He started running towards the dam, his small feet shifting around inside his older brother's hand me down shoes. The blue leather desert boots with yellow and red trim had made him stand out from his fellow class mates at school. They all seemed to wear new brown sandals or black shoes, but Peter's scuffed colourful footwear marked him as an outsider in his school. They couldn't believe that he wore his brothers old shoes, but he loved his brother and couldn't see why he wouldn't, besides, they were still good, and he took great pride in looking after his things so that they lasted a long time and he got to keep them for ages.

Peter loved his Mum and Dad, Stephanie and Ray, and he loved his older brother Cary, and his older sister Mon. School for Peter was ok, but he really loved coming home to his parents property where he was free to do the things that he wanted to do, with the people that he liked, not confined to a classroom with other kids who were obsessed with television and toys.

Eventually he came upon the dam, and Rusty, the red heeler, who was commonly at his side sprang into the air and splashed noisily into the murky water. Peter stood and watched the old dog struggle around in the water, then picked up a stick and threw it into the cloudy pool for Rusty to get. Peter sat down at the edge of the dam and soaked up the warmth of the October sunlight thinking about nothing in particular, just relishing in his rightful state of freedom and irresponsibility. Eventually old Rusty climbed out of the water and showered his companion in a spray of doggy smelling water, soaking patches of Peters overalls.

Content with his visit to his favourite spot, Peter began the walk back to the house with a feeling of sated achievement at doing nothing at all. It was a fair walk back to the house that Stephanie and Ray had built, for the dam was on the furthest part of their small property. He tried to imagine what the rest of his family would be doing. In his minds eye, he saw Cary hunched over his guitar in the loungeroom trying to work out a piece of music from one of his records. He saw Mon there in the room with him fussing over a picture she would be painting, telling everyone who would listen she was a terrible painter, when everyone knew she was a gifted artist. He could see his Dad in the workshop at the side of the house making a new table or bookshelf or some other piece of furniture to fill out the house a bit. And his Mum, he knew, would be cooking something for dinner. She loved to cook and Peter loved to eat, so together they made a great pair. And when she cooked, it wasn't just a plateful of food, it was always soup, bread, main course, and dessert which would always last until lunchtime the next day.

This last thought made Peter get a hurry on, because he was really quite hungry as he hadn't eaten since coming home from school and twilight, which was dinner time in his family was fast approaching. He hastened along the fenceline which separated his property from the road, and the old man's property across from it, eager to nag his mother for some nourishment.

Rusty raced ahead, he knew what was going on, and was eager to get some food himself. He took off like a rocket for the last five hundred metres or so leaving Peter to make his own way.

-

"Hey there's that weird kid from school!"

Peter turned around, startled. He had been so involved in his own thoughts of food and family that he hadn't noticed the half a dozen or so boys dawdling up the road, obviously returning home from soccer practice with their matching jerseys and soccer boots draped over their shoulders.

"Yeah I bet he's been out having sex with his hippy sister and the rest of his inbred family". They all laughed and called out more.

Another one.

"I bet she'd be a good root with those big tits of hers"

Another one.

"Give her a perm and a bit of make up and she'd be allright"

Another one.

"Hey mate is she a good root or what?"

Peter peered to see who was saying all these things about his sister, and he recognised the boys from his school. Year 10 boys, three years older than Peter. He decided to ignore them and concentrate on getting home to his dinner and to safety. He didn't want to appear frightened, so he didn't run, he just walked with intensified purpose.

"Hey freak, is she a good root or what? I'm talking to you."

He ignored the boys and kept walking, his face burning up with fear rage and embarrassment. He'd never really thought about his sister in a sexual way before, and he didn't like these boys talking that way about her.

The group, a lewd army of boisterous matching jerseys, spoke again.

"Hey you fucking little freak. You not talking to us? Think you're too fucking good do you?"

Another one.

"You should have some respect for your elders freak boy."

Another one.

"Look at the little poofter, he's shitting himself."

Another one.

"Nice overalls dickhead. Did your mummy dress you?"

He liked his overalls, they were his brothers, and his sisters before that, but he didn't say anything, he though it would be safer not too. That was his usual tactic.

Suddenly the ground flew up and hit him hard in the face and Peter found himself lying down in the gravelly dirt. Instinctively he reached for the back of his head and groped around a warm damp spot that soon throbbed. There was a thud next to his face, that kicked up a small dust shower and he could hear the boys laughing and cheering.

More pinging thuds.

Then a sting on his back, and the cheering got louder. Stones rained down all over his body. Instant stinging bruises. And the cheering got louder. He covered his head. The cheering got louder. His sandy mop stained with red. The cheering got louder. They were getting close, and he thought that the cheering would stop as they realised that he was hurt.

The stones hurt more the closer they got until they were at point blank range.

"Get up freak boy, and tell us what it's like to root your sister, cause I reckon she might get lucky with us if we put a bag over her head."

They all laughed. Peter kept still...

A boot in the ribs. An exhalation of air.

"I said get up freak!"

"Mum" he screamed, "Muuuuuummmmmm"

"Your mum can't hear you now sissy boy. Now get up and show us how you root your sister."

One of the soccer jerseys picked up a big rock, the size of a small television and slammed it down hard into the small of his back.

Crack.

"Now get up! That should wake you up or are you daydreaming about rooting your sister, freak?"

Another one.

"Ah fuck him. Little freak. Lets go"

Another one.

"Yeah fuck him"

Peter lay there in agony for what seemed like an eternity. Until Rusty came sniffing around his face, licking at his blood and dried tears in the half light. Peter kept wanting to get up and run home to his family, he wanted to tell Ray and Cary about the bullies, he wanted to warn Mon about the boys, and he wanted to tell Stephanie in private about the things they had said about his sister. But every time he went to stand up, his legs wouldn't work. He was confused, they didn't feel hurt, in fact, he couldn't feel them at all.