This is a short story I wrote when I heard people yelling outside at night. I took one simple fact, noise out a window, and made a whole little scene with background information and such all in one. I may write more in the future, but for now please enjoy and comment your opinion! **Contains explicit language
“Where’d you put it? Huh, huh? Where did you put it!?” These were the screams heard from Addison’s open bedroom window. They echoed off of the suburban houses’ walls and straight into her mind. The thrash of bodies and crash of garbage cans being pushed over in the brawl were also heard. They mimicked the echoes of mountain climbers; strong and proud. Addison didn’t know who exactly was yelling the words over and over but she knew who was being beaten mercifully.
Addison sat with her knees to her chest, under the open window. Curtains gently flew over her head, the cool autumn breeze making her hair move around her dark eyes like snakes wanting to know more. What her brother did to deserve such a horrific beating on this Sunday night was beyond Addison’s comprehension.
Brent is Addison’s brother. He was fifteen at this time. Tall, thin with dark features, he was the best brother nine-year-old Addison could dream of. He read her stories when it thundered out, he helped her pick what to wear to school, he combed her stringy blonde hair and he stood up for her at the bus stop where the high school kids made fun of Addison for having Autism. Brent told Addison later that day that it only meant she was special. No matter how special she was, she knew not to ask about it again because after they finished talking, Brent started to cry.
And so now she sat under the window, listening to her big brother being hurt, both emotionally and physically. Addison’s breathing was light, in through the nose, out the mouth. It was calming. Her mother taught her how to do this when she felt nervous or anxious.
Addison’s mother’s name is Tabatha. Tabatha has stage two lung cancer. She never leaves the hospital. Brent takes care of Addison for this reason and lies to their mother by saying that everything is fine at home. That Addison isn’t having nightmares, that he is not being bullied, that everything is absolutely fine. Sadly, everything is not absolutely fine. Tabatha is going to die very soon, just like Adam.
Adam is Addison and Brent’s father. He died three years before, when Addison was six, in a car accident. Police said that his car was hit by a drunk driver, and he was killed almost instantly. Well, once he hit the ground after being flung for thirty yards, he was killed. The drunk driver lives to tell the tale to this day. Brent passes him on his way to school; the man sits outside on a corner, drinking from a bottle covered by a paper bag. He never tells and will never tell Addison this.
The reason Brent sometimes walks to school, and passes the man who killed their father, is because the bus=bullies. They don’t hurt him on the bus, after being suspended when the bus driver had to break up a fight and Brent had a concussion, but use verbal words instead. As he slowly walks up the bus isle, the word “Faggot” is coughed and whispered by many. When Brent sits down, at least two boys will come up to him and ask simple questions like “What’s up, homo?” and “Hey, fag, how hot am I from a scale of one to ten?” Brent buries his head in a book and pretends to read. That’s when Drew comes into play.
Drew is beating Brent up as Addison listens under her window. Drew is almost six feet tall with eyes that are always angry and thickly calloused hands. Ironically, Drew’s father is the head of the police department. Drew’s father told Brent how Adam died. The two boys do not speak of this today. What they are speaking of now, is the point of Drew’s missing bike.
Brent isn’t a stupid kid. He knows where his bully lives, and knows where he puts his bike. This morning, while Drew was at church with his father resentfully, Brent went to Drew’s house, took his bike, and rode it two miles to the junkyard where he climbed an oak tree and hung it on a tall branch. Brent broke the chain, and used it to help ensure the bike wouldn’t fall by looping the handlebars to yet another branch. It will not fall in the toughest of storms. After this, Brent took a pocket knife out of his jeans pocket, and sliced the tires open. He carved his initials into the cheap paint of the orange bike.
“The- The junk yard!” Addison heard Brent scream. “I put it in the Junkyard!” There was another crash. Addison’s breathing stopped as the noise seized. Only crickets were the ones talking, the ones moving, the ones breathing.
“Fuck you, fag,” Another muffled crashing sound. “I’ll see you tomorrow in school. Be fucking ready,” Another muffled sound and a moaning sound. The moan was from her brother. She breathed again. He was alive. This time.
Addison stood up, her too-long pajama pants covering her little feet, and looked out the window. In the dark, she couldn’t see anything until Brent walked toward the house and set off the garage’s motion light. His face looked bright red, but it had to be the lighting, right? The house door opened and Addison’s socked feet moved quietly on carpet as she made her way downstairs.