Young Writers Society

Thump.

“WHY ARE YOU LEAVING!?”

Thump.

“I TOLD YOU! IT”S WORK RELATED!!”

Thump.

“THAT'S WHAT YOU SAY EVERY TIME!”

Thump.

“WELL THIS TIME IT’S TRUE!!”

Thump.

“LIKE I'LL EVER BELIEVE THAT LIE AGAIN!”

Kennett Hogan sat on the edge of his bed. He threw a tennis ball against the wall, then caught it when it bounced back. He tried to pretend that he couldn’t hear his parents arguing, but he couldn’t stop their words from echoing in his head.

“KENNETT STOP THAT ANNOYING BANGING SOUND RIGHT NOW!” He heard his father yell from the living room.

Kennett didn’t respond, but instead threw the ball into the small blue trash can that was by his door. The trash can tootered from side to side, but luckily it didn’t fall over. Kennett fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO MY SON LIKE THAT!” His mother screamed back.

“HE’S MY SON TOO! DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT TO DO YOU WRETCHED WOMAN!”

“Tch.” Kennett couldn’t take this anymore. Fight. Fight. Fight. That’s all his parents did anymore. To be frank, it was getting on his nerves. He desperately wanted it to stop, and the fact that wouldn’t made his anger boil.

Kennett stood up, and shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts, he stormed into the living room. His parents didn’t notice him at first, they were way too busy fighting. He cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his parents. They both glanced at him, but then fixated their angry glares at each other once more. Kennett simply rolled his eyes, and stayed silent.

You could have heard a pin drop, if a pin could even drop, for the tension in the air was so thick, it was doubtful that anything cut through.

After what seemed like minutes of antagonizing silence, Kennett’s father sighed, running his hands through his bright red hair, which was the same exact color as Kennett’s. “Son I have to leave for work. I’ll probably be gone for awhile.”

Kennett’s mother scoffed.

“I AM! WHY WON’T YOU BELIEVE ME!?”

“BECAUSE YOU’VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING TO MAKE ME TRUST YOU!” Kennett’s mother retorted.

Kennett finally spoke. He kept his voice low, but it still held fiery anger. “Look,” He snapped. “I don’t care if you are leaving for work, or whatever disgusting thing that you may have planned.” His gaze somehow grew in intensity. “Just get out of my house, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of it.”

His father threw his hands in the air. “FINE!” He screamed. “It’s not like I care anyways.” He mumbled under his breath, but both Kennett and his mother could still hear him.

“Good. Now get out.”

His father went to go grab his suitcase, but not before taking his hand and knocking down a vase. With a crash, it shattered against the wood floor. Kennett glanced at his mother, who was trying to hold back her tears.

Kennett’s scowl grew even deeper. “What are you? A cat?” He lashed out. “Hurry up, and get out.”

His father stomped to the door, and Kennett followed. He watched as his father walked down the driveway. When his father opened the door to his car, Kennett called out. “And don’t you dare ever come back!”

With that, Kennett’s father left the Hogan house. Both Kennett and his mother hoped that it was for good. Kennett walked back into the living room. His mother and him locked eyes. The woman started to walk slowly towards Kennett.

“It’s going to be ok.” She whispered. “It’s going to be ok.” She repeated. She rushed forward, hugging her son tight. Kennett hugged his mother back.

They stood there for a few minutes, before his mother pulled away. “Ew” She scrunched up her nose, then forced herself to smile for her son’s sake. “Go and take a shower, you smell.” She teased him.

Kennett had just returned from his football practice, and hadn’t bothered to shower, let alone change his sweaty clothes. Needless to say, he smelled horrific. “Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled. “Just let me clean up all this glass.” He said, referring to the broken vase.

“Ok.” She faked another smile. “I’m going to go head to my room for a little bit.”

“Sounds good.”

Kennett went to the kitchen to grab a broom, dustpan, and a plastic bag. He began by picking up the the bigger glass shards scattered about. As he did so, he became lost in thought.

According to most people, mainly the girls, Kennett had pretty decent looks. He had his bright red hair, his height, and pretty decent muscles going for him. He was even part of the football team. If it wasn’t for his raging temper, he would probably be popular with the girls. All of them were absolutely terrified of Kennett’s eyes. They were the first thing that anyone noticed about him. They had a strange sort of intensity and passion. They looked constantly angry, almost as if they hated every single thing they saw.

“Ouch!” Kennett drew his hand. “Stupid vase.” He muttered under his breath. He looked at his hand which was now bleeding. He quickly finished cleaning up the vase, then wiped the blood off of his hand. For some reason simply seeing the blood on his hand made him even angrier.

Kennett decided that he would go and check on his mother. He couldn’t imagine what she must have been feeling. He snuck up to her bedroom door, and he couldn't help but hear crying coming from inside the bedroom. He quietly opened the door just a crack, and looked inside. He saw his mother on her knees. She was crying. I made Kennett furious.

“Oh Lord, please help me.” He barely heard her whisper, before closing his door and storming up to his bedroom.

When he got there, he kicked over his trash can in a fit of anger, sending it flying across the room into a wall. He didn’t bother picking up the trash that was not scattered on the floor, rather, he took off his shirt, and threw it into his laundry basket.

He stormed into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He refused to look in the mirror because of his uncanny resemblance to his father. Though, if he had summoned up the courage to look in the mirror, he would have noticed that his eyes were glowing a bright red. He even was too angry to notice that his cut from before had now healed. He did mumble one single sentence under his breath. “Guess I’m the man of the house now.”