Words (Muke)

One: Rain

The list contained boy, named Michael, likes black and now, pluviophile.

I should look up more of those. He thought aimlessly to himself.

Michael liked words. He didn't always know what they meant so he would look them up, but he didn't think it was the meaning that fascinated him. He wasn't really sure. He just liked words. It could be the combination of lines and curves that make up each individual letter or it could just be that he thought they looked nice. He just liked words.

A logophile. He could add that to his list to. A logophile liked words, and Michael liked words too.

When the thunder started Michael decided it was time to move, he didn't like thunder. Or lightning for that matter. He only liked rain. The other two scared him. Astraphobia. He thought. Fear of thunder and lightning. But Michael didn't count his fears as something positive.

With one last look at the street corner that gave Michael hope, the boy in black turned on his heel and set off towards his house at a brisk pace. He left his hope behind because; Michael knew he wasn't good enough to turn the corner. Turning the corner took him onto the street with the nice houses. The street with the nice whole families and the loving parents. Turning that corner meant you were good and looking a t Michael's list it was easy to tell he was made out of bad.

So he went home knowing that when he got home he would be punished for being gone so long and with no valid reason. And he knew in the back of his head that he wouldn't defend himself, knew that he couldn't even if he wanted to. And he wasn't sure if wanted to. At least the pain meant he was feeling, but Michael had created other ways of feeling pain a long time ago.

His converse clad feet guided him silently up the stairs to his house and he slipped inside eyes closed and wishing. Wishing as hard as he dared.

"Little f*cker finally came home did he?" his dad's voice called from just down the hall.

Michael held his breath and wished just a little harder.

"Answer me!" a beer bottle smashed a few feet from Michaels head and he let out an involuntary yelp.

"So it is the f*ucking faggot. Come here b*tch, I need you for a minute,"

Michael knew better than to disobey his father, but that didn't mean he wasn't petrified as he shuffled towards his father's voice. Michael knew what was coming, but the punch to his gut still had the boy gasping.

"Can't you even f*cking breath right?" his father asked.

Michael didn't answer he was preoccupied with trying to breath properly.

A blow to his jaw sent him reeling and he was seeing stars. Well, not actually stars. He thought that might actually be pretty cool. His vision was spotted with bits of black.

Knuckles connected with his cheek and Michael could taste the metallic tang of blood. He was used to it, but unfortunately for him it had always triggered a rather poor reaction from his digestive system.

Michael gagged and tried desperately not to puke as he swallowed back the saliva that was now mixed with his own blood.

He wasn't aware that he was on his hands and knees until his dad's hands were pulling on his hair. "Get up! Get the f*ck up!" his dad screamed.

Michael scrambled to his feet and stood as straight as he could in front of his dad.

"You're a f*cking disgrace. You shouldn't even be alive anymore. I'm not sure why you thought we f*cking loved you,"

Michael's dad grinned wickedly. He didn't know much about his son, but he knew enough to know that words hurt Michael more than injuries.

So he talked. Until Michael's mum came home and his dad dropped him to the floor to attend to her needs.