An small excerpt from a new story I'm working on.
Billy Bob held out a stained, greasy hand towards Stilt.
”Come over here and say that" He yelled out in a raspy croak ". I’ll… take you down… In the blink of one of your bastard eyes!" A fresh streak of bright red blood flowed down the side of his temple. The rest of his face was peppered with sweat, more oozing out by the second.
Stilt stood his ground, back straight and fists balled up in a defence manner near his face. ”You down-and-out bum. I can’t believe I used to call you dad at one time. You stink worse than yesterday’s trash and resemble something our dog would have dug up outta the ground. Now stop swinging and sober up.”
”Where’s your mother?” Billy asked with a hard slur. The trousers he wore reeked of piss and unkempt filth. Two large dark patches paired up either side of his groin area. The original colour of the material had all but faded, leaving behind a look similar to that of an army camouflage jumpsuit. Albeit a very warped version of one, by anyone’s yardstick. He swayed to and fro, now holding out a dirt-ridden finger.
”That ugly bitch had better apologise for all the…”
The punch landed square on his jaws. He crumpled to the ground like a sack of runny shit. His legs splayed out before him and he remained unmoving. Stilt stood over him, shaking his head at the pitiful specimen this once proud man used to be. The man he had looked up to as a role model when in his earlier years. Now reduced to nothing more than a vague shadow of his former self.
”You stupid old man.” He murmured under this breath, his father lost to a world of unconsciousness. ”I don’t want your money or your love. It’s too late for all that now. I need your kidney… for mum’s op. I just pray to God it’s in better shape than the rest of you. If you’re gonna be responsible for at least one act of goodness in your wasted misery of an existence, make it this.”
His chest rose and fell at a slow, rhythmic pace. Stilt crouched down and eyed the dishevelled wallet hanging out of his back pocket. He grabbed it with two fingers to slide it out a little into the open air. Flicking open a solitary button fastening the upper greyish leather flap in place, the top half of his driving licence was barely visible through an inner mesh nylon netting.
”Yeah.” He whispered. ”That’ll do nicely for a start. You old jackass, you.”
