This is the Outsiders fic I have ever wrote so don't go expecting too much from it. However I am planning on writing more, hopefully better, work.
Standing in the living room my father stands just feet away but his voice booms throughout the whole house. Despite the volume I had no clue what he was talking about. It had started by me asking him for a little cash, we were out of bread. By now I should really know better than to ask him for anything.
Anger had long since taken over the conversation, if the anger was truly aimed at me I seriously doubted. By bringing up money I had opened the door to his true frustrations. He had neither the attitude nor skill necessary for a fruitful job. Mulling over in my head the list of jobs he had held over the past few years I suddenly noticed he is asking me a question.
"John!...John!...God damn it Johnny your dumber than I thought you were, can you even hear me? You know I work my ass off every day trying to provide for you and your mother, what thanks do I get for you? You won't even listen to me when I am standing right in your face."
Work his ass off? Getting fired from every job you have ever held doesn't sound like my idea of hard work. How dare he act like I am the lazy one, I go to school, that's what boys my age are supposed to be doing.
"Are you trying to say something there? Well speak up now; I just can't wait to here your excuse for screwing around all day while I go to work."
Grasping for the right answer nothing came. By the looks of the bottle on the table he wasn't going to remember a single word of this conversation tomorrow. I could lie, tell him I was actually going out and getting a job. That I start tomorrow and I would be making real good money. But I can't bring myself to lie just to appease an irrational drunk.
Well before it happened I knew it was coming. Listening to the pitch of his voice change I stepped back. I can now see my mother in the kitchen washing dishes; I can tell by the way her back stiffened she hears the change as well. She just stays in the kitchen; she always just stays in the kitchen.
Looking back towards my father I know this is going to hurt. No matter how many times this happens the pain is never any less. Anticipating the first hit is agony in itself. I just stood there watching the anger materialize into a tangible force.
A single hard push and my whole body jolted backwards. Despite trying to stop myself the back of my head hits hard against the wall of the room. My father staggers back, the alcohol affecting him made the single action enough to knock him off balance.
I could get a hit in, one good punch and he would be down, a quick sprint out the door and I would be at the Curtis's before he realized what happened.
Why can't I bring myself to do it? I am a pretty good fighter, knocked out my share of guys in rumbles for far less than this, but I just can't. Looking at the man with so much hate in his eyes I don't feel the love that a boy should feel for his father. There is no air of respect; I don't want to be just like daddy some day.
Yet I can't bring myself to lay a finger on him, he is my father and somewhere in the back of my mind I want him to be a real dad. I keep uselessly hoping one day he will wake up a changed man. I can't hate him.
Having regained his balanced he grabbed my arm; I wonder if he even realizes how tight his grip is. Maybe he doesn't have any idea; this whole thing could just be a misunderstanding. I know that's not true, and his fist colliding with my cheek seconds later is plenty proof.
Crumbling to the ground I feel his hand release me. Its over, he got in the hit he wanted and the anger is slowly dissipating. From the floor I can see him walk away into the kitchen. Although I cannot hear I see him yelling something at my mother.
She suddenly storms out towards me. My mother isn't a particularly tall woman but she looks like a giant when you're on the ground.
"Look what you went and did Johnny? Making it look like I didn't raise you right. If you keep acting like that to your father we aren't ever going to have a nice family evening together. I want you to get out of here, get up now and go. Maybe come back in a few days when you have learned some manners."
She had seen the whole thing between me and my father. Even if he had told her some lie back there in the kitchen about what happened it didn't matter she had heard every word between us. She just didn't care; she loves him, not me.
Slowly making my way down the sidewalk I mentally surveyed the damage. My head was sore from hitting my wall and my face would look like shit tomorrow. Most the boys in this part of town would call these very minor injuries, me included. However minor or not I hurt like hell.
Since this is a one-shot piece I probably won't be changing anything in it unless you find some glaring problem. However I am planning on writing a bit more so advice on how to improve my writing style would be greatly appreciated. I feel like I can write a lot better than this but I was worried my regular writing may have conflicted with Johnny's education level. Not to sound like a jerk but I actually went back and changed words I had Johnny saying that in all actuality he probably wouldn't have even known the meaning of.