Untitled Fiction

This is the story to go along with one of the photos Mike took. Mike, you asked me to write a fictional story about a kid having a rough time, and well this is what I created. It's written in first person, but it's for the most part fictional. Enjoy!

I grew up as a lower, middle-class child. My mom died four years ago, just two days before my thirteenth birthday. Dad was an alcoholic, though he never laid a hand on his wife, and under her protection he never touched me either. However, that all changed when she died. Dad despised me, probably because I was always Mommy’s little boy. I was the one thing he never wanted in life, a little son of a bitch, as he would call me. I was an accident, the condom was broken, and then nine months later, that little SoB was born. Dad had asked her many times to have an abortion, but she was against it.

After Mom died, it was just me living in the apartment with Dad, or John as I used to call him. I had tried to run away, trying to escape this place, but in the end the cops always caught up and I was returned to John. John was always drinking. As soon as he came home from work, he would pop open a bottle of booze and drink himself to sleep. John didn’t believe in going to bars to drink. Those were social places, and he was anything but. John would come home in the evening, undress and leave his clothes on the floor, before laying down in his underwear with yet another bottle of Bacardi.

John used to beat me, after Mom died. He told me it was my fault. I didn’t have her around anymore to protect me from him. I knew he hated me, but most of the time when he beat me, he was drunk. Half his swings would miss and he would stumble around, trying to regain his balance, it was funny to watch, but I dared not hit him back. As funny as it was, it still hurt, a lot. At the end of the week, my body would be so bruised that just walking would hurt me.

On some nights I would get lucky, or as lucky as I can be to avoid his beatings. John would frequently bring home different women. Often she would come over for a three night stretch. They didn’t even pay attention to me, when they had the brief chance to see me, before John would lock me in my room. He had the door locks reversed, and the keys in hiding. From my room I could always here their voices, it was times like these, that John wasn’t drunk. He was always talking in a light whisper, and then the women would giggle and laugh. After they sat in the kitchen for dinner, they would retreat to John’s room. The only sounds then were the creaking of the bed, and the occasional groans of the women. I wasn’t stupid; I always knew what they were doing. It disgusted me how such beautiful women would even associate with a thing like him.

One time, there was a woman, she was only around for one night only, and even then it wasn’t the whole time. She was the only one who ever actually noticed me. That night started out as usual, with John bringing another woman into the house to have his way with her. I knew as usual I should finish eating my microwave dinner before he got home. When he came in, he told her to wait outside for a moment. This is when he would yell at me and lock me in my room, so he could have the rest of the apartment to himself. She was a curious lady, and decided to let her curiosity get the best of her. She opened the door a crack, just enough to see John and I arguing. For some reason I had chosen this night to argue his orders, even I don’t know why, I just did. John got fed up with me arguing with him. He took a full swing and punched me in the chest. It knocked the breath out of me, and I fell back against the wall. As John grabbed my arm to drag me to my room, the woman who was supposed to be waiting outside came running in screaming. Ignoring her protests, John brought me to my room, pushed me in, shut the door and locked it. I was pretty out of breath, I could hear them screaming at each other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. They argued back and forth, before John finally told her to get out. Her only reply was to walk out and slam the door behind herself. The next day the cops came over.

Love Poem Thing That Russo Assigned, Leguizamo Prose Style

So I always hang out with lots of girls, and it's pretty much up to the point where I just flirt with them all because nobody takes me seriously and I can get away with it whether they're single or not. So I don't care that much. Now I do. That situation I put myself in at my friend's sweet sixteen made me go from single to taken pretty much overnight. Now I'm not trying to be full of myself, or sound desperate, but I honestly didn't know or care what was gonna happen after we exchanged numbers, I do that way to much to expect anything more than chillin' a few times and then never actually seeing them again. Sex isn't a particular interest so it's not like that's what I was aiming for. My plans worked sorta. Flirt with them all and then one of them will fall for me and thats how I ended up with my current girlfriend. And now obviously she will be able to see this, and she'll probably take this in some way that seems like I don't care, but that would be a wrong assumption. Did that somehow come out in lovingly prose? I tried to write it but I dont think it came out right. Well it's the effort that matters; right Mike?

In Memory of Gramps

This is a thing that has been on my mind for a long time now, and it wasn’t until just recently that I worked up enough strength to write it. It started with a writing prompt about what do I remember about growing up, and then adding onto that was the question my girlfriend asked me while we were on the phone the other night; “What’s the one thing you want the most right now?”

I replied saying, “I can’t tell you the truth, but you’re the most important to me.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“I can’t bring myself to say it.”

I didn't tell her on the phone that night, but texted her it to her afterwards. The one thing I wanted the most, was to have my grandfather back again, at least to say goodbye to.

I remember when I was younger, before I could ride my bicycle all over the county by myself. Those were the times which my grandfather, or as I knew him Gramps, would pick up my brother and me every weekend and take us out. My father, John, who now in life I refer to by first name, out of lack of a respect and the hatred I feel towards him. At home he constantly chose favorites between the two of us, spending time with either one or the other, but rarely both of us at the same time.

I plan to write more and extend this piece quite a bit longer, however this is the start of it, and one of the things that remains in my mind every day.

Manners

Manners, a lost art.
Everyone is rude today.
It hurts to say please?

I got a series of haikus I did recently. Putting them all in different posts, because they are all different and have different meanings.

Randomness

Haikus are random.
I say anything I want.
REFRIGERATOR!!!

Cake Balls

Baking cakes for class.
Sugar, everyone gets happy.
Wednesday, happy day.

Note: Wasn't sure if Wednesday is 2 or 3 syllables, depending on how you pronounce it: "Wed-nes-day", or "Wends-day".

Sadness

All these sad haikus,
Try thinking of happy thoughts.
Tried hard, nothing yet.

Sand Castle Parking

It's pouring outside,
Forcefully parked far away.
Need to park further.

Aches and Pains

Heartache, she's upset.
Hold her in my arms, calming.
Love, unending bond.

Saturday

She cries quietly,
Tears my soul apart inside.
Rain pours down outside.