PROLOGUE
A small, gaunt boy stood in the midnight kitchen. His bare feverish feet spread over the gritty tile and absorbed the chill, though he barely noticed. The only light came from the fridge he raided, stuffing his face with the tub of fried chicken he found inside. The oily matter plastered his cheeks, giving them a fatty shine.
He wanted to eat more, but knew better. And reluctantly the child pushed the leftovers back into the fridge. He knew if he ate more he'd puke- he always did after he ate too much too fast.
Across the counter, in the living room, his younger sister sat on a stained couch with a thin flannel blanket draped over the entirety of her frail body. The light of the plasma television flickered on her face, a variety of reds, blues, greens... She stared at the screen, but her unfocused dark eyes made no indication she paid any mind to the vulgar cartoon.
"Do you think I live in Pretend Land?" The first voice from the show asked, angry.
"Well shoot, what's going to make you happy?" A second more obnoxious voice replied- it sounded like his tongue clogged his throat.
"Pills. Okay? Give me some pills." The first voice demanded in a calmer tone.
Shaking, the boy hunched over the kitchen counter. Exhaustion made his eyes red, and he had grown so skinny over the months his spine began to jut out, and was visible even under his white t shirt. Moonlight that came in from the kitchen window wrapped around his feeble frame.
Pulling open one of the kitchen drawers, the child pulled out one of several knives. Dried lettuce stuck to the steel as he held the handle in his sickly fingers. Light glinted off the blade as he waved the sides up and down.
He could do something. He couldn't survive here any longer. The idea came to his head quickly, and he had to act just as fast before he scared himself out of it.
Quietly, the boy stuffed more leftovers into a scuffy plastic tupperware. He tucked his hoard into his pajama bottoms, then stepped out of the kitchen.
Guarding the knife with his body, he sauntered past his slouched sister, whose blank stare didn't so much as flinch away from the television. Her lip was split, though the wound was several days old.
"Go ahead man, let's do this thing." Pill Addict said from the show.
"I told you I'm gonna do it, I'll do it now!" A new face replied, a blowtorch in his hand. The boy's eyes fell off the TV and onto the front door while the voices continued. If he left that way, his sister would hear him and panic. She'd wake the whole house and cause a scene- cause a beating.
Pill Guy poured gasoline over his body, "Okay dude, just did all the prep work. Let's get it on. Do it!"
The new face stammered for a moment, "Well, shoot- I- I mean I was just gonna sorta blow your jaw off with a firecracker or something. I wasn't gonna, you know..." He trailed off briefly. Then, shutting off the blowtorch, "I think I need to go pray."
The boy stepped into the shadows of the hallway, walking slowly towards his bedroom near the end of the corridor. Near the basement.
"Hey, that milkshake's got no guts, man." Pill Head said.
"You know, half the time just bein' around you makes me want to die." His friend said softly.
Quietly closing the bedroom door behind him, the child made quick strides to his closet. Over his pajamas he pulled on a pair of jeans, two pairs of socks, his tattered sneakers, a dark green hoodie, and beanie. He padded towards the window.
After pushing the glass up, before he could talk himself out of it, the boy shredded the screen open with his knife and heaved himself out the frame.
His feet landed hard on the dirt road as he ran to town.
×××this is one of three short authors notes. i have added chapters into my story, so please excuse the random title #s. they will be my last step in editing as i am likely to add a chapter or two more×××
