A Scripta

Thwunk.

Lodestar knew that sound well. It was the sound of something forcibly entering a human body. The object was usually not sharp, but didn't have the same "crunch" or "pop" as a hammer or a bat. This object would actually go through the body somehow.

Slurp - Thwunk.

Lodestar stared at the mass on the ground that might have been a man but was now a pile of flesh, blood and bones. He looked at Nate, who had a wild, feral look, as if he would jump over the pile to attack him in the same way. Nate had in his hand a simple carpenter's hammer, full of blood and gore.

If I leave him alone with this he'll be stuck here forever, killing the man who frightened him more than anything, the man who actually beat him within an inch of his life; who, when Nate didn't do what he demanded, proceded to beat him with a paddle used for paddle-ball, broke it, grabbed a poker, then started beating him with that. Then the man proceeded to get his way anyway.

Nate was five years old and wouldn't sit on his uncle's lap.

"Nate, look at me, Nate. Focus."

He looked up, took a shuddering breath, looked down at his handiwork. "I hate him, I hate him."

"He's gone. He can't hurt you."

"He hurts me here!" Nate grabbed his chest.

Lodestar kicked the body. "You've gone beyond this, Nate."

He looked up at Lodestar. "What do you mean?"

"You know what he was trying to do, your uncle the pedophile." Lodestar stepped on the mass of flesh. "But it didn't get to you, you know why?"

"Why?"

Lodestar smiled at him. "You love Dais'ke."

He looked confused.

"You can love a man or a woman. Some people can't after being exposed to that." Lodestar looked into Nate's eyes and said, "Let it go."

Nate stared at him, dropped the hammer. It disappeared before it hit the ground.