“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM US?” Max shouted, quickly peaking back. His heart pounded and his hands worked furiously to untie the knot that bound his little sister, Leah’s, arms to the bed.

Behind them, a boy, his little brother, Ryan, stood with trembling legs. “Please don’t!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

“NOO-“ Max started, but a resounding slap cut him off. His heart sank, and he peaked back once more. A large man, with a protruding gut and scruffy beard, approached, and Ryan crumpled to the ground.

Max ripped at the rope, and it came undone. His little sister pulled her arm back and curled into a ball. Through her tears, she cried “Please stop, Dad!”

Fury built in Max’s chest. This man was not their father. He whipped around, lashing out at the man with the rope. It caught him in the face, and he stumbled backwards.

The man grunted in pain and then spoke with slurred words, “Yer’ dead boy. Ya went too far this time! Can’t ya see that we’re lookin’ out for ya!”

“LOOKING OUT FOR WHO?” Max shouted, holding his arms out. His chest rapidly rose and fell. He clutched at the rope, and pain flared in his hands. Along both wrists, the treaded marks of ropes were imprinted into his skin, just as they would be for his brother and sister. “All we are to you is a check.”

“This is yer’ home!” the man demanded.

Max looked around. The room was destroyed. Trash littered the borders of the room, and the wall's white paint was chipped all around. Stains covered the beige carpet, and an old, splintered dresser sat against one of the walls. The bunk beds that his siblings slept on were only held up by a pile of woodchips Max scavenged from the yard, and against the far wall, his bed, a bare mattress with a single blanket sat on the floor.

“This is not our home,” Max said. “That is why we are leaving.”

“Yer’ not goin’ anywhere! I need ya here.” he shouted, then barreled forward. Max swung the rope, but it bounced off the man’s shoulder.

“What’s a rope gon’ do to me boy?” the man laughed. His hand lurched out and he grabbed hold of Max’s arm.

Max tried to pull away but could hardly budge under the man’s strength. The man tossed him back and he crashed into a wall. The old drywall gave, and Max’s back imprinted into the wall.

Drunk and confused, the man stumbled around the room and knocked into the bedframe. The thin, steel supports holding the beds up rattled, nearly falling. Leah cried louder, and the man’s head jerked towards her.

“Shit… shit… shit…” Max panicked, trying to stand. His back ached each time he moved and all he could feel was pain. All he wanted was to close his eyes. Close his eyes and just forget… but he couldn’t close his eyes. Not when the only thing he could see was his foster-father’s large, hairy hands moving towards his little sister.

He surged to his feet, each movement painful enough to almost make him fall to his knees, but he didn’t. He kept moving forward. And then he dove.

He flew into his foster-father, tackling him straight through the wall that bled into the hallway. They hit the ground with a thud, and Max landed atop the man, his arm trapped between the floor and the weight of the drunkard.

Max shouted, pulling away in pain. His back and arm throbbed relentlessly, but the man wriggled beneath him, trying to stand. Max swung his free fist and connected with the man’s jaw. Then he did it again. And again. And then the man stopped moving.

Max breathed heavily, sitting atop the man, whose face was bloodied. All the strength fled his body, and his fist, stained red, lightly pounded into the man’s chest. Max sat back, and he could feel the man’s gut slowly rising and falling.

He took a breath of relief. Eight years under this man’s roof. Eight of the worst years of his life. But he did not want to kill him. He was not meant to be a murderer.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Max wiggled free and brushed the white dust off his black t-shirt.

Something behind him thudded into the ground and Max jumped. He turned quickly, ready to defend. Then paused.

Ryan and Leah stood behind him, each holding a toy up in the air as if it were a weapon. Each looked up at him with a seriousness in their eyes that made him think they would have actually used them too.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked. A deep red hand imprint covered his cheek, and Max’s heart fell. He dropped to his knees and corralled them into a big hug.

His back ached, and he was pretty sure that his arm was broken, but he smiled. “I’m alright,” he said.

“No you’re not,” Leah said, pulling back and looking at him. She poked his arm, and Max winced.

“Ouch!” Max exaggerated, and they both laughed.

Max rubbed his hand through Leah’s hair. She was only ten. And half of her life had been spent living under the roof of their foster-father. She was skinny, sickly even, but they all were. Long, curly brown hair that hadn’t been cut in years fell over her face, and she looked up at him with bloodshot, hazel eyes.

“Is he okay?” Ryan asked.

“Better than he deserves,” Max said.

Ryan stared at the motionless body. The imprint on his cheek was pressed further into his skin than Max had hoped, and his red hair was cropped short, messily cut by Ryan himself. The boy had enough of hair falling in his eyes and used the scissors himself. He’d gotten in so much trouble for that, he’d been bound to the bed for two days.

His steely brown eyes gazed off, and Max hoped that he was imagining somewhere much better than here. Somewhere better for a thirteen-year-old.

Max had spent just less than half of his life trapped under this roof. Nearly every day, he’d earn a new bruise from their foster-father. Every week, he’d have a black eye. Sometimes even a broken bone. And even now, at nineteen, he got as much food as he got at eleven.

His blonde hair often grew far too long, as it was now, waving in front of his eyes, and his light blue eyes always seemed to irritate their foster-father, many times earning him new bruises.

Max backed up and looked around the room. Then at the man motionless on the ground. He smiled down at his siblings, “Who wants to leave?”

They both hesitated. Their eyes wandered, and Max felt that they were afraid of what the man on the ground may do when he woke up. But Max felt that fear too.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll stay with you.”

“I want to leave,” Leah said, and Ryan nodded beside her.

“Then let’s go,” Max led them through the home, past the kitchen they’d hardly been allowed to step in, past the couch that their foster-father often passed out on, and through the door that held them away from freedom.

It was still light out when they stepped on the fresh grass of the lawn. Their foster-father had always been weirdly attached to that grass. Max couldn't stifle a chuckle, as he recalled how much more the man cared about the lawn than his foster children.

The sky was clear, and a deep hue of blue collided with the fading orange rays of the setting sun. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Max took a deep breath.

“Where are we going to go?” Ryan asked.

Max smiled, “Anywhere else.” But then he looked down and furrowed his brow. He hadn’t thought that far, “Uhhh…”

Then Leah gasped, and before he could react, she ran back inside.

She returned moments later, holding a brown duffel bag. It hit the grass with a thud, and she unzipped it. Stacks of cash burst from the seams.

“I think it was his drug money!” She said, smiling.

Max struggled for the right words to say. He fell to his knees and ruffled through the bag. This was tens of thousands of dollars. This would solve all of their problems.

Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. His vision became misty, and he pulled them both into a hug, “I think we’re going to be okay… W… We can go to my Aunt Carla’s house. She’ll take us in… at least for a little while.” He broke out into a smile, “I can get a job, and you guys can keep going to scho-“

The sky flared. The shades of blue and orange were wiped away, replaced by a near blinding yellow.

“It’s too bright!” Ryan complained.

Max held his hands over his eyes, shielding them from the blinding light. He wiped his eyes, still misty from the tears, and slowly they readjusted.

He stood, unmoving, as slowly he began to make out more of the sky. The light from the sun wasn’t completely wiped away, he realized. It was being pushed back. At the highest point in the sky, much higher than the setting sun was, a new star shined down on Earth.

The heat around them spiked and sweat trickled down Max’s forehead. He panicked, looking for somewhere to take them, but he would not bring them back into that house.

Then the new light receded. The temperature cooled. And Max sighed. When he looked up, however, the new star remained.

And around him, a circle of light coalesced. Wisps of tiny particles formed a golden wall, encircling him on all sides, and ascended higher than he could make out.

His heart raced, and when he looked at Ryan and Leah, he noticed that nothing was happening to them.

“What’s going on!” Max cried. He pressed his hands against the light, and it was completely solid. He pounded his fist against it.

“Max!” Leah shouted.

“NO!” Ryan’s eyes bulged. He pressed his hands on the outside of the circle, but it wouldn’t budge.

The light around Max’s feet started to glow more brightly, and his stomach turned. He bashed his fist into the light and shouted, “RYAN! LEAH!” He suddenly grew very sleepy, and his eyes started to shut as the light shone even brighter. “I love you…” He said, his words nothing more than a whisper.

And then he was gone.