The Boy The boy was 15 and was riding down the street one day. His watch said 6 and the boy was an hour late. He was ready for his beatin??? cause being late for supper was something papa wouldn???t take. And would beat him bad and this is what had caused the boys hate. On the way home thinking of a good excuse and keeping positive thoughts in his head, Like ???maybe he is sober and not drunk dead, Or maybe he???s not home and was working late. But then thoughts came to him of papa standing home waiting for him at the gate. With his belt in one hand and the face of anger, The other hand on his hip and showing his two missing fingers. The boy road in to the driveway noticing no one was there, He sighed with relief and walked to the doorstep, took a deep breath of air. Opened the door, to take a look around, and papas dropped dead lying on the ground. The boy jumped back with fear, Turned to the mirror, and out came a tear. Wondering, ???Was it the alcohol? Or was it the hate???? ???Would papa be dead if I wasn???t late???? ???Was it my fault? I bet it was.??? Then the boy all of a sudden paused. He remembered a story that he had heard from mom, Bout a papa and his son. How this boy was treated badly his life and was always beaten. And this boy never even lived to see 15. The boy called ma from work and she came home. And then momma picked up the phone. She had to call about every relative around. Across, below, above, just about all over town. It was the 18th of April and we all stood around papas grave. And as we stood by papa on that very day. I thought of that story ma had once told me and remembered It was also the 3rd anniversary of my 14-year-old brother since he passed away.