Page 1 of Crimson Flames

Prologue

1 year ago

“Watch the boys, Kai. We are going out,” my foster parent, who isn't really a parent, says as he slams the door behind him.

I've been here for almost a year now. The day I moved in, Ken's exact words were, ‘You're old enough to watch the others while I go get some ass and collect checks. Keep them alive, fed, and somewhat disciplined and I'll make sure you've got food on the table and a decent bed to sleep in.’

That doesn’t sound like much to some, but to me it was. Every time Ken brought a new girl around, I had to step it up. Now, it’s like I'm a full-time single parent. I cook three meals a day for us, pack lunches, do the dishes, and help get everyone showered and in bed at a decent time.

When I first started taking on the bulk of the responsibilities, none of the boys wanted to listen to me. Pokey was actually the one to change that. One night, he fell and broke his leg. I carried him three miles to the nearest urgent care.

There were all sorts of questions, but I told them that I was left in charge, so that our foster parent could go get groceries, and Pokey slipped while taking a shower. They believed me enough to let me carry him the three miles home.

After that, we really bonded. By caring for Pokey when he hurt himself, I think it proved to the other boys how much I was willing to do for them. I knew what it was like to be bounced around in the system and wanted to help give them a sense of normalcy.

Ken kept his promise, so I kept mine. It gets exhausting being twelve years old and watching out for a five, six, and seven-year-old. But it was better than being hungry and alone on the streets, which was where I was headed after five foster homes in eight months.

I'm not a bad kid, but I don't just blindly follow authority. I ask questions, and when the rules are dumb or don't make sense, I ignore them.

At the last house, curfew was eight o’clock, but no one came home to bring us dinner and I couldn’t take hearing the kids cry over how hungry they were. I took some cash from a drawer and walked to the gas station to get us food. That got me kicked out because I broke curfew and stole money to feed the other kids.

I learned quickly that I would have to fight for everything I wanted or needed. It was about survival at all times, whichmeant I got into fights with kids twice my size just to show I wasn’t going down easily. It also meant that I was willing to tell a teacher to go fuck themselves when they tried to talk down to me.

So many people judge my life, but they have no idea what I have had to do to survive.

And now I'm responsible for three other lives too.

I start dinner early so I can put Pokey down for bed at a reasonable time. Mikey and Isaiah can shower on their own, but it takes longer to get the youngest to fall asleep. He has a lot of nightmares, and more often than not, I end up sleeping in his room with him.

Sometimes, Isaiah or Mikey will wake up first and go to him, but I try to take the brunt of it so that they don’t have to. I think they've started to notice because lately when I put Pokey down for bed, they’ve already made sure that toys are cleaned up and dishes have been put away.

Over the past year, we’ve developed a lot of trust and understanding with each other, which means we can usually see what the other needs without having to ask.

Just when I begin plating the food for dinner, a knock sounds at the door. I figure it's probably Ken or one of his little whores. He tried to bring them around here a few times, but I told him if he wanted our deal to work, then he needed to take them elsewhere. It means he’s gone more, but honestly, we function better as a team without him.

Setting the chicken and rice aside, I head towards the door. Usually, I would grab a weapon since this is a rougher neighborhood, but I’m too preoccupied with my thoughts and just open it. Three men wearing black leather jackets with matching gloves stare down at me.

“What do you want?”

I try my best to shield the kids from the guests on the porch, reaching for the pistol Ken keeps beside the door. The one meant to protect us from the rough crowd on this side of town.

“Your dad home, kid?”

I grit my teeth as my hand wraps around the handle of the weapon while the men trying to intimidate me are none the wiser.

“I don't have a dad,” I snap back.

They all seem to exchange a glance, silently communicating something I don't understand. When the taller of the three looks down at me, his tone changes.

“Oh, we know. Just needed to make sure we have the right place.”

He makes a move to push the door in while I continue to try and block the boys from view. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Mikey is already standing. On instinct, I step back and fire, hitting the stranger directly in the chest.

Pokey starts to cry as I hear the boys attempt to run. The intent in these mens’ gazes is clear, and I'm not risking the lives of these kids for anything. I may be a child myself, but it's my job to protect them, so I will. No matter what it takes.

The man falls back, and the other two jolt in surprise as the light leaves their friend’s eyes. He isn't the first man I've seen die, and he won't be the last.

“Run,” I yell back at the others as I raise the gun, ready to fire again. This town hears gunshots often, and nearly every day someone dies trespassing, so I didn't think twice about defending this house. Now, I wish someone would call the police to help us.

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