“Get the fuck outta here.”

The evening air was warm against his skin, dwarfed by the heat of the blood running from the cut across his cheek. He spat on the ground, wiping at the blood with the back of his wrist and taking in the figure crumpled on the ground at his feet. No doubt the kid was hurt, but the likelihood of a serious injury was low. Just enough to send a message. A reminder of who owned this turf. Micah was the undisputed king of the neighbourhood. Or at least, he fancied himself as such. There was always another challenger on the horizon.

“Stay down ‘till I’m gone or I swear to fuck I’ll be back on top of you in three seconds flat, and I’ll break at least six of those goddamn fingers.”

He wiped his hands over his pants, whistling without much of a tune as he walked off. If that kid had any sense, he'd wait to get up until he was far out of sight and earshot. He didn't feel like issuing another "warning" to the punk. Stupid kids.

Just looking at that Micah was enough to realise that he had been in a fight with someone else. His eye was black already, with cuts and bruises covering his face and arms. He very well could have a broken nose, but nothing he wouldn’t recover from soon enough. Micah only wanted to hurt the kid, not kill him or leave much in the way of lasting damage.

Not to say that he hadn’t done it before.

He scooped up a few cigarettes from the ground, pocketing them. “Smoking’s bad for you, y’know. Quit that shit while you’re ahead.” He called over his shoulder to the boy who quickly flattened himself to the pavement again.

The spoils of his victories were generally a few cigarettes and whatever few dollars they had on them. The consequences of a loss...well, suffice to say, he had returned home a few times with black eyes, bruises, cuts, and a few cracked ribs. But none of that really mattered. He had responsibilities, and he had siblings depending on him. Not that he'd ever admit it. He was too much of a "tough guy" to admit to caring for his siblings, or to admit that he was the family's provider. No one would need to know that he skipped meals so they could eat, or that he laid awake at night wondering how he was going to make sure rent was paid on time and the young ones were taken care of.

“Fuckin’ punks…” He murmured to no one in particular.

He was, by no means, a perfect person. By seventeen, he was practically a parent, routinely got into fights, and had picked up a bad smoking habit. But he liked to think he was an alright person. Not great in any sense of the word, but maybe, just maybe, someone that his siblings could look up to someday when they understood why he did what he did.

He looked up at the setting sun, throwing bands of red and orange and yellow across the sky, and the light danced across the treetops , their shadows thrown across the road. It was a beautiful night, but the atmosphere was melancholic. Granted, everything was overly dramatic in the mind of a teen.

Micah paused outside the doorway, taking care to clean himself up as best as he could before entering the house. No need to scare the kids if he could help it. He always felt a mess, but the young ones never commented on it, so hopefully that meant they never noticed. It was sad to think that this was “normal” for them.

The front door swung open to reveal his siblings on the dirty, threadbare carpet in front of the television, some kids’ show playing in the background. His younger sister, with wild, curly hair and bright eyes, was the first to notice him enter, and quickly shook her younger brother, a petite boy with dull eyes and a perpetual smile. They both beamed up at him, eyes wide and grins wider. “Micah!” They squealed, and he tenderly wrapped his arms around them as they ran to him.

“Did you have a good day at school today? Tell me all about what you learned.”

That was all the permission Charlotte needed to start detailing the day’s events in learning which different shapes an octagon could be broken down into,figuring out that she was an excellent kickball player, and that Larissa from homeroom was a terrible player. Jeremy sat patiently nearby, waiting for his sister to finish speaking so that he could share his day, or at least the small portion he found to be worth sharing.

“I found a nice rock.” He smiled and handed it to his brother. Micah took it gingerly, running a calloused fingertip over the smooth surface, tracing the bands of white as they travelled around it. “Mrs. Devery said you can make wishes with the rings.”

“What would you wish for if you could tell me and it would still come true?”

The child paused, reflecting deeply on the query. “I want you to stay home and not fight no more.”

Micah’s face hardened as he pushed his chair back from the table. “Well, you said it so it can’t come true anymore. Eat your dinner and get into bed.”

“But it’s only--”

“Bedtime when you’re done.”

“But--”

“No arguments!” He slammed a fist on the table, and the children fell silent, eyes glued to their plates of food.

He mumbled an apology, sighing deeply and sitting back down. “Bed after this, okay?” He spoke gentler this time, and they both simply nodded.

Guilt gnawed at him as he once again stood, sitting on the fire escape and lighting a cigarette. The guilt washed away as nicotine began its intoxicating dance with his senses, flooding his system and quieting the voices of rational thought and what he would think of as his conscience.

He revelled in the feeling of the long overdue drag, releasing the smoke into the air in near perfect rings. He had needed this. He deserved it, he told himself. He had had a stressful day. Then again, every day was a stressful day. He needed this to cope and deal with the stresses of being a parent and having to take care of himself and the kids and pay bills.

Bills. God, they were all going to be overdue this month. By a longshot.

“Micah? There you are, dear. You ran off so quickly this morning we didn’t get a chance to talk!” The fragile voice of his upstairs neighbour cut through his moment alone with his vices and thoughts.

“Evening, ma’am.” He cleared his throat, removing his beanie in her presence. The woman may have been old, but she tolerated no disrespect, and could beat you over the head with her cane before you could even utter an apology.

“Come up and let me have a talk with you face to face.” He knew far better than to refuse, and wasn’t keen on offending the woman who babysat his siblings for free and occasionally provided money and groceries.

“What have you been up to? Your face is cut.” Her eyes peered dangerously over the half moon spectacles, years of nursing being put into practice.

“I haven’t been doing anything, ma’am. Got into a bit of a fight is all. You shoulda seen the other guy.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” She eyed the lit cigarette in his hand and looked straight into his eyes. “Those will kill you. Give them up now, or you’ll regret it later.”

He hesitantly crushed the end, leaving the rest for later use. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I never had kids.”

“I’m aware, ma’am.”

“So I count you like you’re my own flesh and blood. And I won’t have you dying on me.” She paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “Give up the fighting, honey. Go back to school, stay with the kids, and have a good life like you deserve.”

Micah stood abruptly. “I mean no disrespect ma’am, but I need to go run a few errands. The kids wanted something and I forgot to grab it while I was out earlier so I should go get it before they pitch a fit, okay. Bye, have a nice night. I’ll see you soon.” He hopped down the ladder, running across the street and away from the judgemental eyes.

He came to pause in front of a shop, staring at the racks of costumes lining the window display. He stepped into the shop, looking through racks and wall displays, looking through the colourful and gory facades. Lottie’s request was easy: she wanted to be a princess. He could count at least a dozen princess costumes, but Jem…

“Hello there, sir, can I help you find something today?” A bubbly young woman skirted around some low hanging capes, wearing an uncomfortably revealing vampire outfit.

“Uh, yeah…” He gestured to the costumes around him. “You got a mosquito one somewhere? The back or somethin’, maybe?”

“I’m sure I could find you something much more...adult.” She grinned, trailing her fingers along his shoulders and whispering in his ear. He pulled away instinctively at the unwelcome advances and awkward touching.

“I’m gay. And you’re not my type. I don’t hit gals but you gotta keep your paws off, yeah?” He brushed at his arms, as if to remove the residue of the sexually tense situation. “I need a kid’s costume. He wants to be a mosquito. Fuckin’ weird, I know. Can you help me or not?”

“No. No, I cannot help you, sir. I have the right to refuse service, y’know, so you better be nice to me.” He resisted the smirk that tugged the corners of his lips, and instead nodded out of mock respect to her.

“Sure thing, Miss. You don’t have a mosquito, and that’s fine. He’ll get over it. But I need something else bloodsucking. You got a vampire that won’t show off his tits?” He eyed the walls, scanning the array of new lives you could step into, if only for the night. There was a certain appeal to be allowed and it being culturally acceptable to step into an alternate life for an entire evening. Being someone else sounded like a wonderful thing.

The woman seemed taken aback by his response, but struggled to regain her composure. “Kids’ vampires, over there.” She pointed viciously, and he allowed himself a triumphant smirk this time. He had won their little power struggle, and he wanted to make sure she knew it.

“Perfect, thanks.” Micah tossed a princess and vampire onto the counter, scanning for something for himself. He was careful to avoid anything she could derive satisfaction from as being “more adult”. Finally, he settled on a pirate, tossing the “Suave Swashbuckler” costume beside the other two, and trying his damnedest not to cringe at the name. Pirates were cool, and he felt like one sometimes while fighting and robbing. “Alright, lady, how much do I owe you?”

“You owe me nothing. You owe the Lord your soul.” She hissed, holding up the necklace bearing a cross.

“Oh.” He slowly picked up the costumes and backed away. He had never had anyone react this overtly homophobic to him before, and it was trippy. “Glad to hear they’re free. Have a nice day, then.” He exited the shop swiftly, screeching following him into the street.

He frowned deeply, combing calloused fingers through black locks. People were stupid, sometimes. He whistled a few bars of a song he had long since forgotten the title of, strolling through the hot air to clear his mind.

He carried the costumes home to the children, his young siblings thankfully asleep by the time he arrived, and his neighbour no longer perched on the balcony above him.

He climbed the staircase, leaning against the rickety, rusty, creaky railing that threatened to buckle under his weight. He looked out over the rotten corpse of a city he lived in, the empty shell of what had once been beautiful and vibrant, a verdant expanse of lush parks and young families. But hard times had taken their toll, and it was now home to drug dealers, criminals and “low-income housing”.

Micah hummed in frustration, gently easing the door open, slowing in certain spots to keep the creaking to a minimal. The magic of being behind on rent meant nothing got fixed, even when it truly needed to be. The railing still threatened to collapse, the carpeting remained a threadbare monstrosity, the microwave ran exclusively on twenty percent power. The apartment was a shithole to start, and had only gotten worse as time went on. But rent had also gotten further behind and he had himself to blame for that.

He paused in the doorway of the children’s bedroom, watching their sleeping figures for a few moments and reflecting on his choices and how they affected them. He felt like a failure when he looked at the kids. He just wanted to do right by them. To make sure they could live a somewhat comfortable life. That they wouldn’t ever look back and feel like they were lacking in something. But above all, he wanted to make sure his siblings grew up to be better people than he was.

He let out a deep sigh before he walked into his bedroom, looking around at the depressingly dark colours and rather sparse decorations. It reminded him of the rest of his life. He crawled into the bed, tugging the blankets over his weary body. It had been a mentally exhausting day, through and through, and his body had taken a beating as well. He kicked his shoes off, Chuck Taylors colliding with the worn hardwood.

He was quickly sucked into a deep slumber, the world melting around him.

“You’re going to lose it all.” Micah sat motionless on the park table, the shadowy figure in front of him wavering, like the flicker of candlelight. “You’re going to lose everything you’ve worked for if you don’t stop.”

He watched in horror as the children ran to the figure, taking its hands and becoming engulfed in shadows before disappearing entirely. “They’ll be gone, and you’ll lose everything you tried to hold onto.”

He quickly closed the distance and threw a punch, rage coursing through him. “Give them back!” He roared, his fist passing through the stranger without so much as slowing. “Get away from them, give them back!”

The shadows departed, revealing the vague form of a young woman. “Run, Micah, they’re coming for you all.”