The deafening screams never quite reach him.
They float over his head and hover, waiting.
The thuds, the moans the sobs, the groans. The noise.
He cannot remember a time when it was not like this.
His father curses, once, twice, three dirty words.
The boy's face no longer cares, registers.
He is disappppearing inside of himself, visisting another part of him.
He knows his mother's face is swollen and bruised. He knows she will not be able to walk for a week.
He opens the front door and places a hesistant sneaker on the sidewalk.
He has to get away.
Somewhere away from the noise.