Chapter Text
Blood pounded in Pico's ears as he ran down the dark street, only illuminated by the occasional flickering street lights. His neighborhood was old and small, with tattered little houses that painted a rundown little community. His neighbors were nice enough, and just outside of his block the streets were much nicer. Nobody seemed to know about the horrible things that happened in that tiny, crumbling little house.
The lights were never on. After all, his mother couldn't afford the bills. People were always going in and out, although the old couples that neighbored Pico didn't think anything of them. In all reality, they looked like normal, upstanding citizens. But only Pico and his mother knew that they were dealing horrible things, and were complete perverts towards Pico. He soon blocked them out of his memory, not wanting to remember what had happened to him just over half an hour ago. After all, who really cared as long as his mother got her fix?
His worn, tattered shoes thumped against the cold pavement, chilled by the cold night air. Winter was in full force, and he knew that his mother would only get worse as things got colder. His breath came out in foggy puffs of smoke, his lungs screaming as he panted. He was very lucky to have been on his school's soccer team, and was used to running for long periods of time. His sunken abdomen ached with hunger. He really couldn't remember when he had last eaten, but that didn't matter at the time.
He only stopped once he was well away from home, doubling over to breathe in the bitter, icy wind that pummeled his thin frame. What was he going to do? If he went to a neighbor, surely they would just call his mother and take him back. He couldn't go to the police, either, as they would probably think he was some sort of trouble maker, what with his record of trouble in the town. He never meant to cause trouble, it just always seemed to follow him. Then it hit him. Darnell!
How could he have forgotten? Darnell had been his friend since the week they were born. Darnell would have been months older if Pico hadn't been born so early, but it only drew them closer. He turned towards his friend's street. He'd feel just awful for waking the nice family, but he knew that they were the only ones that could help.
As he ran towards the well kept little white house, his head began to scream. He knew he had been thrashed quite harshly earlier, but he really didn't think it was any worse than his usual treatment. Although, as he moved, he grew increasingly light headed, his vision blurring in and out of clarity. The concrete sidewalk scraped against the hole in his shoe, attacking his already bruised foot. Almost there. Just a little further.
Pico found himself barely able to climb the steps, each one feeling like a giant mountain. He almost smiled when he saw that familiar yellow door, slowly shuffling towards it. Just then, he nearly toppled over.
No, not yet! I'm so close!
Just before he could reach the door, his legs buckled underneath him, allowing him to fall to the porch with a thud. He panted, his eyes going dark as he struggled to keep awake. The last thing he remembered seeing was a light flicking on through a window in the house, and then everything went black.