The Boy Of Prey (Excerpts From Draft)

2

"Milky-Boy"
Nox's kitchen was a spectacle of deprivation. If there were a periodical for poverty, it would absolutely be on the front cover. The tiling was of a checkered pattern, each piece worn and shattered from the persistent impact of the household's shoes. The wooden cupboards were swathed in flaking paint, dappling the floor with blue specks. The countertops held rotten fruit that beseeched to be thrown out, and the appliances were cheap and sheathed in unexplained stains.
Nox set his bookbag gently upon one of the chairs orbiting the kitchen table and ambled into the living room.
"Mother?" He squeaked, glaring thoughtfully at the grandfather clock positioned awkwardly against the wall. The living room was of less destitution than the kitchen, with a bright red loveseat, a shaggy grey rug, and a cabinet crammed with fine china. The clock read just about 4:15.
"Mother!" Nox shouted. She had to have been home by then.
"Good afternoon," He heard a firm call from the master bedroom. Mother stepped out a moment later, unlacing her boots, "How was your day, Nox?" Mother was of tall stature, with dark brown hair, fair white skin, and pale grey eyes. She was, unlike her repulsive son, of distinguished allure and elegance. Her cheeks were freckled and unpretentiously rosy. Her nose was Roman, and though not the beauty standard, was unique and individual. She had an odd profile, with her philtrum sticking out as if she had some sort of snout. Her lips were fat, curled and sly, often shaded by dark lipstick.
"Dandy," Nox lamented with prevalent sarcasm, seating himself on the loveseat, "Mrs Stevenson had me sitting in the dunce stool before the end of her syllabus." Mother took a cigar from her purse and ran it along her lips, occasionally blowing hot, putrid smoke in Nox's direction.
"That must be a new record of sorts. You should tell the press," She cooed.
"I am planning on it. I can promise you that," Nox found himself scowling. Mother stretched, her fingers flexing and relaxing as if she was a cat revealing its claws.
"You should not hope for anything different, though, Nox. I hope you understand," She adjusted her posture and sat down on the loveseat. "You'll never be favoured by authority."
"I know that," Nox replied stubbornly, "But nothing will ever get better if you keep repeating things like that. You'll jinx it."
"Me not saying that humanity isn't fond of monsters won't make them any more fond of monsters," Mother twirled her cigar in her hand, tauntingly close to Nox's arm.
"It's not making anything better, either."
"Oh, quit it. I have been working all afternoon so that our home has enough food for your gluttony," Mother glowered.
"You and Stepfather eat, too. I'm not the only individual in this house who requires food," Nox couldn't help but return her ghastly expression.
"I think it would be best if we stopped talking," Kessira stood up and adjusted the straps to her dress as she made her way to the kitchen. Her dress was a bright red thing; with shiny, skin-tight fabric. She was a waitress at a local gentlemen's club, and her uniform roused powerful distress in Nox. The way it accentuated her curves, pressed against her figure, squeaked when she walked, and cast shadows against her skin— should not have been something her son had to witness.
"I'm off to my room," Nox spoke passively, his hands dawdling by his sides. He turned away and wandered down his bedroom hallway, a tacky corridor covered in various homely photographs of dead family members. Nox shivered as the oddly attentive eyes of each framed person seemed to follow him as he entered his room. He slammed the door and flung off his blouse, along with his mary janes, pendant, and all the rest of his humiliating attire.
"Drat!" He squawked aloud as the tacky pendant Mother had cursed upon him shattered upon impact with the floor. Shards of its red gem flew through the air, reflecting Nox'desperate hands as he attempted to lunge forward and salvage it. Streams of peccant sweat inched down Nox's face as he quickly recoiled from the mess. The hideous thing brought him only torment.
"Nox!" Mother shrieked, now approaching his locked door. Nox cowered, his head facing the floorboards as he eagerly tried to shove the various fragments under his dresser.
"Yes?" Nox answered as he rolled under his bed, trembling a shameful lot, "Sorry for the racket! I dropped my shoe on the. . .floor?" He cringed.
"What did you break?" Mother persisted, a snarl of rage bound onto her call.
"Just a chip off my mirror," Nox peeped, his voice becoming muffled as his beak pressed against the bottom of his mattress.
"Let me in, little boy!" Her voice rose. Nox tucked each of his limbs carefully under his bedframe.
"I can't. I'm changing. Come back later!" Nox hollered, floundering to find comfort as his feathers grew damp and unpleasant.
"When Kenneth gets home, you'll regret lying to me!" Mother, or Kessira, shouted before turning around and trotting away from Nox's door on dainty, stiff heels.
Nox breathed a brisk sigh of relief and unattached his sweltering body from the dusty flooring underneath his bed. That awful accessory had certainly cost mother at least a grocery trip's worth of pounds. His punishment was sure to be miserable.