The night sky over Queens was thick with the oppressive weight of silence, broken only by the distant sounds of sirens wailing and the occasional crackle of radio static from a faraway police car. Beneath the haunting gaze of a waning moon, a small basement in the poorest corner of the city became the cruel setting for a life marked by suffering. The floor, littered with broken glass and scattered remnants of a life spent in disarray, seemed to pulse with a dark energy, mirroring the soul of the boy who knelt upon it.
Michael Kaiser, a mere child of eight, sat on the cold concrete floor, his small body trembling with the weight of an overwhelming despair that was too heavy for someone his age to bear. His blonde hair, once a bright symbol of innocence, now clung to his tear-streaked face. His small hands were pressed against his chest, as if trying to hold himself together, but nothing could stop the flood of emotions from crashing through him.
"Why… why do they hate me?" His voice, weak and fragile, barely broke the stillness. "I didn't do anything wrong… I just want to be loved… by someone… anyone… please… someone save me."
The words hung in the air, a bitter cry to a world that had never once extended a hand of mercy. His parents were shadows in his life—figures of anger and neglect. His mother, a woman lost in the haze of alcohol and bitterness, and his father, a broken man who sought solace in drugs and violence, poured their wrath onto their eldest son. And Michael bore it all, knowing that if he didn't, it would spill over onto his younger sister, Sarah.
"Mike… are you alright?" The soft voice came from the stairwell, a light, hesitant sound that didn't belong in this place of darkness.
Michael's eyes flicked up, his heart swelling with the sight of her. Standing in the doorway was Sarah, his four-year-old sister, her blonde hair framing her innocent face. She looked so small, so fragile, like a flower caught in the storm that raged around them. Despite everything, despite the weight of the world pressing down on them both, she was always there. She was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the only reason he fought to survive.
Michael wiped the tears from his face, forcing a smile, though it felt like his lips were stitched together by the darkness in his soul. "Sarah," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why aren't you asleep? It's late."
Sarah, without a word, ran over to him and wrapped her tiny arms around him. Her body trembled, and Michael could feel the dampness of her own tears seeping through his shirt. "I'm sorry they hurt you, Mike… I'm sorry they make you cry…" she stammered, her voice thick with the innocence of a child who didn't yet understand the full scope of the cruelty that surrounded them.
Michael gently pulled away from her, cupping her small face in his hands. His eyes were fierce, yet tender, as he tried to give her some semblance of comfort in this broken world. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said softly. "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to worry about me. Just… just go back to bed, okay? Everything will be alright. You deserve to be happy, Sarah. Don't forget that."
He watched as she wiped her tears away, her little lips curling into a small smile. She nodded, kissed his cheek, and slowly made her way back upstairs.
As the door creaked closed behind her, Michael's smile faded like a dying ember, leaving nothing but the emptiness that had taken root in his chest. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and crossed to the far side of the basement. There, hidden beneath a loose floorboard, was a small duffel bag. His fingers trembled as he opened it, revealing the meager stash of money he had managed to save over time—just enough to get them out of here, just enough to escape.
"Six-fifty," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I need a little more. We can't leave yet, not until I've got enough to get us out of here. Away from them."
He placed the money back inside the bag, his hands lingering for a moment, as though the weight of his dreams was too much to bear. Slowly, he lay back down on the hard floor, his body curling into a ball of exhaustion. But sleep didn't come easily. His mind raced with the thought of escape, of freedom, but it always came back to Sarah.
She deserved better. She deserved to be free of this nightmare. And he would be the one to get her out.
The next morning arrived in a haze of pain and uncertainty.
"MICHAEL! WAKE UP NOW, BRAT!!"
The shout was more of an animalistic growl than a voice, and it made Michael flinch involuntarily. He shot out of bed, his heart hammering in his chest as he scrambled upstairs to face whatever punishment awaited him. His mother stood in the kitchen, her eyes bloodshot and empty, the stench of alcohol lingering on her breath.
"Y-Yes, Mother?" His voice wavered, but he couldn't help it.
She slapped him across the face with a force that sent him stumbling back, his cheek stinging from the impact. "BRAT! WHY WEREN'T THE DISHES CLEANED?!" she screamed, her face contorted with rage. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE USEFUL FOR ONCE IN YOUR PATHETIC LIFE?!"
Her fists came down, relentless, pounding into him, forcing him to the floor. Michael curled into a ball, his arms protecting his head, but it did little to shield him from the blows that rained down.
Time seemed to stretch on forever, each strike a reminder that he was nothing in her eyes—nothing but a tool for her to vent her frustration.
After what felt like an eternity, his mother stopped, her chest heaving as she regained some semblance of composure. "DO THE DISHES. MAKE US BREAKFAST, BRAT. OR THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY," she barked, kicking him one final time in the stomach before storming off.
Michael lay there for a moment, broken and sobbing quietly. But he couldn't afford to break. Not for long. He had to keep going, for Sarah. He couldn't let her see him like this.
Slowly, painfully, he stood up and began to clean the dishes. His fingers shook as he worked, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the gnawing emotional agony that tore at him from the inside. When the pancakes and bacon were done, he placed the plates on the table and saw Sarah emerging from her room, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
"Good morning, big bro," she said, her voice soft and full of warmth, as though the horrors of the night before were nothing but a bad dream.
"Good morning, Sarah," Michael replied, forcing a smile as he served her the food. He set two more plates aside, one for him and one for his parents, though he knew they would probably ignore it, or worse, throw it at him.
As Sarah sat at the table, eating with an innocent joy, Michael couldn't help but feel a deep pang in his chest. How could he protect her from this? How could he keep her safe?
Once they finished eating, he cleared the plates and turned to her, bending down to her height. "Hey, why don't we go to the park today?" he asked, trying to muster all the cheer he could.
Sarah's eyes brightened, her small face lighting up with a genuine smile. "Really?!"
"Really," Michael said, his heart aching at the joy in her eyes. She ran off to get ready, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that things could be different, that he could give her something resembling happiness.
They walked to the park together, Sarah running ahead, her laughter ringing through the air. Michael sat on a bench, watching her play with other children, the warmth of the sun doing little to ease the coldness in his heart. "I need to always keep a smile on her face," he thought, his mind weary but resolute. "No matter what I have to endure, as long as she's happy, that's all that matters."
But time was running out.
The sun was beginning to dip, and Michael glanced at his watch. It was 2:45 p.m. The memory of his parents' threats flashed through his mind like a jagged knife.
"You better come back before 3:00, or there will be hell to pay, brat."
His eyes widened in fear. "I have to get back," he muttered, standing up. He grabbed Sarah, who looked confused, but she clung to him tightly as he started running. His heart raced in his chest as he pushed himself faster, the seconds ticking by like the drumbeat of doom.
When they finally arrived at the door, Michael was out of breath, and the clock struck three. Before he could even say anything, his father was there, his face twisted in fury. "MIKE!"
A fist slammed into Michael's face, and he stumbled backward, dazed and disoriented. His father's rage was unrestrained, his words cruel and vicious. "DISAPPOINTMENT! PATHETIC! WASTE OF SPERM!"
The kicks and punches came without mercy, each blow punctuating his father's endless tirade. But through it all, Michael's thoughts never left Sarah. She was there, helpless, watching as her brother suffered.
And then the unthinkable happened.
His father, grinning with an evil glint in his eyes, turned toward Sarah. "Oh, honey, I have an idea to get some more money," he said, his voice cold and malicious.
"No," Michael gasped, barely able to speak through the blood in his mouth. "Please, don't… leave her out of this…"
But it was too late. His father grabbed Sarah, dragging her away, while his mother watched, her expression unreadable.
Michael struggled to rise, but the pain was unbearable. His body was broken, his will faltering, but then something inside him snapped. Rage flooded him, a fiery inferno that consumed his every thought. He felt the heat rise within him, burning, searing.
And then, with a cry that shook the very foundations of the house, a burst of flames erupted from his body, incinerating everything in its path.
The house was reduced to ash. Michael lay amidst the ruins, his body battered and broken, but his heart… shattered.
"S-sarah?" he whispered hoarsely, looking around, his eyes desperate. He crawled through the debris, calling her name, but the silence that greeted him only deepened his terror.
He stumbled upon the remains of the blue rose, its delicate petals burned and blackened. His breath caught in his throat as he sank to his knees, clutching it to his chest.
"NO!" he screamed, the pain, the loss, the guilt crashing over him in a tidal wave. "WHY? WHY HER? SHE DID NOTHING WRONG! WHY HER?!"
But there was no answer. Just the cold, empty night. The sound of sirens in the distance, growing louder.
With shaking hands, he clutched the rose, his only memory of Sarah. And as the darkness closed in around him, he fled into the night, his heart heavy with a single thought.
"This world is not fair."