It's cold, and dark. There are bruises covering your body in places a twelve year old should never have bruises. A twelve year old is meant to have bruises on their knees, from running around in fields, not black eyes and bruises the size of pancakes on their stomach from direct kicks to the belly. What happened is no accident. You turn over on the cold hard floor, and begin to cry. Not loud tears, but silent ones that slip out of the sides of your eyes, signs of silence. Silence. You're alone. Well, kind of, your brother is in what you can only describe as a cell next to you, but he can't hear you through concrete walls. Sometimes quiet is violent. You can hear the clock ticking, but instead of it soothing you as it normally does, it sounds like a bomb, ready to explode at any given moment. Turn again. You wonder if you could scream out for help, but all that would do would be produce an ear blinding screech, piercing the silence of the echoey cell and haunting your dreams, or rather, nightmares, for years to come. From beside you, you can hear sobs. You whisper, "Marco?" But to it there is no reply. You take a sharp knife out of your pocket and begin chipping at the wall. Thank god the military police provided your father with such weak plaster. In ten minutes, you're through, creating a hole just about big enough to crawl through. "Marco." He looks up at you. You wiggle through the small hole and curl up into his arms. He's still sobbing. You look up at him. 14 year old boys are usually tough, more or less from your experience, and you've never seen one break down. "Marco?" He is still crying. "Please stop, you're scaring me." You burst into tears. He stops and cradles you in his arms. Suddenly, a demon bursts through the door, a horrible, warped version of your father, satanic. He screams: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" The air is filled with screams, not just yours and Marco's but every other person he has killed's...
You sit bolt upright, still hearing the screams. After five seconds you realise that it is your own, and close your mouth, the nightmares get worse and worse every time you have them. Although the screaming has stopped, you can still hear a faint screaming in your head, the screams of your brothers. There's only one way to stop it.
You climb out onto the rooftop. Standing at the edge, you get ready to leap,end your miserable life, the worthless lump that you've become. Before you can just let it all go, you hear a familiar voice from above you.
"Don't do it. You're worth too much. Don't, please, if not for yourself, then for me..."
