My Cardboard Balcony

Limping by Belinda Roddie He left his crutch by the swimming pool where he had nearly drowned in his own saliva, extra salt tainted on his albino skin, the shin splinted, thinned blood dribbling from the chlorine sky. He tried limping home and wound up crawling on all fours to the bus stop, where a homeless man looked him up and down and struggled not to cry.

"Five. Four. Three." "Stop." "Two." "Dad, please." "One!" He smacked Billy across the face before he could blink. Everyone at the table contributed to the crescendo of screams and roars as the boy stumbled back. I whirled at his father then, my hand growing white against my fork. "Out!" I shrieked. "Out of my house!"