The Outcast - Chapter One

If I knew what was going to happen when I went home, I would have stayed longer.

As it was, I left the park a little earlier than usual. The sun was setting, spreading marvelous colors across the darkening sky, but I was in no mood to see it. Sandra will never be attracted to someone like me. Her blue-gray eyes never focus on me. I guess, like everyone else, they'd gotten to her and made her hate me. It happens all the time. Story of my life, really. Same old, same old.

Another bad day for me.

Wandering through the all-too-familiar streets that lead to my small, two-story house, I open the door and glance inside. The smell of alcohol is thick in the air. Great.

Dad's home.

I'm home, Daddy, did ya miss me?

I wonder if he hears the creak of the door as it slides open, wonder if he can hear my heart as it pounds as loud as a drum in my ears. Slipping into the house, I silently close the door behind me and tiptoe through the small hallway to the living room, where I make a sharp turn and put a foot on the stairs, on my way up. Before I can take that first step, however, my dad grabs my shoulder and spins me around to face him. His eyes are glazed. He's so drunk, but still conscious. Good for him, bad for me. Really bad for me. At times like this, I really just want to run away until he calms down.

Sometimes that's an option.

But tonight was not one of those times.

He has me, I'm his tonight. And the wild look in his eyes tells me that it's not going to be fun.

I cast my gaze to the ground, unable to look at the maniac gleam in his eye any longer. His eyes look was so insane that if I look at them too long, I fear I might become insane as well. I hate him. I really, truly do, especially at times like this. I always wonder what it's like to have a normal, loving father like everyone else has. But I guess I don't deserve that; the Outcast isn't the Outcast with a loving father.

Sighing, I come back to the present and shift nervously under his gaze. The smell of alcohol radiates from his breath and drifts up into my nose, making me get a disgusted look on my face. I hate booze. He loves it. That just makes me hate it all the more. Little does that matter, when he's like this, or any other time, for that matter.

"Hey, Dad," I murmur, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. I hate it when he's like this, damn it. Why me?

His words are slurred. Great. I moan inwardly as he begins to speak. I try to follow what he's saying, but it's making no sense. Like usual. "You...house...home...drink...kill you..."

Uh oh. That last line got to me. Backing up, or at least trying to, I look up at him again. "Huh?" I question.

He slaps me across the face, hard. It stings and my head is whipped to the side. Ow! That hurt! I raise a hand and hold it over the burning spot, which I'm sure is either bruised or a really bright red. "You don' talk 'ike tha' t' 'e, boy," he grumbles in a drunken slur.

"...Yessir," I mumble, hoping to get out alive, to get out of this unscathed.

Another slap. I yelp; I can't help it sometimes. It hurts, damn it. Damn him for causing me this pain! Curse him! Damn him to hell! I blink up at him slowly. "Wha' did you say t' 'e, boy?"

"Nothing, sir," I say clearly, a little louder than before. His hand tightens around my shoulder, and I surpress yet another yelp. Damn him and his fingers! They're digging into my skin! Get it out, get it out, get it out! Leggo, leggo, leggo! "Dad...."

He laughs. Actually laughs! He's laughing at my pain! Damn it! "Go t' 'ed boy. 'Sider this a warnin'." he releases me with a shove, and I stumbles backward onto the stairs. I stare at him for a moment, amazed that he's letting me go so easily.

"Yessir," I stammer, and hurriedly climb the stairs, racing down the hallway to my room. Wow. I can't believe I got off so easily. It's a miracle. Maybe God looks after fools like me, after all. Thanks.

I sink onto my bed and close my eyes, wishing for the day to be over. Today's been nothing but trouble, and I want it to end.