockwork, he’d vanish into corners, slip behind furniture, hold his breath like it could shield him from the belt. That dreaded belt — the one that didn’t just sting his skin, but carved silence into his soul.
His siblings never noticed. His mother said little. But he? He learned the art of shrinking himself. Hiding became a habit. Silence became a second language.
His secret sanctuary was the dusty attic — a world of cobwebs, cracked trunks, and forgotten boxes. It was the only space where he could breathe. Where imagination replaced fear. Where “Tiny” — the name he earned at school for his size — became a superhero in stories only he could see.
🎭 Two Faces, One Soul
To survive, he split in two.
Outside, he was the obedient son. Quiet. Careful. Controlled. But inside? Inside he was building a world — a safe place where he was unbreakable.
School became his escape, even if it meant being invisible there too. Sitting still, speaking softly, just trying to exist. It was the only place where his father’s shadow couldn’t reach.
But every school day ended with the same dread. That long walk home. That deep breath before the door. That interrogation masked as “concern.”
“What did you learn today?”
“Where’s your homework?”
“Why didn’t you get it right?”
The questions were traps. One wrong answer, and the belt would speak again.
✝️ Tuesdays Were for Church. Not Peace.
As if Mondays weren’t enough, Tuesdays came with a new kind of pressure — the church routine.
Dressed up, Bible in hand, walking behind his parents like a soldier heading into battle. His father wasn’t just a strict man at home — he was strict with scripture. At church, there was no space to breathe. At home, every verse became a test. Miss a word? Another punishment.
From Genesis to Revelation, scripture became survival. Not faith. Not growth. Just fear.
The belt didn’t skip church days. If anything, it praised them.
😌 Midweek: A Taste of Freedom
But Wednesdays? Pure joy.
By the time he got home from school, his father had left for work. The house was lighter. His smile brighter. Even his footsteps felt free. He played. He laughed. He was still “Tiny” — but the fearless version. The version he created just for days like this.
He knew it wouldn’t last. But he clung to every second like it was gold.
🌀 The Cycle Never Slept
The week moved in loops. Tiny moments of peace swallowed by long nights of tension. Fear became routine. And yet, hope found a way to survive.
In the attic, he whispered promises to himself:
"One day, I’ll be free."
"One day, I won’t flinch at footsteps."
"One day, I’ll be more than Tiny."
And that’s the thing about fear — it doesn’t kill your dreams. It just buries them. But this boy? He kept digging. Digging through pain. Through silence. Through shame.
Because even in the darkest attic, a spark can still survive.
🔖 Coming Up Next Week…
Chapter 2: Tiny’s First Fight – When fear meets fire. A moment at school changes everything.
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And if this story resonates with you or you’ve ever battled shadows of your own — don’t stay silent. Drop a comment. Let’s talk.
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