Morph: Book One

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I ran across the street quickly, careful not to draw any attention to myself. The streets were dangerous, but I still found myself navigating them every night. The people out at this time of night were either criminals or, worse, mutants. Both my school and job were halfway across the city, multiple miles from my home, so I found myself out at odd hours of the day without transportation. My school began early in the morning, and I worked late into the evening. I always knew that I would be in trouble with my father if I arrived home late at night.

It wasn't frequent that my father would raise a hand to me, but when he did, it had been when I least expected it. It was because of this that I always lived with my guard up. I recognized that the relationship that my father and I shared wasn't a healthy one, but it was one of the few relationships I had with anyone in this godforsaken city; He was family–my only family, so I felt a strange obligation to keep coming back. It hadn't helped that we both had been on our own for years after my mother's disappearance. We were all we had.

Only when I rounded a familiar sharp corner could I spot the tower where my home resided. As I drew nearer, I could tell no one was home based on the lights being off in the few windows I recognized as belonging to our apartment. I raced across another empty street before reaching the tower's base. I threw my backpack onto my shoulder before making the long trek up the rickety fire escape stairs. I went this way whenever I was late. It was better to have my father thinking that he had only missed me coming home rather than my waltzing through the door into the apartment where he had been waiting for me all that time.

When I got to my bedroom window, I carefully yanked the window as high as it would go, cringing slightly at the sharp shriek it made. I followed in moments later, tossing my backpack onto my bed. Finally, after making sure I didn't hear anything stir in the apartment, I rolled off my bed, grabbed my bag in the process, and placed it on my desk before exiting the room on light feet. As I made my way through the apartment, I checked in all the rooms for my father, noticing how odd it was for him not to be home.

"When did you get home?" A voice croaked from the living room; as I had just passed that room, my heart jumped into my throat. I slowly made my way back toward the living room and peeked my head around the corner to determine who had spoken. It was my father. It took several seconds before I found my voice, and I groaned internally at how pathetic I sounded.

"I ah... I've been home." I say quickly. I could see my father's head turn in the darkness. His eyes shined with an unfamiliar emotion.

"I looked for you in your room. You were not there." He stated, standing up and slowly stalking toward me. I felt a lump form in the pit of my stomach as I tried to make up a quick excuse.

"I was on the roof." I said. It was the only thing that I could come up with. My father knew that I spent most nights on the roof. He stilled at this, cocking his head at me oddly. The gesture caused my skin to itch uncomfortably. Now, only too late, did I notice all the beer bottles on the coffee table and around the couch. He had been drinking; he never drank anymore.