KBGM

Page Twenty.

Younger Owen

Owen was playing chess with two of my other friends at the old apartment complex.

"Bro, you are cheating. You are supposed to move it over here." Greg complained.

"Man." Patrick said.

"Ya'll just mad, I am better than ya'll at this." Owen said.

"Better at what?" His dad said.

Owen turned around, seeing his dad making his smile fade off his face completely.

"I'll catch up with you later. Got to see what this nigga wants." Owen mumbled.

Greg nodded.

"See you tomorrow, Owen!" Patrick shouted.

"You could've still played along with them." His father spoke.

"Nah, you always want to ruin my time with them." Owen spat.

His father snatched him up by the arm.

"Listen here, learn to respect me in this house just like your damn sister." He spat back.

"She doesn't even like you, you bother her more than you do to me!" Owen shouted.

"I bother you more the same way because I don't want you to end up like your bitch ass of a mother." He said.

He pushed Owen down.

"Hell, I even accept to raise ya'll. I could've easily said no throwing ya'll to the streets." He added.

Owen got up, walking out of the door.

"Where are you going?" Young said.

Owen looked over to see Young with her friend.

"Away from that nigga!" He shouted.

Young looked down.

"Can I come along with you?" She mumbled.

"Young, Owen, get your asses in this house now!" Their father shouted.

Owen snatched Young's arm, yanking her to the nearest bus stop, getting on the bus.

"Where does this bus head?" Owen asked.

"The stores." The old man answered.

Owen nodded, dragging Young to the back of the bus.

"Do you ever think we will get away with this?" Young asked.

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

"One day, we will, and he'll be gone." Owen whispered.

"Every day, I feel like he is going to kill us." she whispered.

Owen hugged his sister as she cried.

.

.

.

At night, the two returned from the bus. It was quiet as they walked up the steps, into the apartment, only for Young to be pushed to the side and Owen to be punched in the face by their father.

"So you think you can walk back in here not expecting anything?" He spat.

Young got up, running to the side room.

"Come back over here little rat!" He shouted.

Owen grabbed his father's foot, making him fall.

"Lock yourself!" Owen shouted.

His father got up only to get on top of Owen, punching him repeatedly.

"You and her are going to be just like your mother. A sorry excuse, a bitch." He said after each blow.

The word ringed in his ear as every word began fading away.

The only time Owen even got the word to a better place was when...

Boom

Young shot him that day.

She walked into the room, happy.

"The bitch is dead." She began laughing.

.

.

.

"Are you happy? I told you now?" Owen asked.

I stared at him as if I was not listening.

"You're getting all worked up over something your dead father has said?" I asked.

"He's dead, you're not. Are you going to keep telling these stories until you let someone heal you?" I asked.

"What?" He questioned.

"You heard exactly what I said. You keep thinking as if someone is supposed to..." I tried saying.

Owen began approaching me slowly.