Page 12 of Pocketful of Shame

"You have no choice."

"I'm so scared."

"Good. Your fear might just keep you alive."

"I don’t want you to die."

"Do you want Sketch to die?" he slurred, gagging and choking on his own blood. "Because he's next if you don’t do this!"

"No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "No, dammit!"

"Please…"

"But why?" I cried hoarsely, unable to see through my tears. "Why is this happening to us?"

"You know," he gurgled. "You already know, Romi."

"I don’t," I wailed, trembling from head to toe.

Silence enveloped us for several minutes while his breathing grew more erratic and my mind taunted me with images of a life I wasn't sure existed…

The sound of a small child crying.

A dark room.

Men's voices.

Blue eyes.

The taste of fear.

Pain.

Bad words.

Death.

Whiskey eyes.

My mother crying.

A lock and key.

Their screams.

Round windows.

Flesh.

Hushed promises.

The boy.

The boy.

The boy.

And me…

---