Dixon's Stick Together

Good For Nothing..

They beat him. Kicked and punched until they thought he'd had enough just for being the quiet kid. A dirt bag red neck they'd spit towards him as if it were some kind of joke to laugh at. A pair of hands had shoved him roughly on the side walk when he hadn't turned around to listen to their shit and that's when he couldn't hold his anger inside any longer.

These assholes wanted a scene and so they got one.

He swung, but it was as if the leader of the three guys saw it coming ahead of time and dodged it only to send a heavy blow his way. Whipping his face to the side, Daryl felt blood welling inside his mouth as he then was shoved into the metal fence making a loud rattle. He was dazed from the heavy hit soon after the same pair of hands knocked the air out from his lungs. Bending over in agony with a groan emitting past his lips, another punch to the face caused him to fall to the concrete.

Kick after kick, he stayed curled into himself on the floor until the kicks stopped after a long while. There were a few snickers here and there even one last kick to his back that caused another painful groan.

"Come on, lets leave this redneck trash"

The guy who'd started it all spoke. Daryl felt too weak to move. It hurt, every muscle burned and ached vigorously especially his arms that would eventually bruise later in various shades of red and purple. With the little strength he'd had, he lifted his head just barely off the concrete and saw the guys already in the distance, walking away.

"You better run.. assholes.." he uttered as he slowly lifted himself up to his hands and spit onto the concrete staining it red. Wincing at the sharp pain the ran through his side, burning like hell with the energy he had left, he pushed himself to his feet carefully and grabbed his backpack.

Trudging along the side walk, wincing with every painful step that brought agony to his entire body, he kept going. He'd be home late but that was fine. This wasn't anything that he wasn't use to. He could take a beating by a few guys it was nothing compared to what his father was capable of, but it still wasn't fun.

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Walking up to his crooked front door that was barely holding onto its rusted hinges, Daryl carefully twisted the janky knob. Trying as quietly as possible to slip his way inside because his father was home. He could tell because his red, beat up truck was outside, parked in their drive that consisted of dead grass and dirt.

Once inside, he gave a quick scan of the place to see if his old man was in sight, he wasn't but the glow of kitchen light had been on which caused a sense of urgency to get to his room. Carefully, he closed the door with a slight creak from its old frame that caused a grimace. Letting out a breath he hadn't known he held, he turned around only to flinch at the loud sound of a cabinet being slammed shut.

With his stomach dropping to his knees, Daryl felt his feet glue to the ground. Stunned by the loud noise followed by his fathers slurred curses. Anxiety built in his chest as his mind ran with thousands of outcomes of this situation if he didn't move quick. Finding his footing, he took a step towards the white painted hallway where the paint started to peel and heard glass shattering.

It's piercing noise left him flinching once more and stopping once he heard his father footsteps mimic the sound of his racing heart. Just slightly about to enter the hallway he'd halted, turning his head over his shoulder to see his father looking his way.

Eyes locking from the distance, Daryl knew this wasn't something he was going to get out of.

"Now where in the fuck have you been?" The man that went by Will Dixion grunted while fumbling forward a step.