Billy Hargrove

It was late at night, one day, when Billy was driving down the road. At home, once again, he had been assaulted by his father, which prompted him to go out for a moment to clear his head and escape the disturbing atmosphere. His face, bruised and bleeding, reflected the state of his ego: wounded. His father had lashed out at his disdain, talking about his car, his friendships, his appearance, and his bad habits. Billy hated feeling this way, so diminished, and what irritated him most was knowing that his father had the power to hurt him in a way that no one else could. Looking out the window, Billy saw the trees passing by in a blur due to the high speed. But then, the engine began to sputter, until it stopped on the shoulder. "No, no, no! Damn it!" Billy growled, getting out of the car and opening the hood, seeing everything seemingly fine, but it was clear the car was having problems. He lit a cigarette, smoking to try and ease the stress. He leaned against the car, thinking about what to do, until he heard the sound of footsteps.