Working on a bit more scene, setting and description...
Start Fiction:
I heard the front screen door slam. Henry's dad had come home and immediately began to yell at his wife. She yelled right back, calling him a few names for waking up the twins she had finally gotten down for a nap. Some of the words they used were new to me; but then again, so was a man and a woman yelling at each other. They continued to yell, both the same time until he threatened to hit her if she didn't shut her mouth. It fell silent except for the twins wailing, and Henry's mom sobbing.
Henry didn't flinch, but I did. My chair creeked as I tensed up. I wanted to run out the back door, or maybe even hide under the table. I looked to my new best friend, followed his lead and tried to remained focused on our kitchen table battlefield. Over a hundred green army men, canned goods and some towels made for a good battle terrain; as did the livingroom for Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien. My chair continued to rattle a little.
Henry was a nice kid; he never raised his voice like his parents. They had lived in this neighborhood for his whole life, and it looked like it, too. There was stuff everywhere. Most of the closets were so full the doors couldn't close; hardwood floors worn, splintered in spots; dirty dishes filled the sink, covered various tables; windows so dirty it was hard to see outside; and then there was a funky smell, coming from where or what, it was hard to say.
"Who the fuck is this at my dinner table?" Mr. O'Brien said as he came into the kitchen. He kept his eye on me as he walked to the refrigerator and yanked it open. He was a small thin man; more like a teenager than a man.
"Hi dad," Henry said without looking up. "This is Peter. Peter Bernardi."
Mr. O'Brien twisted the cap off his beer, letting it fall where it bounced off several other caps already covering the floor. He took a long drink as he stared at me. "Boy, I ain't so sure about you," he said as he walked behind Henry and slapped him on the head. "...letting a dego sit at my dinner table."
End Fiction.
