Breaking Point

It’s a beautiful clear morning; not a cloud in the sky, birds are singing… there’s a young boy lying in a puddle of his own blood and vomit. Cuts and bruises tattoo his body, his clothes are ripped and tattered, and his hair is slicked down with sweat. He slowly gets up, picks up his backpack and walks home. As he gets to the front walk he sees his father just leaving for work. His father sees the state he’s in and rushes over to him.

“Are you alright, son?” he asks worriedly, taking a knee next to the boy.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” he replies, a vacant look on his face.

“Are you sure? Does anything feel broken? It was those two bullies again wasn’t it?”

“No dad! I’m fine!” he shouts back at his father, trying to fight the urge to cry.

His father sighs. “Well, if you say so. Go on in and get washed up and I’ll drive you back to school.”

“Okay.” the boy says quietly, still fighting the back the tears.

He hears his father mutter something about ‘cruel little bastards’ as he makes his way back to the house.

He walks inside and avoids the kitchen; he knows his mother will make a bigger fuss than his dad ever could. He heads straight for his room and changes into the nicest set of clothes he has, not bothering to wash up. Before he leaves he heads over to his parent's room and begins rummaging through the closet. He finds what he’s looking for almost immediately. With tears in his eyes, he slips the gun into his backpack and heads out to the car.