Horrifyingly, time passes.
One tick in the clock, another.
Then the kid, trembling,
knows the time has come.
His mother opens the door.
"I'm home!", she says.
The kid is already
taking out the book
and the pencils,
and the computer
is long gone.
The mother sits down
with him, asking
without saying.
The kid is already
looking for the right page.
"Here, mom", he says,
trembling.
"This is the exercise"
"Then do it! Now!",
she says.
The kid can't draw
a single straight line,
the fear won't let him.
Then the loop starts.
The loop of answer
and correction,
answer and correction,
with the mother angrier
every single time.
But it was all part of a loop:
one day, then another,
the same horrific scene.
The clock ticking
until the hour of
pain.