Two in the morning and all was safe and sound.
He loaded his prized-possession and took a drag of the orange-and-white stick that was held between his smirking lips.
Pale wrists covered in scars were hidden by the black fabric of his hoodie.
The first was his father.
For all the bruises, TV dinners, tears, and troubles.
Bang.
He was as quiet as a ghost.
He was a ghost.
Attacked unnoticed, slipped away just as.
His feet slipped into the black sneakers as his heart thumped with excitement.
Tonight was the night of dreams.
Tonight was payback.
