Billie Joe's Reality
You may as well wear it.
Billie Joe yawned, stretching his tiny limbs in various directions. Swivelling his head in the direction of his alarm clock, he smiled. It was 10 o clock. At 11 o clock, he would be meeting Mike at the corner of West Passage to go for a bike ride. Swinging from his bed, he took some time to adjust to the light. Billie Joe’s room was small. While his brother had been living here, Billie was made sleep in the box room. His walls were a pale blue colour with a couple of posters scattered across the area.
Curling his toes, Billie sniffed and slid from the bed. It was a warm day, which called for t-shirts and shorts. Rummaging through his closet, he discovered a clean Musical Notes t-shirt and a pair of army print shorts.
Man, if I had Doc Martin boots I could pull of the whole Lou Vesco look.
He slipped on his old canvas boots then quickly bolted down the stairs, carefully avoiding his fathers’ workbag. Spilling the contents of a mechanics bag all over the carpet was not a good start to the day.
“Mind your step boy!” his father snapped from behind the cooker, when Billie skidded into the kitchen.
He slowed down, not wanting to start this perfect day with an argument. “Sorry, what’s for breakfast?”
“Cereal” was the blatant reply.
Billie Joe frowned. Cereal? Then why’s he cooking eggs and bacon. Sighing, he wallowed to the fridge and removed the 3litre bottle of milk. There wasn’t much of an option with the cereal; it was either Cornflakes or Wheat Squares. Both were plain. At least he could have as many spoons of sugar as he wanted.
Shakily balancing the large bottle of milk over his bowl, Billie buzzed with the thoughts of bike riding with Mike. Seeing as Mike was new to the town, Billie could show him the lake and rock area. They could cycle through town and watch the older kids hanging around the music clubs. Moreover, Billie even had some money he could bring, so they could buy sweets.
“Jesus! Billie Joe, can’t you do anything right?” his father yelled, when the sound of spilled milk splashed against the tiled floor.
Jumping with shock, Billie’s tiny finger failed to clutch the plastic bottle, and it went soaring to the floor. A sharp crack whistled through the air. Billie gasped, clutching his hand. Above him, staring harshly upon his tiny figure, his father snarled. A silver spoon grasped firmly in his hand.
“S-sorry,” Billie stammered, clambering from the chair and falling on his knees to the floor, “I’ll clean it all up.”
His father flung the kitchen towel at Billie. Using his hands, he splashed the excess milk on the table down on top of Billie’s shaggy hair.
“You spill the milk,” he hissed, slapping Billie across the ear, “you may as well fucking wear it boy!”
A sturdy boot connected with Billie’s backside, sending him face first into the sea of expensive milk. He landed with a thump on the hard floor. As the reality of the situation swept over him, his mind raced to come up with an escape route.
He’s going to beat me. Think of a way out! Think …
“Dad!” he screeched, grasping the tight fist ravelled in his bushy hair.
“Do you have any idea how expensive it is to buy milk?” his father asked, pulling his son roughly from the floor.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Billie whimpered, slipping on the milk.
“No idea, no? It costs a lot fucking more then you or I can come up with boy!”
Billie strained against his fathers hold, begging himself not to cry. Don’t cry Billie, please don’t bloody cry. No matter what he does don’t make a fool of yourself. People get angry …
“Mike!” Billie quickly yelled.
His fathers grip loosened. “Mike? Who in Christ’s name is Mike?” he demanded, shaking Billie.
“My friend. I’m going for a bike ride with him at 11 o’ clock.”
His father, although hesitant., gave Billie one more clip around the ear. “Next time you pull a stunt like that, your history.”
Your not stupid dad, Billie thought, wheeling his bike from the shed, you knew if Mike saw the bruises there would be questions asked.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wotcher.
Short chapter, I know. My apoligies. Next xhapter should make up for it.
Lycanthropy
xx
Curling his toes, Billie sniffed and slid from the bed. It was a warm day, which called for t-shirts and shorts. Rummaging through his closet, he discovered a clean Musical Notes t-shirt and a pair of army print shorts.
Man, if I had Doc Martin boots I could pull of the whole Lou Vesco look.
He slipped on his old canvas boots then quickly bolted down the stairs, carefully avoiding his fathers’ workbag. Spilling the contents of a mechanics bag all over the carpet was not a good start to the day.
“Mind your step boy!” his father snapped from behind the cooker, when Billie skidded into the kitchen.
He slowed down, not wanting to start this perfect day with an argument. “Sorry, what’s for breakfast?”
“Cereal” was the blatant reply.
Billie Joe frowned. Cereal? Then why’s he cooking eggs and bacon. Sighing, he wallowed to the fridge and removed the 3litre bottle of milk. There wasn’t much of an option with the cereal; it was either Cornflakes or Wheat Squares. Both were plain. At least he could have as many spoons of sugar as he wanted.
Shakily balancing the large bottle of milk over his bowl, Billie buzzed with the thoughts of bike riding with Mike. Seeing as Mike was new to the town, Billie could show him the lake and rock area. They could cycle through town and watch the older kids hanging around the music clubs. Moreover, Billie even had some money he could bring, so they could buy sweets.
“Jesus! Billie Joe, can’t you do anything right?” his father yelled, when the sound of spilled milk splashed against the tiled floor.
Jumping with shock, Billie’s tiny finger failed to clutch the plastic bottle, and it went soaring to the floor. A sharp crack whistled through the air. Billie gasped, clutching his hand. Above him, staring harshly upon his tiny figure, his father snarled. A silver spoon grasped firmly in his hand.
“S-sorry,” Billie stammered, clambering from the chair and falling on his knees to the floor, “I’ll clean it all up.”
His father flung the kitchen towel at Billie. Using his hands, he splashed the excess milk on the table down on top of Billie’s shaggy hair.
“You spill the milk,” he hissed, slapping Billie across the ear, “you may as well fucking wear it boy!”
A sturdy boot connected with Billie’s backside, sending him face first into the sea of expensive milk. He landed with a thump on the hard floor. As the reality of the situation swept over him, his mind raced to come up with an escape route.
He’s going to beat me. Think of a way out! Think …
“Dad!” he screeched, grasping the tight fist ravelled in his bushy hair.
“Do you have any idea how expensive it is to buy milk?” his father asked, pulling his son roughly from the floor.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Billie whimpered, slipping on the milk.
“No idea, no? It costs a lot fucking more then you or I can come up with boy!”
Billie strained against his fathers hold, begging himself not to cry. Don’t cry Billie, please don’t bloody cry. No matter what he does don’t make a fool of yourself. People get angry …
“Mike!” Billie quickly yelled.
His fathers grip loosened. “Mike? Who in Christ’s name is Mike?” he demanded, shaking Billie.
“My friend. I’m going for a bike ride with him at 11 o’ clock.”
His father, although hesitant., gave Billie one more clip around the ear. “Next time you pull a stunt like that, your history.”
Your not stupid dad, Billie thought, wheeling his bike from the shed, you knew if Mike saw the bruises there would be questions asked.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wotcher.
Short chapter, I know. My apoligies. Next xhapter should make up for it.
Lycanthropy
xx