Now They Walk

Tired of It

^-need headphones-^

-Jake-

"And as you can tell you ain't my goddamn father, he was an actual man!" I yelled at Steve, putting all the hate possible into the words

"Boy you don't know what a man is, your just a little pussy" Steve yelled back

"Stop yelling at him Jake, he is your father"

"He isn't my father, my father was a Captain in the U.S. Navy, not some knock off drunk from a rundown bar!"

"You will not yell at your mother boy!" Steve said taking a step forward

"My mother died with my father, that's just a shell of someone I used to know"

I slammed my bedroom door. No more words were said. They are just gonna get drunk and pass out together, like usually.

I slammed my black book bag onto the ground and plowed down on my bed.

I pulled out my headphones and my phone. Going straight to YouTube and scrolling to my music playlist.

I scrolled through the selections. I looked through the different Disturbed, Five Finger Death Punch, and Avenged sevenfold songs. I chose Remember Everything by FFDP. My favorite song.

I followed the words exactly, every strum on the guitar and every beat on the drums. I knew it all.

My phone stopped in the middle of the song. It's started vibrating like crazy. I opened my eyes and sat up. It was a call from coach Sanders.

"Hello?"

"Hey jake, are you comin to practice today?"

"Yea, I'll start walking now"

"You don't.." I hung up before he could finish. No handouts

I got up and took off my shirt. Grabbing another black one and then my bag. I walked out my bedroom door and toward the front door.

I stopped next to the couch, where my mom and Steve were out cold. Not even yelling could wake them up. I've tried it.

The small table in front of the couch was covered in ash and alcohol, a couple needles were on the side.

"Don't get up" I said walking out

I went through the front door. Steve's 67 square body Chevy sat outside. It was the only clean thing he owned, and he took care of it more than his own wife.

It's black body and wheels were glossy, just  like he likes it. The year he tried to make me wash was his mistake. He didn't like it when I washed the interior. He Had to replace everything inside it. And I got my ass beat. Of corse I fought back, I got no choice.

I looked back at my house. It looked more like a large, decaying shed. It looked nice once, when my father was alive.

The grass was getting too high and the paint had faded on the walls. The bushes in the front were overgrown, climbing up the porch.

I stopped looking at the house, walking down my long drive way, being shrouded in the tall trees. The only good thing from this was the shade they provided.