Billy
It all happened so quickly. I was in the garden, kicking my soccer ball around. It was stupid of me, I should have paid more attention to the strength behind my kicks or even just where I was aiming it. I lost control of the ball and kicked it way too high. It broke through the bedroom window, before falling back down to earth.
I heard his heavy footsteps and the creaking of the floorboards under his weight. I clutched the ball in my hands and begun to shake, tears welling in my eyes as he approached. He was my father, and he was mad. He looked at me, the window and the ball I still clutched in my hands before storming over, his face red.
He reached out and snatched my ball, smirking to himself as he flung it over the fence. I heard the rustling of leaves and a dull thud as it hit the ground, rolling away, out of my reach. I thought it was over, but he turned to face me and my heart stopped beating as he hit me across the face. I fell, shocked and blood started to trickle down my face, deflating me of the joy I had previously felt.
It was warm and sticky and I held my sleeve up to stop the stream of red as it dropped out of my nose, my other sleeve whipped away the tears that refused to stop pouring. He turned and left, leaving me in the dust, his hoarse voice growling as he walked inside, sending chills up my spine. "No more sport. Ever."
And he left me alone, taking my dreams with him.
The rain began to fall, washing away the blood as I crept to the lounge room window. I watched him as he watched the soccer game on the telly, a case of beer to one side of him, the pile of empty cans to the other. I watched him as he drank, and acted as if the events of the evening never happened. And I cried as I passed the broken window, shattered like my dreams.