In a small 300 sq. ft. studio apartment, a boy sat. I sat, bored, for this was my seventh foster home, and once again I was only kept so that these people who call themselves parents could cash in on the benefits society gave to the less fortunate. Soon, I'd be homeless; this coming Friday, I would turn 18, and then I'd be wiped from the foster system. Once the checks stop coming in, I'll be left on the cold streets of Domino City, also known as the West Kingdom's registered shithole.
I took a good look at myself in the mirror: my dark blue hair cut short in a messy way, my heavy eye bags, my shabby backhand clothes that reeked of a scent from three weeks ago, my single arm hanging at my side. At least I could play the disabled card if I got in trouble in the streets. Although the moral compass of the poor is close to none.
My foster dad walks in, drunk of course, messy and covered in blood. I was about to turn away and let him rest when I felt the sharp pain of his grip around my neck.
"Where the fuck have you been all day? You lazy fuck, and after all I do for you as well."
My facial expressions tighten as the air is restricted from my lungs; my vision blurs quickly, and I lose the ability to struggle as he grabs the stump I call my left arm and tosses me to the floor. As I gasp for air, he kicks my back and stomps on my body.
"You stupid fuck, where are your manners? You should bow and welcome me when I enter. When your mother gets here, you better do the same."
In my pain, I see a faint glow and I realize what punishment is next to come. He reaches down and grabs my right arm, burning the skin on my wrist with the fire from his hands. "Kids have no respect nowadays and no sense of accountability," he snarls.
"Please... stop," I manage to cough out, the skin on my arm bubbling under the heat.
He strikes my face with his fist, and blood drips from my mouth. "Powerless bastards like you don't deserve to even beg." Then she walks in, my foster mother; she looks at us in horror and rushes over, kicking me in the chest. "You got blood on my carpet!" she shrieks, the anger seething through her teeth as she repeatedly kicks me. "That's it, you cause too much trouble, you useless brat, and you're too old for good checks to come in. Get out of my house!"
My foster dad hesitates for a second, as if he doesn't want me gone just yet, so he can get the last of my checks, but then the hesitation fades into nothing, and he grabs my burnt wrist and drags me out the door and tosses me on the freezing pavement, only increasing the pain in my wrist.
Not a word, not a goodbye or a fuck off, a simple door shut, and that was it.
Slowly picking myself up off the ground, I take in my surroundings. It's calm, it's quiet. Then the raindrops fall, small shining crystals that splat against my skin. It stings at first, but after a second the pain subsides, and I stand there in the rain. In the distance, the bright lights of New Domino City light the horizon, and a bit closer is the wall, the great barrier between the west and south kingdoms.
The street lights flicker, and then the criminals come out, the villains, society's worst of the worst. In this shitty world, there are two kinds of humans. The first are born to live with nature and float through life; the second are born stronger, faster, simply better, and they all mutate with a power. How or why is unknown, but what is known is that without one, you'll be limited. You have to pay more, you get paid less, despite the ratio of humans to Superhumans being 60:1, but rapidly the gap closes.
The sky opens up, and I walk down the street. Where I'm going, I've got no clue; where I end up, I hope is warm, but what I know for certain is that I refuse to die in this city.