He stepped through the front door, taking care to bang his sneakers on the tiles to be heard above the TV. He knew the police had phoned his dad about the mugging.
It’s not like he expected special treatment or anything, he knew better than that, but he hoped anyway.
Maybe one of those quick, awkward hugs people give like they’re touching a snake. One of those would be nice.
He tensed as his father’s boots sounded in the hallway, cringed as they got closer. He waited.
His father stopped a few feet away, staring, eyes taking in the ripped clothing and black eye. His arms reached out, touching the torn, blood-stained coat. “No wonder they didn’t take this thing,” he laughed. “Hope you have enough money to pay for a new jacket,” he walked back to the couch.
I saw someone talking about it in a dumb Disney movie. Can’t remember which one. They’re always on in the background at Sam’s house. His little sister watches those things like her life depends on it. Shit, maybe it does. What do I know? Maybe that’s her happy place. Maybe that’s her lifeline or something. Hell of a lot better than mine. Or Sam’s.
He hands me the joint he lifted from his mum’s purse. I fish matches out of my pocket and we wait for the smoke to kill the stench of neglect and the pain of our bruises to fade.
November 18, 2015 prompt:Dance – In 99 words (no more, no less) write dance into your story. Twirl your characters round and round or stomp your plot onto the page. Use dance in any way that comes to mind. Be specific or free, tango or disco.