hero
Excerpt from the short story by Mary Jennifer Payne
The banging on the door intensified. Junior's mother stiffened, eyes darkening at the sound, her lips pressing firmly together as though she were afraid of what might slip from between them if left unguarded. She glanced toward the lounge window where the crocheted, lace curtains, which were once white but had yellowed from neglect like ancient butterfly wings, fluttered in the breeze. Junior followed her gaze. He felt sick. He could see the smoke still hanging like a black curtain beyond the window. The black mass hovered, thick and rancid-smelling, against the clear sky.
"Open up the door, Jasmine! Hand out that murdering bastard of yours!"
Junior knew the voice: Billy's father. Every Monday Billy shared with his friends stories of his father's drunken exploits from the previous weekend. Sometimes the stories would be accompanied by a display of the various injuries Billy had sustained when he hadn't been swift enough to get out of his father's path during one of his drunken rages. Junior and his friends watched in excited anticipation as Billy would roll up his shirt sleeve or lift his jumper to his chest, flaunting the aubergine stain of bruises as big as apples.
Once he proudly displayed a line of perfectly formed, circular burns that crept up the delicate white skin of his inner-arm to the elbow. Seeing the confused looks on his friends' faces, Billy explained that his father had been really disappointed by Arsenal losing their match that past Sunday. Apparently Billy's father supported Arsenal intensely, for the loss made his father so upset, he branded Billy's arm with the metal tip of his Bic lighter. His father used Billy's delicate body as a canvas on which he could paint his rage, whilst Billy exhibited the consequences like a proud artist. It seemed to Junior that Billy relished his injuries, that he felt they made him look tough.