The Life and Times of Damion Harris

Moving

California 2012,

Stepping into the cold and empty house Damion looked around with curious eyes. The pale white walls and hardwood floor wouldn’t be so perfect for long, just until his parents were ‘settled’. It was different from the house in England that they once had, it was clean and new. Sighing Damion trudged up the stairs thinking over what was needed to do that night and what would be happening in the next day and how long it would take people to get suspicious, just like what happened in London to make them move.

Once in his room Damion pulled off his shirt ignoring the way his ribs showed beneath his skin. Its not like it mattered to him. Damion grew up almost living on his own and fighting to eat, even sleep. Quickly he pulled on a new shirt at the sound of footsteps coming up the steps. Slowly he turned to the door meeting the drunken stare from his father. Damion shook his head hiding the fear that was rushing through his body at the sight of the beer bottle in his father’s hand. Watching his father approach he subconsciously bit his lip waiting for the familiar sharp pain of broken glass to prick along his skin.