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The morning air stirred at the sound of a car alarm, blaring into the air. The sleepy street faded and came to life as each door opened and a head or two popped out to check the noise.
Frank collided into his truck and he gasped. A fresh trail of blood leaked from a cut on the side of his forehead. Frank pants as he staggered back on his feet and he glared at the monster before him. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of his mother standing on the porch, hands over her mouth as she looked at him. He heard her scream his name but she never left her post from the porch. There were tears in her eyes. Tears of great pain and sadness. Frank could see.
Frank stepped up, leaving the support of the truck and he stumbled a bit as he stood between the house and his dad. "You gotta leave." Frank gasped out through his busted lips. "You need to go. Leave us alone." Frank brought his cold eyes up to the beast before him. "We. Don't. Need. You. We never did."
Frank's dad glared at him. Icy, cold blue eyes flaring with a chilly furry. His lips disappeared into a thin line. And then his fingers curled, one by one, into a fist. Frank shivered at the sight of the raging beast before him. And his fear grew as the monster advanced to him. But with the fear also came his anger. His anger and frustration that desired to be free. To be rid of the demon. He dug his feet firmly into the ground and prepared for the approaching blow. He was ready to die fighting him. At least he would die fighting for his freedom. And if he so happened to actually die... at least then he'd be free.
Frank saw his dad's lips moving as he quickened his pace toward his son. A variation of curse words were shouted into the air like a dog's bark. Loud and threatening, but it was in the end just a bark. It was all bark and no bite. Or at least it hadn't been yet.
In a quick movement and aided with a rush of adrenaline, Frank maneuvered in time to throw a punch at his dad. It caused the old fool to bend down and Frank took his chance and banged his head against the truck. But he forgot to keep his distance for even after receiving such blows, Frank's dad grabbed his son's collar and knocked a fist into his face. Frank stumbled back, grabbing his face as he tried to find his balance.
He saw stars in his vision and he tried to shake his head in hopes to regain his focus once again but he failed. In a blur he saw the angry man stomping towards him but then a strong pull dragged him away. Frank tried to resist and push his savior but two thin arms held onto him firmly across his chest.
"What the hell! Are you dumb! Why did you leave!"
"Let me go, Stan! I'm going to kill him!"
"Not while I'm still here. And the way I see it he could rip you to shreds!"
Frank tried to whirl around to loosen the tight grip but Stan held on as he continued to back away into his own property. Frank let out a howl of curses at him but Stan didn't seem to hear them or he ignored it. Either or. But what was certain was the fact to what Stan stated. He was right. He had no chance against his dad. Neither him. Nor his mother. Or even both of them.
Stan's dad rushed outside, his phone in his hand. Still in his pajamas and robe, he ran into the grass with his slippers on. "I called the cops. You kids alright?"
Frank looked up through his bruised eyes and he could see the flashing red and blue lights and the holler of a siren approaching in the early morning. Frank jabbed Stan's side with resulted in the boy to grimace and released him as he bent down in pain. Frank pushed Stan off of him and gave the boy a menacing glare. A silent warning. He didn't care if Stan did somehow possibly saved his life. He never wanted a loser like Stan to save him. Never in a million years.
It hurt his pride. His desire of having an untouchable image. To have someone weak help him. It was unbelievable. It was unnatural in the power chain. Stan shouldn't have cared. Because someone with not a shard of power cannot offer help to those in need. No. They shouldn't.
Frank stumbled in his steps a bit before he caught himself and reminded his feet to work how they were supposed to. Peeling his nasty glare from Stan he looked upon the sidewalk and he trudged on in silence. There was a limp to his gait. A limp that seemed to cause pain. A limp caused by pain. He stuffed his hands in his pockets with his back bathed in the red and blue lights of the approaching police cars.
