Broken Bottles

Okay, first off let me warn you, this story has a LOT of cursing and violence (which was pretty weird for me to write because I don't curse, and I'm a pretty non-violent person). I just thought that a story like this really needed it in order to be more realistic, so if those things bother you then I wouldn't recommend reading. It's rated 18+ for a reason (even though I'm only 14...).

Also, I have to admit, this needs a lot of work. I've been struggling over this the past few days, but no matter what I do I can never seem to make this story good enough. That's why I posted it here, I need some help! So please don't be shy with constructive criticism.

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The two shady figures stand side-by-side in the alleyway. With their heads towards the ground and their eyes glued to each other's faces, they patiently wait for any sign that they should begin, all the while wondering when the other man will make his move. Life is a game, and in this level, the one who goes first loses the advantage. So far, neither is willing to give that up. But not for long.

As they stand there, nearly frozen, shadows dance around them like fire in the wind. But that‘s only to be considered normal in a place like this. In the distance, they can hear the far-away sound of a gunshot. They pay it no attention.

The men look around for only a moment, finding that this area is in a condition that both are quite familiar with. The ground seems to have been paved over half a century ago, and is covered with so much dirt and grime it is almost indistinguishable from the earth around it. The walls, too, are falling apart. They’re made of an array of bricks, cracked and crumbling as their dull, red color slowly fades away. The faint smell of tobacco lingers in the air, mixed ever so discreetly with the stench of liquor and molding plaster. Secluded and dark, the two men know that this is the best place to do business. The only place, really.

One of these figures is tall and stalky. He has wrinkled, dark skin and a patchy beard growing on his chin. The other is pale and quite young. He wears a hoodie pulled over his skinny body, and is glancing around nervously.

Above the two, clouds float ominously in the air, darkening the sky like a smear of grey paint across the horizon. Everything is in its place, and with that knowledge, the two men finally decide to start.

“You got the stuff?” the tall man whispers, hands in his pocket as he stares at the floor.

“Of course. You got the money?”

He nods.

“Good, show me.”

The tall man pulls his hand into view, and inside his palm is a roll of bills. Out loud, in a quiet, husky voice, he begins to count.

“Everything is here,” he whispers when he’s finished, “Now where is it.”

The other man nods, his face barely visible beneath the shadow of his thick, loose hoodie, and then pulls out a small baggie from within the contents of his clothing. It contains a strange, suspicious-looking substance, but it is obviously what the buyer is looking for.

“Ah, there it is,” he whispers, traces of relief evident in his voice. Swiftly, the treasures exchange hands.

“Pleasure doing business with ya',” the man in the hoodie says jokingly as his counterpart scurries away, mocking all those businessmen that used to come by here before the strip club closed down. He smiles to himself as he eyes the paper in his hands. Quickly, he begins to count it again, just to make sure he hasn’t been doped.

Good. Nothing is missing. All the money, every sweet, beautiful penny of it, is in his pocket. Only a few years ago he had learned the hard way to never trust a shady consumer. But to be fair, in this form of business, aren’t they all shady?

Satisfied with the day’s profit, the man shoves it all inside his hoodie and begins to walk, slowly and inconspicuously, towards the northern end of the alley. The only way out.

His footsteps, though quiet, seem to be extraordinarily heavy in such an empty atmosphere. Each time his heel hits the dusty, cracked pavement, it’s as if an explosion is going off in the man’s head. Loud and powerful and unignorable. He can barely take it. He just wants to get out of here as soon as possible. Nervous anticipation rushes through his veins, but that’s normal. It’s just like every single time he’s done this since the incident. He can’t go back to jail, not after last time.

Halfway towards the exit, the man stops. As much as he wants to get out of here, a much more powerful urge has suddenly and inexplicably settled upon his aching lungs. He really needs a smoke right now. In a moment, he’s leaning his back against the hard, brick wall, reaching inside his pocket as he pulls out a cigarette. Holding it between two fingers, he lights it and takes a puff of its warm, smoky goodness. Immediately, he feels himself relaxing. In every muscle in his body, the tension suddenly melts away. God, it feels so good.

He pulls the smoke out of his mouth and releases a breath of heavy, poisoned air. It intermingles with his nose and a sigh of contentment escapes his lips. He remembers when he first started doing this at the mere age of fourteen, and his sister had begged him to quit. He laughs silently to himself. That girl could be such a little bitch sometimes. Slowly, he closes his eyes and takes another puff. Moments like this make him glad he never listened to her.

So caught up in enjoying his cigarette, the man doesn’t even notice when three, large figures creep silently into the alley. They each hold bottles in their large, gorilla-like hands. When they see the hooded man, they smirk.

“Oy, Druggie!” The middle man shouts. He’s the largest and most beastlike of them all.

The dealer looks up from where he is leaning against the wall. When he catches sight of the men surrounding him, he has to suppress a shudder. Only one thought crosses his mind at a time like this: Oh shit.

“Fuck off, Dawson,” the man growls, like a caged animal. He’s been making a point of avoiding this untrustworthy asshole for a while now, but it seems that he had finally caught him alone. This couldn’t be good.

“Aw, what’s da matter druggie? I’m just tryin’ to be friendly, that’s all! You got cramps or something?”

The two large men behind him chuckle stupidly. The man doesn’t recognize either of them. Probably the newest members of his gang. This guy was always getting himself into trouble.

“Just get the hell out of here,” he mutters, wishing he had brought his knife with him, “I got no time for this shit.”

“Come on now. Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Dawson chuckles, a smug grin stretched across his face, “We just wanna play around for a bit, is that so much to ask?”

“Don’t fuck with me, asshole.”

Dawson laughs, but otherwise ignores his statement.

“I heard you got some big business lately. You made a lotta cash, am I right? You’re a lucky guy, you know that Druggie? Things have been going slow for me this month. How unfair it all is. ” The man notices the way that all the men seem to be drifting closer and closer to where he's standing at the wall, cutting off any means of escape.

Hiding the gulp in his throat, he sticks up his middle finger. Dawson grins.

“Come on, don’t be shy. Show us the dough, we just wanna look at how much you got. That’s all.”

“I ain’t givin’ you none of my money,” he spits. His voice is gruff and angry, but under that thin façade he is truly scared. There are three of them here, and each and every one is more than double his size.

“You’re a funny little guy, you know that? Just give us the shit.” Dawson replies sweetly, a twinkle in his eyes.

“I told ya to get the hell out of here.”

That is one time too many. The amusement is gone, and Dawson sets his face in stone. “Look, kid. Give us the fucking shit now. I ain’t playing you no more. Just hand it over, and you can live.” He cracks his knuckles, and the man shifts uncomfortably on the spot.

Inside his chest, the man's heart is pounding like a drum. Fear and adrenaline rush through his veins now, and his breath is fast and hitched. It doesn’t seem like he really has a choice here, does he? If he gives him the money, he’ll have to walk home empty-handed. But if he doesn’t, he’ll get beat, and money isn’t really any use to a dead guy, anyway. Slowly, he reaches inside his hoodie to pull out the cash. His hand wraps around its weak, papery surface, and just by touching it a flood of emotions is released inside his body. Across his mind, a thousand thoughts race around like go-carts. Fast and furious and unstoppable. All of them related to what this money could do for him. What it would mean if he had it. And then an image of his sister crosses his brain, and he stops completely.

Suddenly, he can’t do it. He can’t hand it over. This money; he NEEDS it. He can’t even begin to explain how important it is for him to have it in his grasp. All these dealers want to do with it is buy more drugs, but he has bigger purposes. Better purposes. And this is all HIS money, too, for god sakes! He earned it! Why the hell should he give it to some cheap-ass little fuckers like these? He is not his mother, he can stand up for himself! In a split second, all his previous fear and submission is replaced by something else. Something far, far more dangerous. Anger.

He remembers how his sister used to always tell him how impulsive he could be. “Think before you act!” she’d yell at him some days, when he came home bruised and bloodied, “I swear, if you keep getting into stupid little fights like these you’re going to get yourself killed!” The thought almost makes him back down, but he pushes it away. Slowly but confidently, the man steps forward. It is the stupidest decision of his life.

“Go fuck yourself, Dawson.”

For a moment, the thug is shocked. He just stands there, frozen, as his mind wraps around his words. And then the beating begins.

At first, the man puts up a good fight. He makes a few impressive blows, even knocking one of the men over, but he is fighting a losing battle. His failure is inevitable. He is far too young, his muscles far too underdeveloped, his mind far too inexperienced, and his body far too outnumbered. It is not a matter of if he will lose, but when.

Within the first few minutes of the brawl, the large men manage to knock him off his feet. From then on, he knows that he is done for. It is over. They’ve overpowered him.

After getting a few harsh kicks to the stomach, Dawson picks him up by the scruff of his hoodie and looks at him straight in the eyes.

“Shoulda just let me have your money, little boy. Such a shame that a little guy like you has to die.” In an instant, the man’s body is flung against the hard, brick wall. His head collides full force, and immediately he begins to feel extremely woozy. He just barely notices the sound of laughter ringing out around him. In each and every one of their breath is the distinct smell of alcohol.

The smell of alcohol during a beating. Anger and laughter. It’s all too familiar to him. It reminds him of his father. For a moment, he feels himself slipping.

His father. Big and wide and mean. Always with an evil grin stretched across his face. Angry words streaming out of his mouth as beer drips methodically from the bottle in his hand. His mother, so small and frail and delicate, being slapped squarely across the face. “Go!” she screams at him and his sister, “Get out of here!” They always obey, but still they know what goes on behind the thin walls of their bedroom.

“You bitch!” they hear their father yell, his drunken breathe stinking up the entire apartment, “You fucking bitch! Look what you’ve done to me! Look what you’ve done to this family!” They hear her cry out in pain as he punches her in the gut. Then a loud, banging sound as he slams her into a table. His mother screams loudly behind the wall, not daring to fight back as she’s bruised and beaten like a savage animal. Meanwhile, his sister is curled up in a ball in his arms. She’s sobbing silently.

“Why does he always have to do this?” she asks him through her innocent tears, “It’s not fair. She’s always so nice to him.”

He shakes his head, stroking her ginger hair gently with the palm of his hand. “I don’t know, Kasey. But Ma' told us never to interfere, so it must be for a good reason.”

The girl sniffs. Her six-year-old eyes gaze pleadingly onto her ten-year-old brother. “I just don’t get it, why doesn’t she ever defend herself?”

“I don’t know, Kasey. I really don’t know.”

The memory subsides, and the man finds himself right back against the cold, hard brick wall. Something warm and liquid trickles out of his right ear.

One of the thugs takes his beer bottle and smashes it against the stone. Shards of glass and a spray of alcohol come rushing down, landing harshly on the man’s body. The glass imbeds itself inside his skin, inducing blood all over his uncovered legs and face. Dawson picks up the sharpest piece available and sticks it in the man’s calf. He gasps as pain overcomes him.

“Can you stop reading and help me?” asks the girl, her voice annoyed but gentle.

“Give me a second, I’m almost done with this chapter. It’s on the Statue of Liberty. Did you know that it was actually a gift from France to the United States? Weird, huh?”

The girl, nine years old now, usually would have smiled at this, but right now she is not in the mood.

“Will you stop with your obsession with New York already!?” she snaps at him, “What’s it all about, anyway? You read one book on it and suddenly you have to read a thousand more.”

“It’s not an obsession!” the thirteen-year-old boy shouts back, ignoring the girl’s skeptical stares, “I just think it’s cool, that’s all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I guess that’s okay. But I still need your help, so put it down!”

The boy does as he’s told and then walks up to his sister. “So, what’s it this time?” he asks, “Do you need me wipe off the blood again?”

She shakes her head. “Well yes, but not right now. I just need you to help me get all the glass pieces out of her skin. I feel like I missed some.”

The boy looks down at the bed to see his mother lying on it, unconscious. His father had just finished with a fresh beating this morning, and lately he’d been drawing blood. Today his mother was bleeding profusely from a number of locations, each marked by a shard of glass imbedded in her frail and paper-like skin.

The boy looks his mother up and down for a few moments. After five minutes, he reaches down and pulls out a small fragment stuck inside her left thigh.

“Oh, there it is,” says the girl with a sigh of relief, “Thanks,”

He shrugs in response, but otherwise does not acknowledge her show of gratitude. After a long span of empty silence, however, he finally decides to speak up.

“Hey, Kasey?” he asks

“Yeah?”

“Do you think mom and dad will ever let us go to New York for a day? You know, for vacation or something?”

The girl looks down at her shoes, as if considering. Not long after, she lifts her head and answers.

“Not a chance.”

He sighs. “I know…”

The man comes back to find that Dawson has picked him up again. He’s shaken violently as the monster tears off his hoodie with one violent sweep of a hand. A bag of strong, white powder falls to the ground, emptying right onto the pavement. It’s his cocaine, of course. His drugs. God, he hates that stuff. He hates every little bit of it.That’s the thought that runs through his mind as one of the men punches him on the upside of his head.

“See ya later, Druggie,” one of his old street friends calls out as they separate. He smiles and waves back, promising to meet him behind the dumps tomorrow. As he turns the corner towards his house, however, he’s met with a surprising sight.

“Your name isn’t Druggie. It’s David.”

David shrugs. “Stay out of this Kasey. You don’t know a goddamn thing.”

He watches with amusement as her face turns a bright, searing red. She deserves it. What makes her think that she can just eavesdrop on his conversations like that?

“I know more than you think I do!” she responds, her arms crossed angrily over her undeveloped chest.

“You’re barely even twelve. You know nothing.” He indicates to the childish pigtails attached to either side of her head, and she blushes fiercely.

“I know that you’re a drug dealer! Is that enough for you!?”

He rolls his eyes. “Keep your voice down, will you? You don’t want to get me arrested.”

She refuses to back down, shaking her ginger hair, “I know that you WILL be arrested if you keep on doing this!”

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up!” he snaps at her as they enter their empty home, locking the door behind them, “Mind your own fucking business!”

“This is my business!” she screams back, “You’re my brother! What am I supposed to say when people keep coming up to me asking if I can tell you to set them up?!”

“Just deal with it!” he calls as he stomps into his room, throwing himself down onto his bed, “I need to make a little money, is that so wrong?”

She follows him, not letting go. “YES!” she screams, “If you want to make money, get a job or something! You’re sixteen now, lots of places will hire you! Why do this?”

David sits up in bed and bangs his fist against his desk. “Because it’s not ENOUGH, Kasey!”

“Not enough for what? What do want to buy, anyway?”

Full of anger and frustration, David bites his lip and spills. “It’s not enough to get out of here! I am so fucking SICK of this shitty little town! God, I hate Detroit so freaking much. I just… I just…. I can’t do this anymore! I’m done, I’m just done. I’m saving my money, and as soon as I get enough of it I’m moving out of here. Straight to New York City. I know that place has got some ghettos, but I won’t be livin’ in one them. I’m going right to time square. I’ll get a job there—any job, I don’t even care. I just can’t take it here anymore!”

Kasey is silent for a moment, staring at his face as if trying to wrap her mind around it all.

“But, but,” she begins, her eyes wide and pleading, “You can’t leave! Mom needs us, we’re the only one’s who can help her.”

“FUCK MOM!” he yells back, watching as the tears begin to form in her beautiful aqua eyes, “That woman hasn’t stood up for a single person in her entire life! Except for him, and that’s the worst of all! She doesn’t stand up for me, she doesn’t stand up for you, and she doesn’t even stand up for herself, for god sakes! She just sits there and takes it all! And the one time I ever even mentioned that she leave him, she started to defend him! Who does that?!?! I am so done with her, Kasey, and you should be too. No real woman lets a man beat down on her like that, especially with kids in the house. I’m getting out of this godforsaken town the first chance I get, and I think you should do the same.”

Kasey shakes her head as a tear slips down her face. “But she NEEDS us! Who’s going to take care of her if we leave? Help heal her when she gets hurt? You know she’s too weak to take care of herself.”

“I’ll tell you this one more time. I DON’T FUCKING CARE! She can go kill herself for all it’ll matter to me. Why should we just sit here and do this for her, when she’s never done a goddamn thing for us?”

“But don’t you see? Everything she does is for us! Every single beating, she takes it all because of us! Because she knows that if she didn’t, then we’d be his next target. Why do you think he’s never laid a finger of either of us? It’s because of her. We owe everything to her.”

David spits on the floor. “If she had any brains at all, she would have ran away with us years ago and never came back. She loves him, even if he does beat her, and I hate that. I hate every fucking bit of it.”

He stands up from his bed and steps closer to his sister, taking her face in his hand. “Look, Kasey. I’m not going to stop dealing, so you can quit your nagging now. I’m just gonna keep saving money, and when I have enough I’m out of here. Whether you like it or not. Once I’m in New York and I got a steady job, I’ll come back and get you, ok? And don’t pretend like you don’t wanna get out of here, too, because I know you. You’re just as sick of it all as I am, ‘cept you’re too afraid to admit it. Now get out of my room, before I push you out myself.”

The man comes back to reality, and he finds himself still in the hands of Dawson, his nose badly broken and pouring blood all over his face. The thug grabs the money from his now torn hoodie and twists his arm, hard. He hears the sickening sound as it cracks beneath the pressure. The pain is sharp and jagged, like a knife piercing his skin. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream breaks out into the suffocating air. It takes him a second to realize that it’s his own.

One of the large men grabs him from behind and holds him by the crook of his arms, squeezing tightly. The other simultaneously kicks him in the groin. A spike of shock and pain shoots through him, and the scream comes back, but this time it is far more distant and raspy.

The man holding him suddenly throws his hands around his neck. He feels as the thug begins to squeeze, closing off his throat and lungs. He tries to breath in, but no air can pass through what little space he has left. Slowly, he feels himself beginning to black out.

Desperately trying to cling onto whatever consciousness that has yet to disappear, and knowing that if he allows himself to slip, he will never wake up again, the man struggles and squirms against the thug’s superior strength. In a useless effort to keep his hopes up, he pretends that he hears police sirens in the distance. They will save him, surely. Take him to the hospital, and then he’ll be all right. But even as he imagines it all, the thought only brings back a horrible memory that’s still quite fresh in his mind. He closes his eyes for a moment as it all comes rushing back to him.

The handcuffs. They are tight and cold, burning as they rub against the sensitive skin on his wrists. He asks the officer guiding him to loosen them, but he angrily refuses. He’s scared, he really is.

David still can’t believe what is happening. One minute, he’s making a deal with a man for two ounces of cocaine. The next, the man pulls out a police badge and he’s surrounded. He’s nineteen now, old enough to go to county jail. But certainly not mature enough. They search him, of course, and he gives them no trouble. He’s far too shocked to do anything, anyway.

He stays in jail for the next few nights, until finally the trial is ready for him. It’s small and not anything like the murder cases he see’s on television. A bunch of officials sit and review the evidence out loud, discussing with each other. He pleads with them, claiming that this was the first time he’d ever done anything like this. Luckily, when he was caught he had only a small bag of cocaine on him and very little money, so it went along with his story perfectly. They searched his house, but found nothing. He’d been very careful to hide all his stuff under a loose floorboard. At the end of his trial, the judge decides to grant him three months in prison. It’s a very light sentence, David knows this, but he can’t help but feel the twist in his stomach. Prison. The place of all his nightmares.

He hates it there, of course, but it isn’t until after he gets out that he has the worst experience of his life. Inside it may be dirty and scary, horrible and rancid, cold and friendless, but at least it’s safe. Outside is a different story.

He comes back after his three months, tired and grimy and thin, expecting everything to be the same. His mother see’s him first and throws her frail arms around his neck, hugging with the little strength that she has. Next is his father. He yells and screams at him in his drunken stagger, and somehow ends up beating his mother as she cries silently to himself. God, he hates this house. The only one he’s even the tiniest bit happy to see is Kasey. He hates to admit it, but he missed her. A lot. Currently, she sits waiting for him in his room.

When he see’s her face, he shuts the door and smiles at her. She tries to smile back, but it’s weak.

“Hi,” she says to him. He knows something is different, but he can’t quiet put his finger on it.

“Hi,” he replies. Both can hear the usual sounds of a beating going on through the wall, but they are used to it now. They barely pay it any attention.

“I have something to tell you,” Kasey blurts out suddenly, her eyes beginning to tear up.

“What?” he asks, confused. He can’t even begin to guess what might be making her so upset.

She opens her mouth for a moment, but then closes it. She tries again, but same results.

“Spit it out,” he tells her, slightly annoyed.

“I-I… um,” she falters, her face a deathly white, “While you were gone, I… did something bad. Really bad.”

A single tear drips down her face, and David doesn’t even bother to ask her to continue. His expression is enough. After another few minutes of bumbling, she finally opens up.

“David, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to shout it out whether you like it or not. I... I sold my body, alright? I prostituted myself.”

David is speechless. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. It must be a mistake. A trick, a lie. Anything other than the truth.

“W-What?” is all he can mumble between his chapped, bleeding lips.

“You heard me,” she whispers, “I had sex with a man for money.”

The words sink into his brain. They destroy him like nothing ever could. Tear him bit by bit into a million horrible little pieces. Suddenly he see's her in an entirely different light. His little sister, his sweet, baby sister, is a prostitute. A filthy whore. A dirty slut. What ever happened to those cute, childish pigtails she used to have? Now her hair is long and free, cascading down her bare back like a waterfall. And what about her flat chest? It's been replaced by unmistakable womanly curves. It makes him so sick. What ever happened to her?

“But you’re only fifteen!” he screams, the words tumbling out of his mouth, “What the hell?! Why the fuck did you do that?”

The tears pour down her face. “I didn’t want to,” she whispers through her large, pouty lips, “He just drove up to me when I was sitting on an empty sidewalk. Asked me for sex. I told him no, I promise I did, but then he pulled out his money and I… I just couldn’t believe it. It was so much. And then I broke.”

“What did you even need the money for?!” yells David, still not believing her words, “What amount of cash is worth your fucking virginity?!”

A single tear drips down her nose and into her long, ginger hair as she answers him. “I did it for the same reason why you sell drugs, David. I just… I can’t do this anymore. You were right. This town is horrible. I hate it, I hate every single bit of it. When I saw that money in the man’s hand, all I could think about was how much an apartment in New York City costs. I saw myself living there, studying medical sciences and volunteering at a local hospital, and I just… nodded. I told him yes. Because my life would be so much better there, I could live my dream, and at that moment, the very thought of doing that was enough for me to give up my virginity.”

David is silent for the longest time. All that can be heard is the silent sniffling on the other side of the wall. He never knew that she wanted to be a doctor. He never knew anything.

Suddenly, in an act that even surprises himself, the boy bounds forwards and grabs his sister. She screams in shock, thinking that he’s going to attack her. He thinks so too. But in a moment, he’s holding her against his chest in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he sobs into her ginger hair, noting how it smells vaguely like the scent of strawberries, “This is all my fault. I put that idea into your head. I never realized that it would make you do something like this. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The girl shakes her head, biting her lip like she always does when she gets upset. “No David, this was my fault. This was my choice. I would have realized the truth anyway, you didn’t need to tell me.”

The boy is silent for a second, but then he grabs her shoulders and spins her around to face him. “Kasey, I promise you, right here and now, that you are going to New York City. I swear. I am going to keep on working and saving my money, and one day I’m going to earn enough for two plain tickets. We’ll rent the cheapest little apartment out there, I’ll work my butt off doing three jobs a day if I have to, and you’ll have all the time in the world to study your medicine. I don’t care if you say it’s impossible, I will take you to New York one day. I cross my heart.”

“No,” says Kasey firmly, “No more drug dealing. I can’t stand the thought of you getting arrested again. Please, just… stop. Find some other way to make money. Get a real job at a store, or something. Please, I just can’t take this anymore.”

For a moment, the boy fidgets. But when he looks once more into her beautiful, tearful eyes, he knows he just can’t tell her no.

“Deal,” he says as he squeezes her body against his own, “No more drugs. I promise.”

Yet here he is. Out on the streets again. And getting beaten because of it. Why couldn’t he have just listened to her? Why did he have to get fired his first day working at that fucking little coffee shop? Why is he such a failure?

Without warning, the man lets go of his neck. David falls to the floor in a heap, crying out in pain as his back hits the cold, hard pavement. He is sure that he looks like a bloody mess right now, but he is far too woozy to care. Nothing seems real anymore, it all feels so far away.

“I have the money, let’s just leave him here,” he hears Dawson say through his bleeding ears, “He won’t last long, anyway.”

He begins to walk away, his minions not far behind. On his way out, he gives the bleeding man one last kick to the side. David feels as a handful of his ribs crack in two. And yet he just lays there, his mind fuzzy, listening as the sound of footsteps got quieter and quieter until they disappear altogether. He is alone.

Fuck this. Fuck this all. He’s going to die here, isn’t he? There is no possible way that he could survive this. He’s bloodied and bruised, woozy and tired, twisted and broken. Something wet and warm drips down his face. He can’t tell whether it’s a drop of blood or a single tear.

He feels like one of his father’s broken bottles. Shattered and smashed. Used up to its full potential. And now just sitting here on the ground like a piece of litter. The last of his life draining away before his very eyes. Dripping onto the pavement to never be seen again. Useless, empty, better off destroyed. No matter where he went in this meaningless little life of his, he has always brought pain and violence with him. Now he can no longer hurt anybody. He is a broken bottle. A broken bottle.

Yet he was so close. All that money, saved up from year after year of drug dealing, just lying under his mattress. Now no more useful than blank scraps of paper. All his hard work will go to waste now. He’ll never make it to New York City. Never get to live his dream. Never get out of this place. He’s going to die here. This is where his soul will wander for all eternity. And to think, he already had more than enough not only to rent an apartment, but also for his first plane ticket. More than halfway to his goal. But that’s over now. His dreams will die with him. He’s done, just plain done.

But wait… his sister! A last flash of hope takes hold of his body as he thinks of her. Kasey. Her name pulls some invisible strings at the back of his mind. He’s groggy and light-headed, yet the realization still manages to come to him. That night, the night he found out that she had prostituted herself, he had shown her where the money was. He can remember doing it! In an instant, everything comes together.

When he dies, she won’t have to worry about a second ticket. She can just gather it all in her hands and go. Just go. Run away from this filthy place, and these filthy people, and never, ever come back. Nobody will ever pay to touch her beautiful body again. When he dies, she will be given the chance to live. Somehow, despite all his pain, the man smiles. This makes it all worth it. Maybe he hasn’t broken his promise after all!

I did it, he thinks to himself as he stares at the brick wall in front of him, his eyes getting blurrier by the second. She’s going to New York. She’ll make it. Everything is going to be okay now, everything is going to be okay.

The last thing that his sister ever said to him crosses his mind. “Please be careful out there, David,” she told him as he was getting ready to leave for ‘work’ this morning, “You know you’re the only one I have who’s looking out for me. Don’t ruin that.”

The only one who’s looking out for her. That is true, and he has no troubles admitting it. He’s her friend, her roommate, but most importantly her brother. Whether alive or dead, he’ll be looking out for her for the rest of her life. And it’s going to be a long one, he’ll make sure of that.

With that happy thought still swimming through his brain, David takes his last, dying breath. He smiles to himself, letting joy overcome him, as everything goes black. And in that dark, ominous afternoon, a single soul rises from the shell of a broken bottle and is carried away by the wind.

It lands in New York City.