Loss

Less then a second, barely a tick of the hand on a clock. It was all he had and it took everything. He couldn't remember the thought that flashed through his mind in the moment, the train of logic rammed down the rails of his brain. And yet, he agreed. Whatever they were, those thoughts, those bits of logic and reason, were deemed sound and worthy of action. Thus he had acted, his anger flared, muscles tight with blood and rage, and he struck. 

Their was no booze to be blame, no drug ready to shoulder the burden, this was all him. Sound of mind, shamed to his soul. He looked at his son and felt his heart break. The boy cringed and cried, face red with tears and pain, and the mark of his father's hand. 

The man broke and fled. He had never done such before and fear doing more. He cried, his rage seemed recklessness now, his actions hideous. He didn't make it out of the room before he hit the ground sobbing. He hurt his boy, his son, and for what? A child that cowered from him in fear shock. 

Why, why was the anger easy to give into? Biting at his brain, ready to let slip? He struck his son in way he had never before because he fed that beast and he hated himself for it. 

Would his son forgive him? Could he trust himself around him again? What was to happen to them? Was their family broken?