Billy

    On a hot summer day a young boy walked into a small gas station hoping to have enough money for a small bottle of water and a stick of cheese.  The gas station's cooling air conditioning felt soothing on the young boy's hot and sweaty skin. The boy, whom some people call Billy, helps lift two-by-fours for a construction site to support his impoverished family.

    Billy's mother, Stacy, is an alcoholic.  She uses spends the majority of the family income to buy tobacco and beer for her own self enjoyment. Most of this income is brought home due to Billy's hard working. When Stacy has no money for the drugs she takes it out on Billy, whacking him with a sick; leaving large bruises and scars on his skin.

    Billy's father, Chris, is a mysterious man. He's never home during the day, and at dusk he is sometimes seen peering through windows of the neighbor's rooms. Everyone thinks Chris works, because he brings home some money, but nobody knows where he works. Billy knows better. He knows his father steals from houses and sometimes steals from stores.  At nine years old, Billy was a lookout for this horrible crime, and he witnessed all the horrible things his so called father did.

    So now, Billy works seven days a week to provide some food for his family, and to support the horrid house he must live in.  Recently, Chris has came down with the flu, forcing him to stay home, and leaving Billy to take care of his abusive father.

    All Billy could afford that terribly hot day was a small bottle of water and a small stick of cheese. Billy grabbed what he wanted and brought them up to the counter.
    "Your total is $2.08." the cashier said in a dull tone slouching over the chipped red counter. Billy emptied the change out of his pocket, and put it all on the counter. 
    The cashier counted up all the change and said in a dully apologetic tone "I'm afraid this is not enough money, you only have $1.60, I need $2.08, perhaps you miscounted." 
    Billy frantically searched his pockets, ignoring the snickering from the older men walking out the door. Billy found no money in his pockets. He looked up into the cashier's face. "Please, please," he begged "let me get this stuff and leave, it's scorching out there and I need to lift wood until midnight."
    "I'm afraid I can not help you," the cashier said, pushing Billy's money forward and setting the water and cheese to the side.
    "I understand" Billy muttered looking to the ground.
    He heard a little girl in the line behind him ask her mother "Mommy, why can't that boy have his food?"
    The mother replied, "Because he is a poor underachiever that is to lazy to support his family." Billy wiped his cheek, bruising off the sweat and tear mixture that slid down his face before heading back to work.
    "Stupid rich people thinking they're all perfect, and it's my fault that I'm poor." Billy said under his breath as he walked out the door into the heat to continue his hard labor without food or water.