Home is Where You Are : A Milkweed fanfic

Chapter One

TW: Mentions of assault

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"Listen , Kuba, I really don't think--"

"Don't think what?"

"I just--"

"C'mon, Enos is gonna love it."

I closed my eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I couldn't possibly believe that Kuba would go this far to do...whatever he and Enos had been doing for the past month or so. It was a game of sorts that they played...or at least that's how they described it.

"My greatest creation..." Kuba stepped back and spread his arms, admiring his 'masterpiece'. "What do you think?"

"I think," I said, claping a hand on his shoulder, "that if you keep trying this hard to show you like him, you two should just tell each other like normal human beings."

Kuba laughed, hand on his stomach, throwing his head back. "Since when was I considered a human being?!"

It was a joke the boys and I often told. We weren't considered people, we were the vermin of the streets. And we accepted the title. No, we indulged in the title. Part was by choice, another part was because most of us were pretty pumped up with spite anyway, so it wouldn't cost too much to just relish in the act.

I chuckled and muttered, "We're less than cockroaches."

"Hell yeah we are!" Kuba pumped his fists in the air.

Shaking my head, I looked at the dumb thing Kuba made for Enos. It was the old wooden sign Enos made a week prior, but Kuba decided to add a "Fuck me yourself, coward" to the "Fuck you" message. He even added a smiley face next to it, as if that were going to send the point home.

"Now," Kuba said, looking around, "Where's Mr. Snuffles?"

Mr. Snuffles was this mangled, half dead stray cat Kuba found, and decided to take it back to the stable. I question his choices sometimes, but I really can't say anything. At least he picked up a cat, while I picked up a--

"Hey, Uri?" A small voice called from behind me.

I sighed and looked over my shoulder. "Whaddaya want?"

"Well, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I, ah, I wanted to uh..."

"Oh my god, Misha, what is it?"

He held up a bunch of...were those sticks? What is this boy doing when I'm gone? He looked like he got ran over by a car and then barfed up by a Jackdog.

"I wanted to see if you, um," Misha paused again. "Do you wanna play pick-up-sticks with me?"

"Do I want to...what?" What kind of name was 'pick-up-sticks'?

"Do. You. Wanna. Play. Pick. Up. Sticks." He said it slower, punctuating every sentence with a nod of his head.

I knew there was no way to get out of this. "Yeah, yeah, alright. I'll play pick-up-twig with you."

"It's sticks, Uri."

"Fine, sticks or whatever."

Misha smiled, broken and crooked teeth and all. Nevertheless, I smiled back, enjoying his company despite his...strange requests. That is, until, I paused and came to a jarring realization. I had no idea how to play pick-up-twig.