Short Stories by William S. James

a short story by William S. James

Cabel Evans regained consciousness, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. When he could once again focus his eyes, the first thing he saw was his broken model car. It was a candy-apple red ‘67 GTO he had built all by himself, and it looked as though it had been run over by a Mack truck.

The whole left-side of Cabel’s face felt numb and on fire. His left eye especially felt like it was burning and expanding rapidly. He gently touched it with the back of his right hand and dabbed some tears, the contact made him flinch. The back of his head rested against the stained and torn Winnie the Pooh wallpaper covering the walls of “his” bedroom, and when he tested the spot with his finger, and felt a tender lump blooming to a point.

Follow up:

Cabel heard Dick, his foster care “father” in the living room breaking things. He yelled curses to emphasize his rage each time he broke something else. “Fuck him”, smash the ashtray, “Fuck her”, smash the lamp, and “Fuck them all”, smash the vase, smash the beer bottle. The breakage seemed to be working its way away from Cabel’s room, which was good because Cabel wasn’t sure he could get up and run if Dick decided to come back for round two. Hopefully he’d be satisfied with a first round knock-out. Cabel figured he’d probably be headed to the fridge for another beer. Dick usually needed almost a whole six-pack to get pugilistic and a second six-pack to pass out, but today he’d gotten nasty by beer number three. Cabel wasn’t about to stick around for anymore beers or rounds. Dick Jester had hit him for the last time, and that was no joke.

First he tested his legs, nothing seemed broken. Cabel knew he had to work fast and be quiet, or Dick would be back to knock him on his ass again. At least his foster mother Emma wasn’t around to run interference, she had left her “two men” alone while she visited her ailing mother in St. Pete.

Cabel knew he didn’t have time to pack anything with Dick on his drunken rampage. Cabel’s eyes scanned the room for necessities and he saw only two, his dirty high-topped Nikes, and a pair of worn white socks. He had to get them on and get out. With his GTO busted, he didn’t really own anything, and there was nothing else from this house he wanted, other than money. He was only thirteen but he knew he wouldn’t get far without money. He’d been around on the foster home circuit over the last seven years, and he had never stolen anything from anybody. But this was survival, and Dick had been a real dick from day one, Cabel would need money, and he decided he had no choice but to take some.

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