When It Became Over Powering
Like Father Like Son
Ryan still has not left his house other than to buy weed from the twelve year old down the street. He hates himself for having the illogical fear that he will run into them again and they will just tell him how much they hate him; how much they’ve always hated him. He smoked a bowl earlier and has been staring at the TV for the past twenty minutes. His phone buzzed signaling he had received a text message. He picked it up and opened the message staring at it for a few moments before focusing on the words.
Don’t end up like him.
The number wasn’t one of his contacts he wondered who it was and was tempted to text back but then the meaning of the message hit him. They were referring to his father. The thought angered him; he kicked the coffee table knocking over the empty beer cans and shattering the vase. The mess he had just made angered him more he stood and tried to walk into the kitchen, he stepped on some of the shattered glass.
“Fucking fuck fucker!” He hopped towards the bathroom.
He leaned on the door frame and flipped the light switch, he hopped in and sat on the toilet picking the shards out of his foot. When he though he had gotten all the glass out he reached under the sink and picked up the bottle of alcohol and the little bit of gauze he had. He sat himself on the counter and stuck his foot in the sink, he poured the alcohol on his foot and let out a stream of curse words. He tugged at one of the towels beside him and used it to dry off his foot before wrapping the last of his gauze on it. He then carefully applied pressure on his foot to see if he could handle walking on it, it didn’t hurt as much as he had expected.
Ryan caught sight of himself in the mirror, his greasy locks framing his face and his red eyes made him uneasy. He reminded himself of his- no he shook the thought from his head. But the thought kept him rooted to the spot he looked back up at the mirror. He tried to give himself a small smile, but he saw so much of George in his features. He had always promised he wouldn’t turn out like him. He wanted to distance himself from his father, from the man who hurt him so much. Tears welled up in Ryan’s eyes.
He flung his fist at the mirror.
Don’t end up like him.
The number wasn’t one of his contacts he wondered who it was and was tempted to text back but then the meaning of the message hit him. They were referring to his father. The thought angered him; he kicked the coffee table knocking over the empty beer cans and shattering the vase. The mess he had just made angered him more he stood and tried to walk into the kitchen, he stepped on some of the shattered glass.
“Fucking fuck fucker!” He hopped towards the bathroom.
He leaned on the door frame and flipped the light switch, he hopped in and sat on the toilet picking the shards out of his foot. When he though he had gotten all the glass out he reached under the sink and picked up the bottle of alcohol and the little bit of gauze he had. He sat himself on the counter and stuck his foot in the sink, he poured the alcohol on his foot and let out a stream of curse words. He tugged at one of the towels beside him and used it to dry off his foot before wrapping the last of his gauze on it. He then carefully applied pressure on his foot to see if he could handle walking on it, it didn’t hurt as much as he had expected.
Ryan caught sight of himself in the mirror, his greasy locks framing his face and his red eyes made him uneasy. He reminded himself of his- no he shook the thought from his head. But the thought kept him rooted to the spot he looked back up at the mirror. He tried to give himself a small smile, but he saw so much of George in his features. He had always promised he wouldn’t turn out like him. He wanted to distance himself from his father, from the man who hurt him so much. Tears welled up in Ryan’s eyes.
He flung his fist at the mirror.
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sorry it's short