Who Needs More Heroes?

Prologue

It's not easy to watch your parents bleed out in front of you.

To watch the life draining out of their eyes.
To hear the last time your mother would ever say "I love you".

No matter what age you are it's fucking hard.
But I was nine when it happened...

There was nothing out of place that night. Mom had come home from work and was in the kitchen by the time Dad and I stepped into the house. She had her apron on and her hands were a mess. There was flour all over her face and in her hair.

She was still in her red pencil skirt and white top with a blue scarf around her neck. She greeted us, kissing dad and hugging me gently, after wiping her hands in her apron.

Dinner was simple, I don't even remember what we had, and Dad helped me with my homework while Mom had a shower and he watched the dishes.

It was all routine.

Normal.

Things started going south after bedtime when yelling woke me up. I followed the sound, slipping quietly out of my room and settling on the stairs to listen.

It was the first time I heard my Dad shout, yelling at my mom desperately:

"We can't stay here, Emma! I'm not letting that bastard kill us because of your family!"

I'd never forget what he said.

The argument didn't continue after that; they saw me sitting on the stairs, watching them scream at each other in the living room. Mom ran to me, cradling me tightly and crying.

She sat on the stairs beside me and gently ran her hand though my hair. I was fighting sleep and it was quickly winning.

My eyes closed as they agreed to leave in the morning.

********

That never happened.

They never got away. They were shot while a man held me back and told me to watch.

I couldn't look away from the horrific sight and trust me, I wanted to look away.

He shot my Dad five times.
The first shot was to his right leg and the other to his left. His arms were next and finally his shoulder.

He bled out watching them beat and rape his wife.

I didn't recognise her after they finished. She was covered in cuts and bruises, her face swollen beyond recognition and her clothes ripped almost completely from her body.

They let me go after that and I scrambled to get to her, begging her to be OK.

She was alive when she held me with the little strength she had and whispered a soft "I love you, Kaine", her voice cracking. A defining gunshot punctuated her last declaration of love and I felt her body jolt with the force of the shot.

She bled to death in my arms before help came a little too late.

*********

They were gone by the time the police came. Leaving me clinging to my mother.

The police had to pry me off her.

I kicked.

I screamed.

I begged.

But all I got were looks of pity as they handed me to a social worker. She was a matronly woman with thick rimmed glasses and a sympathetic gaze. She hugged me tightly to her chest, shielding me from the cameras waiting to document my tragedy.

I was covered in my mothers blood and sobbing into her neck but she held on to me. She only put me down once I was at the ambulance. She wrapped me in a blanket and wiped the blood from my face as the police tried to question me, finally giving up when all I did was look blankly at my house.

*********

A/N:
Tragic but let's see how his life turns out....