Amson, 17, "A Piece of Me"

"M-Mr. Fletchlin..." I laughed anxiously, trying my damnedest to brighten whatever this mood was.

With a shotgun pointed at my chest, there was only so much I could do. The look in his eyes wasn't that of a welcoming man, and thinking back on it, he'd always been grumpy, quick to anger, and strict. Hearsay, for the most part, but everyone knew how strict Tora's parents were, whether they wanted to or not.

"Sit down, son." He said, motioning the barrel of the twelve gauge toward a pair of couches that faced one another.

I obeyed, carefully making movements that wouldn't offend him. I sat down just as carefully, and he sat across from me, staring me dead in the eyes. There wasn't a single hint of expression on his face for what seemed like an eternity, the butt of his shotgun pressed against the bearskin mat. I struggled to keep eye contact, sweat flowing down my head as I couldn't allow myself to keep his weapon out of my sight.

I panicked, my fear getting control over my rational mind. I subtly inched my phone out of my pocket, hopeful that he wouldn't see, but his eyes were much too keen.

"Toss me that phone, son." He said calmly yet so direct it was threatening. "We wouldn't want you doing something you might regret."

I gave in, tossing my phone to him, and he caught it cleanly, inspecting the screen and case before setting it to his side.

"Now, tell me why you thought it wise to strut into this doggon house after last time." He finally let go of his shotgun, allowing it to rest at his side.

He pressed his elbows against his legs, his eyes never leaving me.

"I don't know what you're talking about sir." I said, trying to deescalate again to no avail.

"You must think I'm stupid, Grinner." He leaned back into his couch, gripping the shotgun by the snout. "Do you think I'm an idiot, boy?"

My mouth was caught; why couldn't I just say no? After a long pause, he laughed, and I sensed his festering anger. I braced, yet even that wasn't enough to prepare me.

"I SAID, DO YOU THINK I'M DUMB, BOY?!!" He yelled, his voice echoing through the house.

He slammed his fist against the coffee table, shaking the entire floor with one swing. The vibration coursed through my body, and I froze, the power of his wrath making my instincts flare. I couldn't move, not if I wanted to, and speaking was about as taxing. I stammered, unable to reach more than a whisper.

"n-no sir..." I mumbled.

"What the hell'd you say, Grinner?! Speak the hell up, or so help me god!" He demanded.

"No sir!" I whined, exhausting all of my energy.

"The only goddamn reason I haven't pulled this fuckin' trigger is cuz o' yo daddy, boy. You understand me?"

I nodded, daring not speak.

"Then you've got the nerve to drag shit into my house like you own the place." He snarled, spitting to his side at the thought. "You haven't changed one bit, you white-headed punk. Even to be forced to hear one iota of you has made me so unbelievably angry..."

He paused for a second, shaking his head toward the ground at his side as if contemplating. Yet, when his eyes raised, they had a ferocity that forced me to flinch. He pulled the shotgun into his grasp again, and I fumbled over the couch in an attempt at escape. Those eyes were those of a hunter, I had no chance of running without a vehicle.

"P-Please, sir!" I pleaded. "I'm sorry!"

"You think sorry means shit, son?!" He said as I looked down the barrel of his gun. "You're gonna get your nasty hands away from my daughter and away from this house, no matter what I got to do. And regarding yo daddy... let the mothafucka come."

He brandished the gun at the thought, the thought of meeting my dad after hearing of my death. Something within me snapped at the thought, and I removed myself from the couch, finally seeing the pitiful state I'd slothfully allowed myself into. I looked down his barrel, pulling myself together and giving a glare I hadn't in a long time. He was unfazed, yet that wasn't the point.

I never wanted to return to that side of myself.

"I'm not him anymore, Mr. Fletchlin." I pleaded with my arms open. "I've changed."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull this fucking trigger, Grinner! One!"

I didn't respond. It would've been useless trying to. I allowed my arms to rest at my side again, staring down the barrel without much feeling. As I looked at it, now, the fear wasn't there. With no one there, I didn't have to force myself to care anymore, to act like there was anything but myself. Everything is me, yet there are sides like him that make me hate myself. Ignorant, irritable, and useless without something like that contraption protecting them.

I know nothing more than myself, and knowing so, I know all, though I seldom care to make myself seem so. It's not arrogance; it's the truth. This world would become nothing of substance had I not been at the helm from the shadows.

I'm nobody, and I'd like to remain that way. I couldn't care less about senior year. If I wanted to, I could get into any college I wanted, win at any sport I wanted, or get any girl I wanted. It's just because I allow myself to sleep that it isn't so.

Yet, it just takes a tiny prick to wake me the fuck up.

"I don't give a fuck anymore." I sighed, concealing my hands in my pocket.

I inched toward Tora's father, my eyes aimed at his. The barrel followed me, yet as me, I knew he'd never hurt me. I grabbed the nose of his shotgun, pressed it into my gut, and pushed my head toward his, allowing him to smell the shit along my back.

"Shoot..." I uttered, thrusting my breath into his face. "Release me."

He grew angrier and angrier before finally letting it roam free, pulling the trigger. Shrapnel sprayed the living room, tearing the furniture and the walls within a split instant. And yet, there I stood, unscathed yet without any satisfaction from escaping death. I pushed him off of me, granting him control of his gun once more.

Still, he pursued me, but luckily, I had other plans.

"What the hell just happened?!" A young woman screamed from above. "What the hell are you doing to Amson, dad?!"