HeWentToParis


	He Went To Paris Kilthalia I was cold. My blanket was thin, I was in nothing but a diaper and the tree’s leaves were falling. My crib was hard and the metal bars were cold and warmth zapping. I looked between them to see my parent across the way, in the light. Dad was mad again. What else is new!? Mom was mad too, this time. He hit her. I heard it too. I just watched. What could a two year old do??! My big sister came in, lowered the bars and carried me to her room. She set me down on her pink rug and then went to close the door and barricaded it shut. Then she came back to me with a blanket and together, we hid for the night. I awoke the next morning, warm. My sister was up, nowhere to be seen, and the blanket was bundled around me. I got up and crawled around, looking for her. I was looking under her bed when my mom came. “Oh, there you are!! I’ve been worried sick about you!!” She wasn’t happy or concerned sounding. Mad. She hurt me once then roughly carried me down to the kitchen. She plopped me down in my rickety high chair and stuffed my mouth with this awful tasting stuff. I was forced to swallow it as she fed me another scoop. I saw Dad come and go without even a word, but he made the door make a loud sound as it shut. My sister came down the creaky stares and asked for something. “No, Rose! You know your father doesn’t want you to have one!!” “But I want a dolly!! Like the one on the television!!” “NO!! You very well know we can’t afford to get you one!!” Rose stomped-ran up the stares and Mom continued to stuff me full. After my afternoon nap, my sister came in to take me to her room to play. I liked her room, though bare, it was the warmest place in the house because she always hid in here. She got out her dolls and gave me mine and we played “Monsters”. That’s a fun one, where she and I take turns to be the horrible drooling monster, attacking the city of people. Actually, our “people” are homemade from sticks and grass and leaves that my sister made behind our parent’s backs. See, she wasn’t allowed to have dollies. The only time we ever saw our parents was mealtime or if we went out on an outing, but even that was rare. Luckily, I’m the one who ate the most in my family only because I was the baby. I can remember Dad coming home angry every day; filthy and he smelled funny. The yelling and screaming and fighting was too much to bear. My sister would come and fetch me at night and we’d sleep together to protect each other from their wrath. Now, my dad was the way he was fer…I don’t know why. All I know about him is all my mom knows about him, which isn’t much. He went to St. Canard, for, who knows why. Mom once said it was like he was looking for something or someone. He was maybe in his thirties and very aggressive. My mom was 18 when they met. She said that part of it could be that he wanted to change the world to what he saw fit. Didn’t work out that way, huh? Well…maybe it did. I mean, look at me! Dad’s love for indulging himself in pleasures and luxuries made him in debt. When he met my mom it wasn’t love and it wasn’t any connection that many of you would want. All he wanted was a few things. One, a…partner. Two, a slave. And...that’s what he got. Bastard always got his way. Mom told me that he didn’t actually want kids, but that’s what he got. Then he changed his mind and wanted more slaves, and thank god Rose and I got out of there before we were old enough to be put to work, only…Rose didn’t quite get out soon enough, as you know. If he seems so shallow…it’s cause he IS that shallow. Never married my mom, just kinda kept her around to do menial labor, child labor and keep house. I knew kids from up town. They say how their dad’s took them out golfing, sailing, hunting. My dad was a slug. Well, how much could a guy earn shoveling coal into a refinement plant to make gasoline and Diesel??! The only way I could eat at school, because my parents didn’t give me lunch, was if I found my lunch money in the gutter on the way to school or if I mugged another kid for it. I wasn’t really the bully of the school, but if you got in my way, you had hell to pay. That went on for years on end: starving, fights, extreme cold, and the blazing heat of summer. During my summers as a lad I’d do anything for money, which I saved and hid from everyone so I could eat when I needed to. One day when I was in the upper grades in elementary school, a gang of thugs came up to me and said I was the right height for the job. Being short for my age, whether it be from my parent’s genes of the fact that I was a starved kid, I didn’t like to be called short, so I got all defensive. They said it was all-cool and that they had a job that I could do and get paid real good for. Ok, money, I needed that; I said I’d do it. What it was, was thievery. I had to go through a ventilation shaft in the St. Canard museum to get the priceless Renaissance Ruby to sell on the black market. Technology, compared to now, was minimal and so was the security. All I did was go in, lift the glass case and snatch the rock. As I was almost through the shaft to the other side I heard the alarms go off, I panicked, doing this the first time. I got out and the gang was across the street. I ran to them, but as I was I the middle of the road I was stopped by cops. I wiggled out if their grip, with practice from evading my father, and ran. I evaded the cops eventually, zigzagging in and out of the back alleys’ that I knew too well and the gang and I met on the roof of an old building. They asked for the stone but I discovered that it was gone! I could have sworn it was still in my pocket, but alas, it was lost. Well, they weren’t too happy about that and beat me to a bloody, aching pulp. Upon being thrown off this two story building and landing in the garbage below they left me for dead. I rested there for what seemed like eternity, but eventually got up and slowly made my way home. I had to pass the museum on the way, fortunately actually. Cause there in the gutter, under a banana peal was the Renaissance Ruby! That made my day; I kept it for all times, I was no fool! I snuck my way home and hid it with the money I keep stored up. I never kept my hiding place exposed for long, in case someone’s near spying or anything. I couldn’t even trust my dear sister. It’s not that I don’t love her, but the possibility of my father beating it out of her was too much for my mind to bear. I was actually keeping her safe by not telling her. Ever since then I became a thief, stealing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, wherever I wanted. It was more profitable than earning an earnest living. Yeah, I’d get caught sometimes. I’d be sent home under police escort, being charged as a minor, luckily. My father would beat me terribly on those days, but they were few and infrequent. It wasn’t that he was mad at me for stealing, it was that I brought attention to my family and my dad was guilty of the same charges and didn’t want to deal with the cops and the law. He was the only working parent and if he went to jail we’d have to use all our money to get him out and we’d be poor as church mice. Not like we weren’t already, but what we had in that shack of a house would be more than if we were poorer. At least my mother cooked dinner every day. I always half looked forward to dinner. It was a time to eat, but the bad part was being with the family. Dad would glare at us and yell and say how stupid we all were, complaining about work and the house, the mortgage, Mom’s cooking, anything under the sky. I hated him. Mom’s cooking was the best!! Days I wanted to see my sister I couldn’t because my mom said that she was with my dad… You don’t want to know. She was forced to. I’d sit by her door and pray for her safety. When he finally would get out of her room, I’d go in, closing the door behind me, and Rose would cry in my arms. I hated him even more for that. Soon after that Rose left home for good. Dad seemed pleased and Mom said she’s worry about her. Rose was 13 at the time. She took all of her things, which wasn’t much. After my parents left us alone, Rose and I hugged and said our goodbyes. She said that when I was old enough, that I’d leave home too and I could live with her. That day she left I hid away and cried. Yes, I admit it, I cried. I love my sister; she always took care of me ever since I was hatched. She was my second mother. I grew slowly and just continued trying to live. Some nights were so cold I’d be blue when I woke up. Those times, I wished my sister was there so we could keep each other warm. I bet she was cold too, and I worried about her constantly without any word on where she was, how she was doing or whether she was even alive. But she’s a Hudigan! She’s a survivor!! His father came in, pissed as always, and noticed that his son was doing what he was supposed to; his homework. “WHAT THE HELLA RE YA DOIN DAT FOR!!?? Why dontcha go do house work!!??” Damien threw Drake’s books off the table, smacked his son in the back of his head, and kicked through the loose-leaf papers then stomped upstairs. Drake sat there seething with anger. His pencil snapped in half as he gritted his teeth. Attempting to calm himself was futile, but necessary if he wanted to go the night without a brutal beating. His mother walked in with the week’s groceries; one bag half full. “Oh Drake! Having problems in Math again?! I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t tear up your books! You know we can’t afford to repay the school for damages you make!” “Mom! I didn’t DO IT!!” “And I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t lie to your mommy…” “I’m NOT!!” “Pick this up before your father sees this mess.” “ARG!!!” “Hush! You know what he’d do if he heard you!” Grumbling, Drake obeyed. Once he had all his things in his arms his father came down in his undershirt and glared at his young clone. “I think junior here doesn’t deserve dinner tonight!” “Whatever you say,” Martha said coolly. Damien evilly grinned at his son and dragged Drake upstairs and locked him in his room. the books and papers went flying again as Drake fell on his face. He would have cried like the child he was and cursed like his father, except that would definitely get him beaten that night. That night Drake cried on the inside and ate the bugs that crawled around on his bare, splintering hardwood floor. He hated it when they bit back. “Alright class, I’m collecting your homework now.” The teacher announced to her elementary class. “Drake! What happened to your homework?! It looks like it was attacked!” “Well ya ain’t so far off…” she collected it anyway. Drake slumped in his seat and daydreamed of a day when he would approve of his children being smart and filthy. Two days ago his father had come in, covered in soot. He tracked it along the front walkway, through the kitchen, up the stairs where he stopped and watched Drake follow with a broom and dustpan. His father disapproved of dirt in the house, yet always came in filthy and smelly. Drake was sweeping up the stairs when his father kicked him back down the path he cleaned. “You FOLLOWING me??!!” he took off his work shirt and threw it on top of Drake. “and remember, a LITTLE starch!! Not a ton, not none!!” Then continued to the bathroom to wash up. Drake knew now three things he had to do. After his father was in the shower, he would go and sweep up the rest of the soot he spread through the house, and do the bastard’s laundry and then clean the bathroom. Every day was the same old thing after school. After his father would come out, Drake would be scrubbing the hall walls from Damien’s fingerprints and his father would kick the bucket of soapy water on top of Drake. Then he’d have to mop up not only that spot, but the bathroom floor, and all the way to his parent’s bedroom, cause his father left watery footprints. Drake snapped out of his waking dream of horror to a history lesson. He would learn from the past’s mistakes and continue the legacy of terrorism and civil war, teaching all those whom opposed him a lesson before he would kill them. His favorite subjects were math and science. It took a lot of planning and use of these to accomplish his future goals. Even though Drake was one of the kids no one wanted to mess around with, he was an A student. If he ever brought in a test that was a B or less he was beaten for doing poorly. If he got a great grade, his father would beat his mother for congratulating her son. And whenever Drake brought his report card home, he was beaten for not doing more housework and spending all his time studying for school; something his father thought a pointless endeavor. You didn’t need a degree to shovel coal for a living. As Drake walked home from a good day at school, he thought about his sister Rose, whom had left two years ago. He was grateful that she wasn’t home to be abused by their father, and he hoped that she was alright. Home’s front gate squealed as Drake opened, shut and locked it. He went to pick up the day’s garbage thrown onto the tiny front yard and tossed into the garbage can. The front screen-door squeaked and slammed behind the youth as he entered the house and sat to do his homework before his father got home at 6. His mother was at work. It took her ten years to convince his father to let her work again. He agreed only if she never came home pregnant, like she did with Rose. She agreed; that’s why she wasn’t home ever, anymore. Drake wasn’t ignorant. He knew what his mother did for a living, now and before Rose was born and before she met their father; she was a stripper. That pretty face of hers got her enough money for a week’s worth of groceries, and that wasn’t much. Drake’s tummy burned with hunger when the thunder started. He looked up from his work for a moment to see a streak hit a building in the nearby city. “Cool.” And back to work it was. He was well, done, and finishing making dinner when his dad got home. He’d be furious that mom wasn’t home yet. Drake prayed that she wasn’t hurt or worse. He loved his mommy. Drake had three towels ready for his father, resting on the kitchen table, by the door. The moron would most likely ignore them, stomp upstairs cursing and then yell at Drake for not having them out, Drake would point out that they are, and then he’d be beaten. It occurred to him the that he’d better hand his father the towels as he came in. Sure enough, in comes a soaked Damien. Drake swiftly hops off his stool at the stove the snatch a towel and hold it up for his father. Damien took it with a near silent “thank you” as he dried his head. Drake awaited the soaked work shirt and had a second towel ready. All went as planned and Drake escaped torture as his father quietly went up the stairs and into the bathroom for his daily shower. Drake finished making dinner and served it for the three of them. Only there were two… Damien and Drake both sat there quietly, eating slowly. “Where in hell’s your mother?!” Damien grumbled. Drake knew better than to answer. He merely shrugged. “I’m gonna go out and look fer her. Get ready to go to the city.” So it was that Damien and Drake headed to the red-light district in St. Canard. His father dragged him from the bus down streets and alleys until they reached a neon lit building. Drake heard about these places but never was told about them from his parents, let alone actually saw one! Damien dragged Drake inside so they could find Martha. It was easy. She ran up to her boys begging for forgiveness. “Damien! I tried to call you at work to tell you I wouldn’t be home until tomorrow evening!” “WHAT!!?? There is NO way in hell I’m going to bed tonight without getting what I want!!” “What ever gave you the excuse not to come for the same thing?” Martha said alluringly with a fake smile. Drake knew that she didn’t enjoy the line of work, but that’s all it was, a moneymaker. She had Damien there. “fine. Don’t expect me to pay you either. Drake, why don’t you wait for us at the bar?” and without another word his parents went elsewhere. So Drake hid himself in a corner chair, watching the world go by, waiting hours for their return. In the meantime, he watched the shows, and how drinks were mixed. Bored of the same routine, Drake pulled a rubrics cube from his pocket that he stole off some kid and he played with it, making record time solving the puzzle. Drake awoke to find dawn well gone…SCHOOL!! Should he stay as told or go to school, like he also should??!! And didn’t dad need to go to work??!! The manager came over and told Drake that the duck that looked like him left around 4 am. HIS FATHER LEFT HIM THERE!!! There was no time to think. Drake ran out and to school…in the pouring rain. Being soaked to the bone was no different if he hadn’t run to school. His seat was right under a leak in the ceiling and it was ungratefully pouring cold, smelly, yellow water on his head. The halls were flooded with two inches of water at the end of school that day. Some bigger kid slid past Drake and accidentally, he told himself, shoved him down the stairs to the basement. He got up, only to discover that his arm really, really hurt!! The school bell rang, the day was over. Drake hiked up the slippery waterfall stairs and home. By the time he reached the gate the rain had stopped. Miserable, Drake purposely hit his head against the wood gate and went inside after his outdoor chores were done. He kept his hurt arm close to his chest. In that position it didn’t hurt as much, only ached. He walked in and saw his father cooking. He didn’t know his father could cook! “Got beat up today?” he asked it was then that Drake noticed that when he hit his head, he cut it and he was bleeding. What could he say to get himself out of this mess??! Let his father know what really happened? NO, that would make Drake look stupid!! “Yeah, dad. I got beat up.” “HA HA!! Wimp!! You got creamed!!” “Not before I kicked his friend’s asses. They ran home crying for their mommies when one guys big brother came.” “Hmm. Ya shoulda ran, kid.” “Or ducked.” “huh. With how short YOU are, if you ducked you’d be on the floor!” Drake so desperately wanted to say, “Oh! And WHY do you think I’m so short?!! Hmm, maybe it’s cause I DON’T EAT??!! CAUSE YOU STARVE ME??!!” but he didn’t say a word “Sit down kid,” commanded his father. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt.” Drake lied straight out. He could tell his arm was broken. “Good. No medical bills.” Drake silently skulked up to his room and hid behind his bed, by the window where the best light was. M…maybe he could set this himself… as he touched it, his arm yelled no and Drake almost yelled himself, but kept it all inside, afraid to be beaten. Tomorrow was Friday. Drake would tell his dad he was going to get something from the store but would really go to the library and look up how to care for a broken arm. He didn’t want his parents to pay anything for him. All he needed they already provided, which was simply, a dry place to sleep and food. And Drake didn’t even depend on them for that! So it was, Drake lied and went to help himself. He took the book he needed out and went to get materials, preferably free, so he stole and compromised the remedy. For a long time, Drake hid up in his room and tended to his arm. He isolated the breaking point and painfully manipulated the bone, from the outside, to get it back into place as best as he could. Applying the splint and tying it into place required use of his feet and knees and teeth. That night he skipped dinner and laid in his bed (which was really a beat up mattress on the floor with a raggedy pillow and thin, patched and holey blanket. His old crib was still in there too.), staring at his bulbless ceiling. Drake ran his fingers through his ruff hairdo and sighed. What would his life be like when he was older? Better? Worse? The same? What would ho do for a living? Surely not shovel coal!! Drake ran the question through his head over and over, even as he slept. Late that night, Drake’s mother came in to kiss him goodnight. “Sleep well, my little dear,” she whispered. “perhaps one day, with your smarts, you can make the world a better place,” So Drake dreamed of making the world perfect, in his mind. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the boy’s mind with flashes of black and gold. The tree outside caught fire and red was added to Drake’s mind. Blood. Money. Evil. Red, yellow, black. Good colors for people to obey a strong man. Terror, the flapping of vampire bat wings. Hunting wolves, red with the blood of their prey. He was chasing things unseen, and yet, in the far distance behind him, something was chasing him. But it was no concern. Drake awoke to his father’s drunken rage outside his room. maybe that day Drake would hide where he was and pretend he didn’t exist, so he would be saved from a pointless beating. Unfortunately, with the lack of heating in his room, the leaky ceiling and Thursday’s rain, Drake was cold and mildew started to grow. Drake couldn’t suppress a sneeze. He shut his eyes and waited for his father to break down the door and began beating him with whatever he had handy. Only…Damien never heard him over the sound of his own voice. Drake had waited ten minutes before he realized this and silently sighed in relief. He really wanted his arm to heal without problems. Drake summarized his life in school as to, little education, no supplies, overstuffed, leaky classrooms with poor ventilation, poor heating, and no cooling whatsoever. Still, even though he would be shoulder to shoulder with his classmates; one in front so close that he couldn’t stretch his legs and one so close behind that he couldn’t slouch. And like him, the kids were all in tight money problems. His father had gotten few privileges for the house because of his services to power the electric plant; they got running hot water and fuel for the oven. Other than that, it was the same for all the kids in school, nothing. They all had nothing. No personal belongings, filthy, starved, sickly. Drake considered himself so lucky for having the immune system of a vulture; he hardly ever got sick. And even with a broken arm, Drake still fended off ever-bigger kid who thought they could beat Drake up for lunch money. There would be times when Drake’s father would be staying really late at work, or if there was an emergency at the plant. On nights like those, Drake’s mother would bring him to her job, to make sure that he’d not be bored. He knew that was a lie. He had millions of things to do at home! Clean, cook, homework, theorize things. It was the fact that his mother loved him and wanted to be with him, near him. Drake appreciated that, but not when his mother was putting on a show!! He was just a boy and didn’t think about the things that his mother’s job did. Prostitution, beer, male entertainment. It actually disgusted Drake. How could people do that to themselves. It seemed uncomfortable. He could remember one day his mother brought him and his sister to the mall. Oh, what a pleasure. But those days were well gone. Well, the point is that when he would go with his mother to work, the other girls would walk up to Drake and coo at him, cause they thought he was a little cutie. “Aw, Marth, he’s adorable!” “He’ll be quite the womanizer when he gets older, ya know that, right?” “Aw, look, he has your pretty eyes, Martha!” “What a nice quality of feathers you have, eh?” Drake would glare and sneer at their behavior, yet when they bent down, he couldn’t help but notice the bust in his face. He would lower his eyes to look at the floor and the girl’s thought that was very cute of him, to be so shy and timid. Drake’s mother would say, “I just pray that he doesn’t turn out like his bastard father. An alcoholic and abusive.” The other gals agreed with her and then they’d be off to work. For hours, until his mother’s shift was off, Drake would spend his time examining the girl’s dressing room, where his mother would leave him and instruct him not to go far. He was permitted to have one drink at the bar, at the expense of his mother’s paycheck. Unselfishly, Drake would spare her the trouble of getting less pay. But bored to tears, he discovered their equipment that got them to the glamorous. What he would do would be to preen himself and sand his nails down, buff them to a pampered shine. By the time he was done, his mother got back and they went home for breakfast and it was off to school for Drake. His life would proceed similarly ever day for another three years until he was 12, going on 13. It was a fateful day in October, Halloween when Drake’s father came home after a day off from work, which he spent gambling. Drunk and enraged in loosing Damien took it all out on the first person he saw: Drake’s mother. Drake knew this was like no other day of rage his father exhibited and knew ill would come of it. Drake entered their bedroom and saw it torn to pieces and blood. Drake grabbed up an empty beer bottle and tracked the screaming to see his mother on the floor, unable to protect herself. His father was ready for the final blow when Drake smashed the bottle in hand over his father’s head The boy snatched his mother’s hand and dragged her out of the room as Damien recovered. They got no further to the front door when a knife hit the wall next to Drake and stayed. The boy whipped around to see his father glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and blood on his clothes and on his feathers; another knife in hand. Drake knew that this was it; the final stand. His mother pleaded, “Drake, no, you can’t! he’ll kill you!” “He’ll kill you if I do nothing,” “Better me than you, Drake! Please!” But the lad paid no attention to the pleas and went to stand before his fate and his father. “Evil and sinister man, you will do my mother no more harm.” Damien hissed, “That’s what you think, runt!” then the knife in his hand slashed at the boy and he went down. The attacker then turned his attention to his other victim. Drake got up and held a hand to his face, looked at his hand and saw blood. He looked up to see his mother being brutalized and became enraged. No longer caring of consequences, Drake tore a leg off the kitchen table and beat his father repeatedly with it. It felt so good to fight back; to fight for what was right, even though it was wrong. However, Damien grabbed Drake’s weapon and tore it from his little hands and proceeded in going after Drake. Martha called out, “Run Drake!! Run!” Damien lunged at Drake with the knife, but quicker, Drake dashed out the front door and never looked back as he ran for his life. Knowing full well that Drake could no longer go back he sought refuge from the elements in a crate in a warehouse when it was nailed up and shipped out, Drake hiding scared inside. Days later it was opened and an elderly gentleman and two thug looking blokes looked in and saw the emaciated and blood covered Drake. They explained that Drake was in Japan, on a moutain top school for the art of QuackFu. Drake emerged and indeed saw the breathtaking view that he not even saw in his ripped up geography textbook. Drake, having nowhere to go and nothing to do, learned QuackFu to his best, and bi-daily, hiked the stairs to fetch groceries for the day. It was impossible at best, but if Drake could survive his father, this was heavenly paradise, so Drake dealt with it. Upon his fourteenth birthday, a strapping looking Drake Hudigan was out, repairing their fishing net chewing on some straw when she appeared. She was wearing the most beautiful kimono, with the face of an undead angel. Drake grinned, his hormones screaming at him. As she passed, she winked at him. That night their sensei, Ki Kass, instructed them that Kien Yoshi was off limits; the pretty lady that winked at Drake earlier that day. She was to be the Sensei’s bride and his marriage would help the school, for she came from a healthy family. But Drake was the only teenager there…and his new found needs screamed to be obeyed. Nothing their master taught them helped with Drake’s problem. Day in and day out, Drake would be doing yard work and repairing anything and everything when she Kein Yoshi would wink at Drake and beckon him to approach; something they weren’t supposed to do. She would ask him for personal favors and he would obey in a heartbeat. His reward was a single kiss and eventually every kiss became more sensual. They started on his forehead, to his cheek, his bill and eventually his lips. The sensation sent him into heaven and eventually one day, the last day of Drake’s training, Kien Yoshi and Drake Hudigan could no longer hold back their feelings. It was Drake’s 15th birthday when the adultery was discovered. Even though Drake passed all his training, because of his actions with her, he was never officially graduated and was kicked out of the school. Kien Yoshi was sentenced to exile and they never saw each other ever again. Back to stinkin St. Canard it was for Drake when he met a kid like him. The teen Drake found was taller and having his own difficulties with the local populous of gang thugs. I left home at the age of twelve, thankfully. But it wasn’t like when Rose left. Oh no, it was much worse!! Dad was drunk and on the rampage. Mom was getting the blunt of his attack and she was screaming in fear and bleeding all over the house as he threw things at her and bashed her with them repeatedly. I got a plank of wood from outside and smashed it over his as he was busy beating Mom. He turned his aggression on me then, and I and Mom knew it would be the last of me if he did get his hands on me. Mom called to me to run. To run far away and don’t return, for my sake. Though, I was worried about her. There was nothing left I could have done. I threw everything at dad and still he perused me. I turned and bolted for the front screen door. I ran down the street, never to return home ever again. That night I cried for my mother. Not for myself. I found some scraps in the trash that were still good and I slept on a vent that spewed out warm air, so I didn’t have to find a blanket. That was the next day’s activities. I found a backpack and gathered all I needed in it. I eventually had gathered so much I needed a second bag! I had found lots of food that could hold me over for a couple of days, I found cloth from bed sheets, a jacket that was too big for me, but it was good enough to be used for something! In times like those, everything mattered! When I returned that evening to my vent, I was chased out of the alley by a worker at that restaurant. I guessed then I had to fine an abandoned building to live in. And a small boy on his own in this big city with bad people in it wouldn’t have too much luck. I didn’t have good luck for years. I was constantly chased, beaten, and robbed. I still survived, though. One day, I guess I was about 15 at the time, I came upon a young, tall duck who was having problems of his own. I remembered that I saw people passing seeing what was happening to me when I was being beaten, and they never helped. I figured that, like our bullies, we could combine our forces and become stronger!! So I grabbed up a folded and discarded chair and bashed the biggest guy’s head with it. He was out cold and the other two were no match for the duck I was helping out. They ran away scared. We laughed as they ran, chicken hearted! The tall, young duck turned to me, looked down and thanked me. I said that people like us had to defend each other to survive. He agreed and then we shook hands and made introductions. His name was Willy. That night we went to his place, after gathering my things from my temporary hideaway, and settled down for a little meal. That night I learned his story, as he did mine. And I’ll tell you, they’re not all that dissimilar!! Willy was from Duckburg and his father chased him out of the house, saying that he was old enough to fend for himself. It wasn’t true! Willy wasn’t much older than me!! He was a teen too!! Well, after a day in Duckburg was passed that prohibited begging and streetwalkers and homeless, Willy came here, to St. Canard. And we agreed that about half it’s population was homeless!! After a laugh, I could tell that he and I would be good friends for a long time. He was my first friend too. After about a year living with Willy in our abandoned apartment building, that we kept a high security on, this factory worker came up to us, as we passed by his facility, and he asked if we wanted jobs because we looked like healthy, strong, young men. We agreed to the occupation and the pay and found that we were to ship truckloads of coal and petroleum to and from our designated destinations. We were taught how to drive eighteen-wheelers, got our licenses and went on our ways to our destinations to pick up our loads. It so happened that Willy was sent to pick up the raw materials and I was sent to the place that he was to transport them to so I could get the refined product to the St. Canard power plant! Willy and I planned that if we time it right we can stop half way at the motel and meet, eat and talk together!! So, things worked out like that for about three years. I thought the job was fun. When Willy and I came into radio contact we’d talk about our adventures and what was going down. On one of those days I talked about this Doberman that was guarding a fellow truck driver’s cabin and thought about getting my own after I had almost gotten mugged. He said he’d do the same. I always had a fascination with guard dogs like that ever since. At the beginning of my second year transporting coal to the plant, I found a familiar face… it was the same one I’d seen in my rear view mirror day after day. My father… Well, after I parked for my load to be taken, he and I confronted. So this was his pathetic life. I clenched my fists, my teeth grinding against each other, remembering the last time I saw him. I was just as big as him now, and just as strong. Younger, perhaps less prone to the affects of old age. He never even saw me coming. I hit his shoulder and then he turned to see me. He had a look of shock and surprise on his face. I must have been grinning because then he got a scowl on his face. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t that punk kid I sentenced to death. What in hell are you doing here, you little asshole?!” he said over the roar of the factory. “I’m a truck driver, you sickening excuse for a living being!” I retorted. We got into a brawl soon after that…and I was fired. But the good thing was so was he! The owner had no idea he hired a father and son. This world sucked. I knew that from the start. That was when I decided that Willy and I would change it for the better. Anyone who opposed us would be put away in their place. No questions asked. This was a harsh dimension and had to be dealt with just as harshly. We trained long and hard and went in search of recruits. If they gave us a hassle, we shot them, then recruited them. Our harshness reflected in the cities perspective on its dregs. Once the officials realized that take over was eminent it was too late. Forget about going in and killing them separately, risking dealing with the cops. We just blew up the buildings. Our force went in to the radio and television buildings and Willy and I made our premiere appearance. “Hello St. canard. You are ours! And you will submit or die!” After our broadcast I though of my mother. Was she still alive? Did she hear or see our broadcast? Did she know I was doing this for her? I wanted to know, but there were more pressing issues at hand; the national guard. This made One Eyed Willy only have one working eye. We’re driving back from a holiday dinner and I think, “Who else in the world looks like Lord Negaduck?” Me. That’s who. Gee, I wonder WHY!!? Maybe it’s because I really know he’s my son, Drake. I am proud of him, though. And I can’t tell him. If I could hug him, I would. But he’s Negaduck. He’d kill me on sight. As I listen to the music in the van, I close my eyes. Maybe I had too much wine. Ooh, my asthma was starting to act up again. Damn coal mines. When Drake was a baby, I worked mining coal, then went to work in the processing plant. I curse his mother for getting pregnant with Rose. I didn’t mean for that to happen, but took full responsibility for it regardless. Then came Drake, and some years later, Duke. My kids grew up fast and moved out into the world with eagerness. Ok, so all three left around 12 years old! It was less mouths to feed. As soon as the kids were out I moved out, leaving Martha to her own work, of which was the reason I had made love to her all those decades ago. I was just foolin around and it was her job. So, now that Lord Negaduck took over, I work in one of his factories. Best pay around. You get to keep your life. It was something to do. But I’m going on 60. he’ll kill me soon enough. No employment, only slaves we all are to him. Maybe he’s getting payback for me. But it’s a clear fact, there are no hospitals, so once you’ve gotten old enough and can’t live without support, yer put to death. I’m getting there. Maybe another ten years I have left? Not if this cough persists the way it does. Now that I think about it, I kinda wish I could say I’m sorry for screwing up my kid’s lives. I coulda sworn I once saw Rose. A street walker with that name had black hair and brown eyes. I don’t remember exactly what my daughter looked like, it was too long ago. Drake was a strapping young man when I met him again, but then after that he took over the world. Either he’s forgotten about his parents or doesn’t care. I had seen Martha shopping at her usual store. Sure Drake has the world under his finger, but some things never changed. Right now it’s perpetual 1920’s, like the crash. The city in which he lives in is demolished, as are certain neighborhoods elsewhere in the world. Others fight for their rights and that’s how it is. People ban together to fight gangs for turf and rights. Sometimes they’re even successful. Me, I live with a friend and don’t do much. I walk to the kitchen and I’m out of breath, so, I know my time is soon. But only if, one time, I don’t care if he kills me, I want to see Drake one more time and tell him what I feel. He doesn’t know I fought in a war and he doesn’t know that I had savings for him and his siblings. He doesn’t know that deep down, I just wanted what was best for him, to prepare them for the working world, but teaching them that it’s brutal. No time like the present, I’ll go over and search him out and tell him before… He collapses with chest pains. Oh, hoo boy. Ok, I’m better. It was a small one. I’m going. He makes his way to where he thought he heard he might live. Avian Ave. searching the street, he finds a possible place and goes up to knock. “WHAT!!!” answers a perturbed Negaduck. “Hello Lord Negaduck. Or should I say Drake,” Negaduck sneers at the old man from under the brim of his hat, shadowing his eyes. “Can I come in, I’ve got some things to talk to you about,” “Like WHEN you’re going to HELL!!!?” “Soon. I’ll tell you that,” That came as a shock that he said that. Negaduck stepped aside to admit him. “Thanks,” he made his way to the trashed living room. “Still jump on the furniture, I see,” Negaduck growled. “kidding. Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things,” “As you SHOULD be!! What about mom?” “She’s still alive. I moved out” “Good, cause she doesn’t NEED YOU!!” “I know that too.” “So WHY are YOU here!?” “To tell you how…” He started to have another heart attack. “Eh, what’s the deal?” “Ooh, this is what I’m talking about.” The pain subsided. “You destroyed all the hospitals, kid. I’m going to die. That’s the fourth this week. But anyway, I’m proud of you, Drake,” “Why!?” “Because you take no shit from no one.” A wince of pain. “You…” another. “You..” a stronger, longer shoot of pain. He leans over in pain, only to fall to his knees and try and brace himself with something. Negaduck did nothing but watch. With his last breath, Negaduck’s father said, “I love you!” and he collapsed, dead. Negaduck’s face started to twist into a sneer. Tears started to well in his eyes. His lip started to quiver. Then, even through the attempt of holding it all back, he started sobbing. After a second, he went over to him and got down on his knees. “Dad?” he shook the lifeless body. “Dad?!” The he realized it was too late. “that’s all I ever needed to hear. But I still hate you for what you did.” He sniffled and wiped his runny nose. “You’re too late!! You wait till NOW to tell me??!! WHY!!!??” he squinted hi eyes shut and felt his cold tears run down his face. Then he held his father’s body and really broke down into tears.