An excerpt of a short story surrounding a boy with his father’s hand-me-down anger.

It’s not uncommon to see boys outside their schools early. They bounce around, feeding into insecurities with their faux-playful insults. The high school boys carry around a vape or two, offering it to girls who would never look their way otherwise. The girl takes it, inhales, then smirks– she doesn’t care for the boys’ antics. She hands it back, and they’ll never speak again. But the boy forever clings onto this interaction, citing it as a part of his charm. 

Let the record show that this is false. Boys of their age know nothing of charm. Nonetheless, girls will let them have this, because boys will be boys, and girls become women the night they see their mothers cry. 

Owen may as well be a woman, then, because he can’t stand to see his mother after a booze-slobbering argument with the monster in their house, whose beard is covered in beer as he snarls curse after goddamn curse at them. Owen’s mother will yell back because she is nothing if not strong– but in the dead of night, when she thinks nobody is watching, she shrinks into nothing. 

He hates the way her body wracks over itself. Naturally, there’s a desire to save his mother, be her knight in shining armor, but Owen is just a boy, and all he’s learned from his father is how to run away– this explains why he’s in front of his underfunded high school before classes even begin.

Immersed in the cold January air, his mittens cannot keep frost from biting at his fingers. The school opens in fifteen minutes. Until then, he’s stuck listening to a bunch of gossip-loving seniors as they talk smack about the girls of their grade. Nobody he knows or cares about, at least. Still, he hates to see upperclassmen being such horrid role models to the rest of the school.

Not that Owen’s entirely sure he can call anyone in his school a friend, though– except Amelie Ma, who, in any other world, would be the girl of his dreams. She’s beautiful. Her hair drapes around her body like a silken robe. When he sees her at volleyball, she’s just as lovely, arms gleaming with muscle and sweat that only somehow makes her more stunning. He loves her, but not in the way the world wants.

The boy born from twisted ribcages shakes his head to clear himself of any undesirable thoughts, looking up to see the school’s pride and joy herself: also known as his best friend. Speak of the devil, he snorts, calling her over with a beckon and a shout.

“Owen?” Amelie turns around. She flashes him a brilliant smile before making her way to his side, plopping down on the stairs in front of their school. “Hey! What are you doing outside? It’s cold– you do know the doors are unlocked, right?” 

“…No. No, I did not.”  He reluctantly admits, fiddling with his fingers. The girl seems to assume the fidgeting is from the cold and interlocks his gloved hand with her’s. Owen flinches before sinking into the contact; after all, it’s not as if he doesn’t enjoy it. It just takes some getting used to.  

“Of course you didn’t,” Amelie giggles. Her white button-down ruffles in the sudden burst of wind, causing her to frown and shiver slightly. Tugging Owen up, she marches towards the school’s doors. He stumbles before following suit. “Come on! I’m freezing!”

They walk into school, hand in hand. Cobwebs line the corner of the dimly-lit school while lockers covered in fading Sharpie are varying degrees of open and shut. Owen can’t help but hate the way the school feels empty without the shouting from students. In all honesty, he should be overjoyed to get to school early, but all that lingers on his mind is his mother’s sobs.

The only other people in sight are two boys, clad in streetwear and surrounded by the stench of smoke. He leans in to eavesdrop on their conversation– as expected, it’s all gossip surrounding a poor sophomore girl. Owen’s eyes narrow, shooting glares at the boys. They don’t even notice his attempt at ostracization. Rather, they continue to cackle over the unfortunate girl. It’s despicable, and Owen can only think of his father: was he like this, as a child? Cruel and manic and desperate to leave scars on everything he held? 

His breathing turns unsteady, fury threatening to take hold. There are two sole things keeping him from swinging his fist in the boys’ faces. One being Amelie, who’s begun looking at him in gentle concern, and the other being fear. The fear of turning into his father forever leaves him second-guessing, looking back on his decisions and wondering if it was what his father would have done.

“You’re thinking too much.” Amelie suddenly interrupts him, gazing at him with a rare intensity. “I can tell. Stop second guessing your instincts because of your family. Don’t live the way your dad wants you to– you were not born only to be a son.”

Process

Within the piece, I aimed to use description to give the reader a sense of how the protagonist’s world feels. I was inspired by the works of Ocean Vuong and other authors who use very deliberate word choice to shape their works with a sort of realistic beauty. I loved writing this! It’s such a fun piece that helped me practice getting into the minds of my characters.