Painful Symphonies

Chapter One

"Morrison!" someone yelled towards my bunk. "Release day. Get your things ready to move out. I'll be back in thirty minutes."

"Is it release day for Mayhem Morrison already? Time flies when you're having fun. Guess I have to hurry up and beat on you now," a familiar voice laughed somewhere behind me as I was packing my personal belongings. I knew it belonged to a tall, lanky black kid who looked like a mix between Chris Rock and Dave Chapelle.

"Tavares, you couldn't beat a one legged man in an asskicking contest," I grinned, looking up to see his face. He had laugh lines, and his eyes looked older than they should have. No one would have guessed Tavares Smith was just fifteen.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he smiled, "Hey everyone listen up! Morrison is leaving today. We need to give him the proper send off." After he said that, all of the guys started to stomp their feet. The noise was so loud that it was almost deafening. A guard walked by and told everyone to shut up, which they did. Eventually.

"You aren't going to leave without telling me goodbye, are ya?" a hand rested on my left shoulder. I knew exactly who it was without seeing him.

"Jeffery, you may be the ugliest person on the planet, but you're one of my best friends. I wouldn't leave without telling you bye, you grotesque, redheaded stepchild," I turned towards him. Jeffery looked like someone crossed Opie with acne and Jim Carrey. Frightening when you think about it.

"You're a serious loser. But yeah. Bye," he said as he gave me a hug.

"Eww," Tavares shook his head and called Pedro over. His real name was Jonathan, but because he looked almost identical to the Mexican from Napoleon Dynamite, we called him that instead.

"Hey, Pedro, thanks again for the tattoos," I said, touching the side of my neck. It had my nickname written in cursive. He had also tattooed Nirvana on my right pectoral and put the band's logo directly beneath that. He had given me many more, including my dad's name on the back of my right shoulder. It was surrounded by an American flag and the U.S.M.C seal. He had started a sleeve on both my arms, but he had come to a stopping point around my left elbow and right forearm, and told me he would finish later. I guess he wouldn't.

"No problem. Especially after you smuggled that girly mag in here for me. That was a life saver. You have a nice life!" he walked away laughing.

"Morrison! Are you done making out with your buddies? You got to get up off of my compound," an enormous figure called from the door. He had a white handlebar moustache, and a pale complexion. He kind of looked like Santa, if Santa had become a U.S. marine, and then a biker.

"Sorry Sarge. You know how Smith likes tongue," I yelled back, making a large grin break across his face.

"Come on kid. Your mom's waiting on you," he sighed. He walked over to me and put a pair of cuffs around my wrists. Sarge had been pretty good to me, he knew my story. He and I had talked about it on occasion. He was appalled when I told him the living conditions of me and my sister and about the domestic violence. He threatened to call someone, but I told him it'd just make things worse.

When we got to the office where they go through the process of releasement, what I saw turned my blood to ice. On the other side of the glass was my mom and her boyfriend. He had his hand on my sister's arm and was yelling and pointing his finger in her face. My mother was glaring at me with pure hatred, a venom that poisoned me. Not because I was hurt by it, but because it made me angry. Not a regular anger though. It was something that came from my soul, something animalistic, something that wanted to leave everything around me in flames. The fire was even further fueled when Wayne, her boyfriend, saw me staring at his hand on my sister. He smirked, let his grip on her arm go, and stroked her hair as she flinched away from him.