Memories of punishment in childhood

Throughout my life, I carried terrible memories of my childhood. Mom's shouts, father's drunken curses and his dream to grow up, to become strong own hands ...
This town was exactly the same as the one I grew up in. Quiet streets, lots of greenery ... At first glance an idyllic, pretty place. But I knew how terrible it was to live in such places. Chronically sleepy like lethargy, the atmosphere of eternal indifference to everything, these unemployed men whose only concern is the question of where to get another bottle of vodka, these disheveled women surrounded by a herd of the same disheveled, screaming children. Every time I passed by a local drunkard, from whose mouth a dirty swearing erupted, I recalled my own father. As long as I can remember, he was always drunk.

One of the first life skills that I learned from two years ago was the need to constantly have a place where you can escape, hide from the endless beatings and terrible abuse of my father. He was coming home, and I was hiding under the bed. But my father and without me was on whom to drive away his anger. Mom ... Every evening in our house ended in assault, and in the morning my mother hid bruises behind sunglasses and went to work ... And I dreamed. Only desires were not like all children. I did not need a bicycle, chocolates or new shoes. I wanted to ... kill a monster father. Many years passed and my father is still alive. Only to beat one of us he will never be. Mom died. Quite young. And I left home when I was barely eighteen.

She graduated from the law school and now has been assigned to this sleepy town. Like a mockery, like a sentence: to live for you, Olesya, in such a place for the rest of your days. I gave myself a year to get excellent advice from my colleagues and get out of this marsh. That evening, I decided to quickly get acquainted with the materials of the criminal case, which was to be considered next week. Someone Igor B. to death, his friend Fedor G. scored a mass of witnesses, the confession of the accused. Unintentional killing. I opened the case, began to flip through the documents. Several sheets of writing paper were sealed separately. The accused states the course of events. "On Friday night I was at home and was repairing my motorcycle when Fedor G. came to see me, he was drunk, so I began to persuade him to go home. Fedor was very excited and said that his girlfriend Anya did not want to see him again, but he did not understand why. I was sorry for Fedka. We lived next door and were friends from childhood. Even then we dreamed of how to break out of this hole, tried to study well. Yes, apparently, not destiny.

After school Fedya did not find a job, and his hands began to fall. I'll get drunk, come to me and start complaining: "I can see that I'm going to die! He could not get out of here! "That evening, he was particularly upset. I knew his girlfriend and believed that while Fedka meets Anya, he has a chance to break out of the vicious circle. He began to persuade me:
- Igor, go to Anka. You talk to her, you say that I will change. She will believe you. And she does not even want to listen to me. Well, be a friend!
"But where are we going to look for it now?" Maybe we'll postpone until tomorrow? You'll sober up, calm down a bit ...
- Yes, she's at the disco. I do not want anything to be postponed! Come on!
And we went. It seemed to me that Fedor himself very much wants changes in his life. First we walked along the road in silence, and then Fedka stopped, took a bottle of vodka from his backpack, uncorked it, sipped it and handed it to me:
"Come on, brother, let's have a drink."
"Leave me alone," I answered rudely.
The whole idea with this campaign began to seem to me idiotic. But it was too late to turn home. When we arrived, the disco was in full swing. Anya stood with the girls at the wall and talked about something.
"Go," Fyodor pushed me. "Bring her outside." Tell her I want to talk to her. Come on, brother, you have to persuade her to come out to me.
But Anya categorically refused to go. Her stubbornness was understandable:
- Igor, I have already discussed everything with Fedka. Let him leave me alone. I can not see him anymore!
But I remembered that I had promised a friend to help him make peace with his girlfriend.
"Anya," I began to persuade her. "He wants to say that he loves you and for this is ready to start a new life." Just talk to him, - I asked, - Well, at least for my sake.
When we went outside, Fedka managed to finish a bottle of vodka and now did not knit a bast. He leaned against the drainpipe at the club wall, clung to it to stay on his feet and not fall. Fedka saw Anya, smiled drunkly and tried to embrace her. The girl jumped back and looked at him with disgust. And then with a conviction - at me. Fedka cursed and spread his hands.
- You can not hug your own girl!
"You're drunk!" She said disgustedly. "What shall I talk about with you?"
I stood beside them and did not know what to do next. Anya slowly moved deeper into the yard and sat down on the bench.
"Igor, you could not take a walk," she said. "I want to talk to this hero alone for a few minutes."

I walked away. I smoked and thought that I was a complete fool and that I would never again go on about Fedka. Then I heard a stifled cry. And I recognized him from the first second. My mother always screamed like this when a drunken father beat her. Very quiet, but very scary. I was frightened and rushed to where he came from. Everything went on as if in a dream. I saw Fedka, who pushed Anya to the ground and beat the girl with her feet. She had a face ... of my mother. Scared, with eyes wide with terror. And blood. I saw her in the dark. "You're a cheap bitch!" - hissed Fedka and beat everything, he beat ... I suddenly scared screaming and rushed at him. I probably wanted to drag him away from Ani, but he turned around and hit me hard on the face with all his might. Fist. So my father always beat me when I tried to protect my mother. Blood poured into my temples, and I rushed to Fedka like crazy. Dragged it from her, pushed, and he fell to the ground. I began to beat him. My drunken father was standing before my eyes ... Fedya was already lying motionless on the ground, and I still beat and could not stop. Anna rose from the ground and cried out:
"Enough! You're gonna kill him! Stop! "I stopped and with hatred looked at Fedka, who was lying in front of me. He was no longer breathing ... "

I closed the case file and went home. All night long I was haunted by the image of a little boy who, like a little girl, hid under the bed when my father beat up my mother, and dreamed of ... killing him. I could not judge him. For I understood and justified my brother, who had to bear this terrible cross of terrible childhood all my life. In the morning, I asked my colleague to look at this case for me.
The employee, after listening to my request, immediately took the case to himself, but reminded: - Olesya, you understand that by this you move your dream of transfer from here for at least another six months. What could I say to the lucky man, who, apparently, no one ever touched a finger?