A light brush of wind tosses about the hair on the back of Eli’s head, snapping his drifting mind back to reality. His focused eyes stare into the darkened house. At the far end of the hallway, his mother’s bedroom light flashes, flickering like the faint wisps of life in a dying body. The open door leans against his arm. His body is halfway in the frame, nearly free from the cage that’s held him for so long. He can't help but gaze into his home. It's a scene he's familiar with. Every time he has entered this house, he has been greeted with such a sight. The dilapidated furniture, the piles of rotting garbage, the towers of bottles and plastic bags. He has stared at the interior of this building more times than he can count, but today, it seems strangely different.

Eli finds himself staring at a pile of broken wood, the pieces of an old table now discarded into the corner of the room. I played with cars right there in the living room, running them into my mom’s feet from underneath that table. He eyes shift to the kitchen as the memories flood his mind like a sheet of rain, corroding his steel heart ever so slightly with the faintest layer of rust. We would all sit together for dinner. My mom, my dad, and I, all enjoying the fruits of their labors in blissful silence. I would help mom make cookies on the holidays. I helped dad fix the bathroom sink when the pipes cracked, getting soaked with him in the process. I can't say they were the best of times. They were enjoyable yes, but they weren't exceptional. He heaves a silent sigh as he takes a step back. The door screams in protest. The action isn't entirely intentional. The sensation of fear layers his heart as his thoughts bubble to the surface, popping with painful clarity. I came home from school every day to this house, skipping through the door with a smile on my face, excited to share the new thing I was taught in class. I... was a lot happier back then.

His mind strays as the unfortunate truth dawns on him. His eyes fill with a sorrowful longing. He can still hear it, the echoes of the past that will always haunt him, calling out to him like distant voices that are terrified of being forgotten. After dad lost his job, he chose to drink away the memories, fighting unendingly with mom, who never once took the initiative to get a job of her own and support the family. He furrows his brows slightly as a hint of self awareness flickers to life within his eyes. Do I also wish to forget these memories? He can't say he does with confidence. Yes, his heart pangs painfully whenever he recalls those happier days, but standing in this doorway now, looking at the past that he's willfully ignored for so many years, he can't say that he wants to forget it. But he doesn't want to remember it either.

They would fight and fight, drowning out the peaceful days with weeks of frustration and helplessness. He looks at the kitchen to his left. The government’s money would come, putting food on our table, but that was never enough for them. Dad couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle the feeling of uselessness that came from his unemployment. Despite his efforts, however, his constant drinking ruined any possibility of getting hired. A particular memory of his father clings to his mind. It should be the first time he ever realized the kind of man his father really was. The stench of alcohol had clung to him like a parasite and his drunken face was flushed a vibrant red. After storming through the front door, he found his small child staring at him with innocent eyes. The face his dear father made is burned into Eli’s mind like a brand. That despair, embarrassment, feeling of absolute uselessness, he’s sure his father’s expression contained every negative emotion imaginable at that moment. I can't say I don't understand. But my understanding doesn't mean I forgive him. That man was a monster. Back then I couldn't properly express myself, so I stayed quiet, but now I can properly say that what he did to me was wrong on all accounts.

He was a child. He had no reason to fight with his parents. It wasn't his job to stand up for himself. At that age, he should have been focusing on his studies, being happy that he was fortunate enough to be able to attend school. It was his mother that had a natural duty to stand up for him. It's something he's come to realize over the years. Parents are supposed to support their children. When one parent goes too far, the other is supposed to lash back. It's supposed to be that way. But all he received at that time was either anger or indifference. Was she afraid of him? Or did she just not care about me? Whatever the reason for his mother's inaction, she ignored to screaming of her child for months on end. She refused to spare him a glance.

I wonder why she chose to act that one time. What compelled her that time specifically? She only acted once for Eli's sake. A single time, and all of the pain disappeared. A scream. A shout. A hysterical scolding and a barrage of insults. Perhaps it took so long because she needed to gather her courage? Whatever the reason, a single instant was all it took to completely halt the monster that hunted him for so long. She wailed and cried, using every ounce of confidence within her to stand up to him in that single moment. For some reason, his father never could bring himself to hit his mother. And so, like an obedient dog, he drunkenly stumbled out of the house, dying in a car crash not too long after.

Eli stares blankly into the distance. He doesn't want to forget. He doesn't want to remember. The only memories that fill his mind tear him in half without mercy. He trembles. Glancing at the far end of the house, Eli sees the white light that continues to flicker without any sign of ending. He knows, however, that it will soon fall into darkness, never to flicker again. His eyes carry a hint of gratitude. A warm light cracks through the gray slabs that stare at the world without empathy. A tired sigh leaks from his lips. He takes a step back.

"Goodbye..."

In a breath as faint as a whisper, Eli rips his eyes away from the crimson strings that at some point materialized. Their twitching forms thrash about like snakes, squirming like a mirage before suddenly disappearing without a trace. He steps backwards, boots tapping against the pavement. With one hand holding the door still, he takes a breath, closes his eyes, and runs. The door screams behind him. It bangs in the frame as it crashes shut. He’s sure his mother won’t hear it. Even if she does, she won't go investigate. His boots bang against the cracked pavement, the hollow thuds vanishing into the silent night. Along the road, dim street lights guide the way, visible now that the fog has dissipated. He’s running, not out of fear of being stopped by some shady neighbor, but to prevent himself from changing his mind and turning back.

"Goodbye..."

He repeats these words to himself like a prayer, trying desperately to convince himself that what he’s doing is right. Guilt burns in the pit of his stomach. Banging heavily against his back, Eli feels his stuffed backpack. It is filled with changes of clothes, canned food, books to burn for heat, bottled water, and any daily essentials that he possesses. The heavy duty bag strains from the contents, but Eli is sure that if he’s careful, he should be able to survive long enough to formulate a working plan. He might not have a future, but with this bag, he can possibly find one.

His cascade of steps slow to a crawl after a short while, his breathless gasps replacing the tapping of his boots instead. As an individual who has spent most of his waking hours studying, physical education came secondary, meaning Eli is now sorely lacking in the stamina department. As he heaves heavy breaths, he continues to move forward, taking step after step while gradually recovering his spent stamina. Knowing that stopping is a sign of hesitation, it takes everything he has to keep walking. Perhaps the sudden quiet is a blessing, however, as he suddenly realizes how many eyes are following his movements from the dark alleys of every building he passes.

Since he’s walking down the center of the road, the eyes completely surround him. They stare at him with the vigilance of a predator. The uneasiness of being stared at like a meal for consumption unnerves Eli, and he suddenly gains a second wind, picking up speed once again, changing his recovering walk into a half-jog. Seeing that he’s noticed their watching, one group of five break away from the shadows, closely knit together, trailing behind him and gaining fast. Hearing their footsteps, Eli realizes that things have gotten serious. Information that he forgot in his rush to escape his home, now surfaces in his mind with a mocking grin. Naturally he knows about the gangs of homeless that prowl his neighborhood. He has always been under the assumption that they won’t interact with him if he doesn’t provoke them, leaving him completely ignorant of the proper procedures. Though, I guess what I’m doing right now serves as some type of provocation. He face contorts bitterly as he comes to realize his foolishness.

The pursuers eye the bulging pack on Eli’s back. Their gaze is ripe with a familiar madness that Eli knows all too well. Sensing their hungry scans, he instantly breaks into a sprint, spotting a nearby alley free of people. Hoping that he’ll be able to lose his stalkers before he tires, he directs his body towards that shadowed maw. Six pairs of footsteps ring through the air, drawing closer and closer together as time wanes on, shortening in distance gradually with each passing moment. Eli scrambles through the alleyways, stumbling over piles of trash and sleeping bodies that groan from the sudden noise. Glass cracks underneath his feet as he rounds a corner, his gloved hand brushing against the brick. His heavy breaths fill the cold air with mist. Behind him he hears the panting of his pursuers, angry shouts bursting from their mouths as they order him to stop.

The scenery passes in a blur. Out of the corner of Eli's eye, he notices buildings grow more and more unfamiliar. The brick slowly changes to metal, and the signs of rust grow increasingly obvious. His mind is too oxygen deprived to realize what any of this means, however, and he simply continues to run with everything he has. Eli makes a tight turn, scrambling through the maze-like nonsensical mess of buildings. Suddenly, a weightless feeling overtakes him. He feels his body twist from underneath him, his eyes flashing to his feet as he flies forwards. The rolling of an empty bottle sharply pierces his ears as he watches it spin away from beneath his foot. He crashes to the ground, skidding through the piles of trash and waste, curling into a tight ball in an attempt to protect himself.

“Haaah, haah…”

As Eli squirms to recover his exhausted body, the strange men finally catch up to him, bending over and holding themselves up against their knees. Their heavy breaths reek of booze. Terrified, Eli struggles even further, feebly pressing his hand against the ground, too tired to do anything more. Watching his movements with annoyance, one man, a bulging brute with short cut hair and a tattoo on his face, stalks over to him while huffing loudly. He bends over, blue eyes boring into Eli with nasty menace, and whispers in a voice thick with hostility and irritation.

“The fuck is wrong with you, brat?! Sneaking around Griff’s territory and you don’t even pay the tax? You think we’re some kind of joke? Huh?!”

Griff? Tax? In all his years living here, Eli has never even heard the name Griff, not to mention his supposed tax. His sense of danger triggering, Eli instinctively draws his hand into his body, tightly curling into a ball simultaneously. Not even a second later, a fierce kick aimed at his face is blocked by his hands, his clenched fingers digging painfully into his palms by the force that seems intent on breaking his bones.

“Guess we’ll just have to teach him a lesson, eh boys?”

The man’s companions chuckle darkly, joining in on Eli’s beating by grabbing his backpack and pulling, lifting the boy off the ground in the process. His dangling body still curled, the obviously physically superior men use Eli's thin form as a punching bag, ramming their fists into his sides as he does everything he can to protect his face and stomach. One man grabs his hair, jerking his head around as another shakes his body, gradually removing the straps around his shoulders. No! Eli’s mind races as he tries to figure out a way to protect his precious future. Desperately he draws his arms tighter together, curling his body even further. He hopes that maybe, just maybe, his resistance will tire them out and they'll leave him alone. Alas, his efforts are futile, as the men throw him to the ground, twist his arms around his back, and roughly remove the backpack, guffawing and cackling at the sight of the squirming child beneath them.

“P-Please! Give it back, please!”

Tears fill Eli’s eyes as he turns his head, raising his arm with adrenaline rushing through his body. His voice cracks, the fraying of his nerves apparent in his every movement. Seeing this desperately pleading boy, not a single one of the men feel remorse. Their gruff, tattered apparel is a reflection of the hard lives they’ve lived for many years now. Instead of responding, the man that first spoke violently kicks Eli’s unguarded face, dirty boot cracking loudly against his skull. The whole group joins in, kicking and stomping on the crumpled body of the boy, the child's voice breaking as desperate wails fill the air, every word a plea for his bag to be returned.

“Please! It’s mine! That's all I have! I-I can’t go back! Just, just give it back! Please!”

Tears pour down Eli’s face. Snot drips relentlessly out of his nose, mixing with the blood that streams from the cuts in his skin. His face burns, his clothing is ripped, even his boots have been torn from his feet and slung around the necks of one of the men. Eli falls silent, his barely audible whimper the only evidence of his continued existence. Panting like a dog, the leader of the group of thieves cringes at the pitiful sight before turning his head and spitting to the side. His eyes have cooled down considerably, the madness from before gone without a trace. He lets out an utterance tinged with regret.

“Don’t know where you’re from, kid, but take this lesson to heart. You should be grateful that we’re kind enough to only take your shit.”

With that, the group backs away, carrying their haul with them. The leader of the men glances at the young man with a look of hesitation and remorse. An expression of absolute hypocrisy briefly flickers across his face. Just as quickly as it appeared, the emotion vanishes, leaving only a jaded hostility and general hate of his surroundings. He is what he is. He lives the way he does because he has no other choice. Eli doesn't even notice the group's departure. His mind has collapsed at the realization that he’s lost everything, his past and his future, in an instant. As the night wanes on, the pained sobbing of a small and weak child seeps from a dark alleyway. The glowing city looms in the distance.