Mephex

We pulled up in this driveway, picking someone up.
He walked out, Fathead, I knew him. The car was full.
The guy in the front seat leaned out and told him that there wasn't room, then we all laughed, he didn't.
After more bullshit, we all got out and went in the house, funny.

He laughed, I laughed, then he shoved me against the wall.
The heat, the intensity of the moment, reached down and yanked me back to reality, almost.

I stood in a house I wasn't familiar with, and briefly took a moment, as my mind reminded me of the last time I'd been in check.
That day my father recognized my attitude, he saw there was no other way.
He came at me like an animal, spittle at the edges of his mouth, as his face was in mine, shouting that heat, if I wanted a fight, he'd give me one.
I tried to tackle a mountain, and it collapsed all around me, overcoming, fighting for breath.

I remembered this moment, after I'd sold his Everlcear, after I'd collected the cash, when these guys suggested we trade back, as they really didn't want it.
I reached out with the cash, to have it snatched out of my hands, as that red headed motherfucker backed out the door with it all, I saw my mistake.
I turned around, and leaned on the counter, considering whether I'd retaliate.
After all, they were all friends, I was the outsider.
I wondered whether I could manipulate any one of them, to see my side, and actually get either the money or the booze back.

Fathead saw my side, he did. I'd known him for a year or so, so when he tapped me on the shoulder to face him, I realized that he was thinking the same thing I was.
As I turned, and saw them all behind me, the resentment, the fist, I couldn't help but feel out of breath.
My world was detonated, as I crumbled, watching my blood splatter on the floor before I could catch it, keep it inside, keep my pride.
I heard one say "Fuck man, you said you'd do it outside, look at this shit!".
I was a good kid, in a bad situation. Drunk, high and confused.
I was so empty, not even real, non-existent when the kid pulled me back.
He told me I had to leave, he couldn't have me bleeding all over his floor.

It never came to me, as I walked down that street.
A bitch. Broken, swollen and marked.

When Dad died, all these things came back. I realized just how hard he tried to teach a lesson. If only I would've listened. I sure hope, somehow, I can make you proud.

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He who is void of virtuous attachments in private life is, or very soon will be, void of all regard for his country.
There is seldom an instance of a man guilty of betraying his country, who had not before lost the feeling of moral obligations in his private connections.
-Samuel Adams

Jetée

Very good story and a great culmination to it all.
My only gripe is that almost every sentence you use is an appositive or has a break mid-sentence of a thought that could be conveyed otherwise.
Writing should be a varying array of sentence structure and prose, but if all the sentences sound the same, then it's no fun at all.

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As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world (that is the myth of the Atomic Age) as in being able to remake ourselves.

—Mohandas K. Gandhi

JustJess

Unless of course it's a chosen style... it's not really a free-form story, there's a bit of rhythm to it.

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My heart knows me better than I know myself, so I'm gonna let it do all the talkin'.