*Somewhere in San Francisco*

"He hits and beats her too." A young boy was telling the police.
The police officer looked at him and chuckled.
"Right and I am sure he does booze and drugs too."
"Yes, he does."
The officer's eye changed. "Boy reporting a fake emergency is against the law, so you wanna end up in jail?"
Better than to stay with HIM.
"There you are boy!" A familiar voice called.
Uh oh.
"Has he been giving you trouble officer?" The tall man asked, putting his rough hand on the boy's shoulder. The men smelled like cigarette.
"I think he just reported a false emergency." The officer said.
The boy sighed, it was no use.
The grip tightened around his shoulder.
Ouch.
The man smiled, "I will TALK to him when I get home."
A shiver ran up his spine.
"Good."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*In a run-down apartment.*
"YOU LITTLE GOOD FOR NOTHING BRAT!"
The tall men known as Brad Harp slammed his son, Zeke, into the wall.
"P, please." Zeke sobbed.
"TELLING ON ME EH?" The man kicked him into he ribs.
Zeke heard something cracked.
"Get up to your room." Brad ordered.
Zeke ran up stairs, ignoring the sharp pain in this chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Zeke's room*
Mom suffered the same fate. She is in a mental hospital. Screaming out her husbands's name. Cursing and swearing. Fell down the stairs, Brad had said the officers. Crazy woman.
Zeke tried to tell someone before. But nobody had believed him.
He looked into the mirror. A short and skinny boy of age 15 stared back him.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, bruised cheek and cut lips.
All normal.
"I gotta get out of here." Zeke thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To be continued...
Like it?
E-mail me at devilspeech@yahoo.com