He held his breath

He could feel every piece of himself tearing. He was a grenade on its path to exploding. Dark waves engulfed his eyes, hot tears forming streams over his cheeks. His body shivers cold bumps over his skin. Heavy pressure constricts his brain, and he feels a pang of bullets strike his abdomen. He curled himself in a tight ball, lying vulnerable on the bathroom floor.
The sounds behind the door were brass. The words yelled had anguish laced in every syllable. The booming exchange made nerves split open, and he pressed his shaking palms to his bony ears, squeezing his head, making the sound seem less present.
But the war continued. He could hear the sound of glass breaking, shattering into microscopic shards. Doors slammed shut, the impact of the motion shuddering the foundation of the house.
In the tiny bathroom he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. Hiding his small body away. But then he noticed the empty tub. How so much water could just lock him away. It could guide him to a true home, where nothing will ever make him cry.
A furious voice argued, “Have you lost your mind?”
But he continued to let the steaming liquid fill the bathtub; it was a bubbly tomb, inviting the lost.
Another object was thrown, and the boy slid into the tub. He held his breath.