Chap 1 - Excerpt

An attempt at longer form writing. Feedback appreciated as I'm way out of my element here.

The boy takes his time to blink, paying close attention to the darkness as it snakes its way across his plane of vision. He feels safe in the swaddled spectrum behind his eyes as though blindness were a blanket. The sun is warm on his face and it's hard to breathe. It's summer. The air seems to fill his lungs in chucks of humidity and flame. His parents won't be picking him up for hours, and the other children are hogging all the equipment, unaware of the boy sitting by himself in the sun, lonely on the park bench. He hunches forward, elbows meeting knees and face pointed at the red mulch the city put everywhere, presumably to make the playground, and city, look more welcoming. A horsefly lands on his arm; he looks over at it, taking a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to day, forces himself to hold the pose as it bites. The pain makes him think of his parents, still hours out and only blocks away, entertaining friends. Reflex overrules his attempts and he smashes the fly with his palm. It leaves a hole the size of a raindrop. His finger smears a thin, wide trail of red from his wrist to elbow. He giggles.

“Hey everyone! Look at the freak! He's talking to himself again!”

He sighs. The other children finally noticed him.

“Hey Dante! Dirty Dante! What the hell are you doin', freak?”

“Fuck off.” His voice is filled with pain and rage and fear.

The boy, Dante as they call him, stands up and walks away into the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, head down. He walks with a drag, scraping his shoes across the asphalt instead of stepping.

“What'd you say? Hey!....Fuck you Dante! You fuckin pussy! Tell me to fuck off again and we'll all beat your ass!”

Dante pretends not to hear and continues his escape, slowly reaching the sidewalk that runs parallel to the park. He turns left because that's the side the fly gave its life to taste. It feels symbolic somehow. He has nowhere to go.

“I'll jerk off thinking about your moms tonight,” he says under his breath.

They had always treated him like shit. Not that he really ever cared. His passive-aggressive nature was easily subdued by guilt-stained sheets made moist in the dark. His dad talked to him about it. Some half-assed conversation about becoming a man. Home is about a half-mile away and he knows it will be a shitty walk, but fuck it. This is life. His life, and he's walking fast because he's horny with revenge and the strides feel good on his dick. He chuckles.

“Fuck those bastards,” he thinks.

But the guilt comes in like a flood. The joy shrinks, and he decides to pray.

“God, what the hell is wrong with me?” he whispers. He feels like a shadow in the light, distorted by the rays, and the impulses to make his world right, feel like crimes.

“I'm sorry for what I'll do when I get home. Please, forget my name.”