Chapter 1

        Days seemed shorter now. He sat on the hard wooden park bench beneath him. His back erect against the bench, feet planted firmly on the ground. He fit in perfectly where he was. It was as if he belonged here. In a way, he did. This park, if that's what you want to call it, was where he spent most of his days. Sitting silently, he looked over the flat, empty landscape. Stillness, nothing. Not even the wind was blowing. There was really nothing in the park. The only thing that sat within eyesight was the lonely swing set. It sat right in the middle of all the nothing. "I know how you feel swing set," he says to himself, giving a small laugh. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees and looked down at his feet. His hair hung down into his face. "If I died right now, I wonder how long it would take them to notice I'm gone." He was thinking of home now. Here he was a boy on a bench. At home, he was the incredible invisible man. He knew he'd disappear as soon as the front door shut behind him and he'd be alone in his room with his thoughts again. "So much to look forward to," he says, giving another small laugh. "I suppose i should go." The sun was starting to sink down , turning the green landscape into an orange ocean. Sitting up, he gave a final glance. He stood and stretched out. "How long have i been here?" Turning, slowly placing one foot in front of the other, the journey home began.
       He often looked down while he walked. Facing anyone else, facing the world, was seemingly impossible for him. He could feel their eyes on him as he faced down. It burned through him, weighed him down. During these times he had only one fear. He was afraid someone with some type superhuman ability would see past his facade. They'd stare into his soul and mind and see how he really felt, how he really thought. They'd think he was crazy. He slowed his pace down and glanced up to take a look at where he was. The sun's rays blinded him for a second. He squinted his eyes and looked ahead of himself. His house was only a short distance away and every step closer was more excruciating than the last. He hung his head back down and took in a breath. It was getting darker now, almost dark enough for the streetlights to come on. They always came on at 6.
      Looking down at his feet, he noticed he was nearing his driveway, and soon it was in sight. Standing at the foot of the drive, he looked up and saw the front door just ahead of him. His journey home was over. A new journey would now begin. He clinched in his chest because he knew what was on the other side of the door. He knew his mother would snap, he'd close his door and they'd forget him until the next evening. He hoped. The first steps toward the door began the longest and the most painful journey of them all. The journey to the front door. He winced at every step, as if he were munching down on shards if glass with each step.
      The dreaded felling swelled in his stomach as his finger wrapped around the brass knob. With an effortless push, the door swung open and he stepped inside. He knew she'd hear him. You could hear everything in the small house. A familiar voice within the house reverberated off the walls and hit his ears suddenly, making him jump a bit. It was his mother, Mindy. "Erick? Erick! I know that's you! How many damn times have i told you! Be home before the streetlights are on! You better be home on time tomorrow, or i will have your father talk to you!" 'Talk to you' was actually his mother's way of saying 'beat the s**t out of you.' Erick knew this, and at those words his eyes widened, he hung his head and remembered times he needed to be talked to.
      His father wasn't a drunk or a psycho. Mike was just angry. He released that anger on the closest and most vulnerable thing he had. Erick. It didn't take much to set Mike off, either. He had lots of built up anger. His life was no walk in the park. Mike worked a dead beat job as a janitor at an elementary school. Not the high school, thank goodness. Then Erick would have to see him everyday, all day! When Mike got home he'd sit in his chair. Mindy would come in and have a seat nearby and ask simple questions about his day or how he was feeling. Then, it never failed, she'd begin to fill his head with simple nonsense, get him on her side, and Mike would go to talk to Erick. "Erick!" he would say in his low voice. "How many times do I need to talk to you? I'm not talking anymore!" It's the last thing Erick hears before a closed fist crashes into his face. Erick didn't really understand why he never fought back. Perhaps it was the fact that this man was his father, and even though he had no respect for what his father did, he loved and respected him simply because he was his father. Erick's head flew back and hit the wooden wall behind him. He collapsed onto the floor, cringing and wincing at the burning in his nose. "I'm not talking anymore! You're apparently to stupid to understand anything anyway! I hope my point was made!" Erick closes his eyes, the door slams and he takes a breath of releif.
      Erick snapped back into reality and closed the front door.. He walked into the kitchen and quickly whipped up a sandwich. Having to come out of his room for supper would have, most likely, been the end of him. He knew he'd do something wrong at the table. He'd eat wrong, hold the fork wrong, or look wrong. A hand would be planted across his face and he'd be sent to his room with no food. So, it was better to eat now and remain unnoticed.
        

Reviews

[falling_toxic_rain]

.....from personal experince... I've noticed that things are a lot harder to write without a personal experince.
I can relate this, not to the fullest but more than half way, its lovely, the way you wrote this out.