The rain ceased its falling, leaving the ground and everything it touched wet. The air turned densely moist and cool—the only proof of the storm that had passed just minutes ago. A few flashes of lightning still paraded through the stormy grey clouds.

  Glow-frogs—once aliens to this world, or so I heard—were already up and about, floating through the air in their usual small swarms. Every rainfall, especially those that leave behind that soothing moist chill, drags these creatures out from their holes.

  I walked past a group of miserable-looking bums gathering around a rusting metal drum. They had a fire going inside to warm themselves. It was tempting to join them for a few minutes, but I had to get home. A night’s rest was a survival necessity at this point.

  I strolled through narrow streets and even narrower back alleys for at least an hour before I reached my apartment building. It was a very old, six-story structure, draped in long wiring lines that spanned from one wing to the other, many crossing over to the surrounding buildings like a spider's web.

  The building, like everything else in the area, was a complete mess. It was riddled with bullet holes, trash, and graffiti—insulting sketches of police, street slang, and Black Bird gang signs. Huge cracks in the walls were covered with taped-up nylon bags. The bottom half of the structure was almost completely infested with moss, ferns, and other weird crawling plants that grew anywhere they fuckin' wanted, their scent becoming more vibrant and pungent because of the rain.

  Tattered clothes and wet laundry hung from lines and verandas in front of every door. There was no shortage of homeless punks loitering everywhere like cockroaches. With so many people came a mountain of trash, a nose-destroying odor, and the most annoying thing of all—the noise. One could barely hear himself think over the loud chatting, the indoor and outdoor quarreling, and the different sounds of music amped through distorted speakers.

  I looked at the building and knew I’d been gang-banged by fate before I even came into this life.

  I cast the thought aside and walked up the stairs. The passage was blocked by a few bums, and the place was infested with roaches, beetles, flies, and even shit. The thin walls and lanky doors didn't help the acoustics; I could hear everything happening inside the apartments I passed—yelling, beatings, and the wailing of people in pain.

  I finally stopped in front of a door. I could hear a man and a woman screaming at each other on the other side. I pulled the key from my pocket and opened it.

  This was home.

  A woman stood there, her hair tied up in a cluster that looked like diseased rat fur. Heavy, dark sacks hung under eyes drowned in stress, depression, and bitterness. She wore oversized, patched-up male clothes and was in a vicious verbal argument with a dark-skinned man.

  The man had long, unkempt ebony hair and a face mapped with tiny scars. He wore a patched-up leather jacket and jeans, reeking so heavily of alcohol that I could smell him from ten feet away. They were yelling their brains out in the corner of the room. I ignored them, heading straight for the bedroom door.

  For some fucked-up reason, my father noticed me. His eyes darted toward me with an insane reflex for a man so drunk.

  “Oi, Shitsu… (Belch) Haiji! Where have you been?!” he bellowed in a vexed, drunken tone.

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  I didn’t reply. I picked up my pace. This apartment was so small it took less than two seconds to reach my door. I cracked it open and locked it behind me, but he followed, banging on the wood in a rage.

  “I knew it was you! You overgrown dog semen! You took money from my stash and spent it all. You fuckin' mistake! You already ruined my life, but I guess that’s not enough? You had to ruin my night too!” He punched the wall twice, making the whole room vibrate. “Come the hell out of there and give me back my fuckin' money!”

  “Motherfucker, why the fuck aren’t you ans—”

  My mother cut him off. “Leave him out of it, you drunken wreck! Don’t you fuckin' blame him for losing your money! You’re making noise about theft when I’m dead-sure you spent it all on booze, cards, and prostitutes. We have a fuckin' debt on our heads… look at you!”

  The sound of a loud, wet slap shut her up instantly. Even a hakujo would realize my father had just loaded her face with dirty slap. I didn't go out there. I stood no chance against that man. As much as I hated what he did, we needed him more than he needed us. Without him, we were even more screwed than I'd like admit.

  “Bitch, who are you calling a drunk?” he roared. “So you and that bastard of yours are ganging up on me like your fuckin' father did? But where’s that fucker now? That’s right—he’s in the fuckin' ground! You better watch your mouth before I put you and your son in the same fuckin' dirt!”

  He screamed with pure, untamed rage, but the beating didn't continue. Usually, he starts with a slap and turns her into a drum, but today was different.

  “Since you and that bastard are so good at stealing and scheming, you can fuckin' handle yourselves. I’m out of this bitch! Let’s see how you people fuckin' eat!”

  The front door slammed so hard the frames rattled. I immediately walked out to check on my mother. She was lying on the damp floor, clutching her belly and the right side of her face. I went over to help her sit up. She was barely conscious, her strength gone.

  The slap hadn't even been his full power. He never used his full strength on her—she’d be dead if he did. He didn't want to kill her; he just wanted her to feel as much pain as he could give.

  After a few minutes, she spoke, her eyes closed, her right cheek already swelling.

  “My beautiful boy… your father has left, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes… he has. Again,” I replied. I felt the tension leave my shoulders, but the realization of what his bailing meant hit me immediately.

  My mom started rolling in tears. She sat in a fetal posture, wallowing silently in the misery and worry of a life that refused to get any better.

  “How…How are we…” She weakly stumbled on her words, until one tear slowly rolling down her cheeks.

  I embrace her softly and calmly said “Don’t worry, I will take it from here… like always”

  “How…(Sobbing) How can you? You (Sobbing)… You always get beaten up all the time, I don’t want to go through that…” she spoke in utter grief, as she tightens her hug on me.

  “Don’t worry about it” I comforted her, not making any efforts to deny what she said, because it is the truth or at least half of what she said is the truth… the other half isn’t.

  The real truth is - I will definitely get beaten up by those bloodhounds sooner or later and the only thing she will do is to just stand there; not able to help, walk away or do single goddamn thing.

  If she TRULY didn’t want me to go through all that, she wouldn’t just stand there in fear, sorrow and guilt, but what do I really expect from her?

  I peeled her off my body as she sobbed and complain, then tried looking at her in the eyes but her head was down, so were her eyes; both with filled with sadness and sorrow.

  “Mom, look at me… Look at me” I called out to her a bit firm but tried to remain as gentle and calm as I needed to be, she raised up her head, sensing the slight seriousness in my voice and looked at my straight in the eyes.

  “Don’t worry, I will handle it” I said once again to reassure her, looking at her dead-straight in her eyes.

  I turned her face to see her right cheek clearer and there on her right cheek was a nasty swell in the shape of a palm with some bruises.

  The swollen cheek made it look she was storing up air in her mouth, I gently caress the outer area of the swelling and called out my sibling names from the room I hid myself in, when my father wanted to rip my head up for no reason.

  “Ayaka… Eiji, come out here!”

  The room door slowly opened and two kids wearing patched-up jeans and torn-up singlets emerged from the dark cover of the room.

  Earlier, when I entered the room to hide myself from my father, I noticed them as soon as I zoomed in, sitting in a dark and gloomy corner of the room, grabbing their sides of their head, trying to block out the yelling and raging of our parents.

  Their face covered with the wild fear, discomfort and bitterness; they were probably here when all hell broke loose and folded themselves in a corner to avoid be caught in the middle of that dumpster fire of a marriage.

  Ayaka and Eiji – my youngest siblings; 13 years of age and identical twins (girl and boy respectively), possessing more of our mother than our father.

  They had our mother’s small nose, oval-shaped face and smaller eye compared to mine, they even have a natural lighter skin tone than me and Kenzo, but it’s hard to spot that, as we are all roughed up and dirty looking mongrels of Sumiyoshi.

  “Do we have water?” I questioned, still focusing my eyes on the swell on my mother’s face.

  “No” Eiji responded, almost instantly.

  “Eiji, go to Fuyuko… ask her for some water to spare” I instructed my brother, he seemed a bit hesitant but didn’t voice anything, then left carrying a pail resting in a corner of this room with him.

  “Ayaka, where’s Kenzo?” I had to ask my sister; he should have been home.

  Even if he’s lucky to not be at home when our parents torn through each other, but it’s safer in here than out there, especially at this time.

  “I don’t know…” My sister answered me, with a face that said she couldn’t even guess where he might be.

  I returned my attention to the face of my mother, while waiting for Eiji to bring some water.