Ebony Motif
By Rensis Schmitt
People often got the wrong impression of young Devon. He chose to wear black eyeliner and nail polish. He never wore colors, with the exception of red. At first glance, he may have appeared aggressive, but inside we was quite timid. 
Arriving home, he quietly made for his room. Devon's home life wasn't that of a desirable one. He lived in a small trailer, he didn't have heat in the winter, or air conditioning for summer. His father rarely paid the bills until threatened with having his precious television taken away. His father, only thirty-two, appeared to be passed out on the couch. He would often come home inebriated and extemelt tempermental. Devon learned to avoid the man if at all possible. 
Reaching his door, he slowly crept inside.
"Devon, the.......fuck you doin?" came a voice slurred and muffled from the living room. Devon looked to the floor and turned around, walking back into the room. His father was now sitting on the couch blankly watching the television in his stained white T-shirt and old blue jeans. His hair unkempt, appeared to be very greasy. 
"Yes? What is it?" Devon finally managed to choke out, nervously rubbing his arm. 
"Did...I tell you...that I...That..I...wanted you to talk? Noooo..." Each word that came from the man's lips cut into Devon, making him flinch uncontrollably. 
"Get...the fuck...over here..already. Jaysus don't you know...nothing?" demanded the man, patting the space beside him on the couch. Devon obeyed without a word, sitting in the implied spot. 
"If you...wernt so dumb...yer mother...yer mother would be fuckin here! No, she's out with some rich fucker...I'll bet..." He said, grabbing Devon's arm violently. "How many times have I told you not...to wear that shit? Cut yer hair for chrissake! Do you wanna look like a girl?" He yelled, shaking the boy.
"No, I don't..." He answered, peering at the floor, trying not to make eye contact. Eye contact always seemed to make the man angrier. Grabbing Devon's long bangs, he yanked his face close to his. "Boys like you get fucked in prison. You wanna get fucked in prison, Devon?" He sneered. 
"No...I don't." Devon whispered. Without warning, a hand slammed into the side of his face sending the boy plummeting to the floor. The man leapt to his feet, sending a sharp kick into Devon's side.
"You...little fucking shit... Yer the reason my life is fuckin ruined!" He screamed, landing one kick after another into the grounded form. Tiring of this, he picked Devon up, and threwing him into his room. Slamming the door he returned to watching his television show. 
Devon lay curled into a ball in his room, darkness cradling his shaking body. Guilt ripping at his heart like a pack of starved hounds would a rabbit. Quietly sobbing he crawled to his bed and got into it. It could have been worse, it's usually worse. He was thankful for that, his beating being as tame as it was. He always felt he deserved it. After all, it was his fault his mother left them, wasn't it? Alone in his room he knew he'd have to face the same tomorrow, and felt there was just no other way to live. He deserved no better, and even if he tried to get help, he knew his father wouldn't hesitate to kill him. 
As far as Devon knew, nothing better exsisted.