The abandoned streets of London are a cruel place to be. Not only for the adults with the constant drinking, drug abusing and pitiful fights, but also for the children, wrongly brought into this style of growing up.
My siblings and I have had our fair shares of this. We still hold the scares, not only on our bodies, but on our spirits too.
But we fought through, we won our battles. Our battles with the other children, our battles with the wasted adults, our battles with ourselves - Our self-doubt - Our unbelieving that we would ever be free and that our horrific upbringing would be Forgotten.

A story of fighting, terror, abuse and a true sibling bond beyond the ages.


1. Chances

I lent against the vandalised wall, my arms held tightly round my knees. I pulled my bare feet closer to my body, trying to make myself as small as possible, in hope that no-one would see me. My long, dark brown hair helped me blend into the darkness at the end of the alleyway. I blocked out the sounds of the adults shouting at each other in their drunken rage and left myself to my own thoughts.

"Are you ok Lac?" A small voice asked. I came out my mind and turned my head to find my little brother standing next to me, a slightly frightened look on his face.

"I'm fine Day." I stated, "I'm just thinking."

"You're always thinking." A new, harsher voice piped up

"Shut up Rebe." I replied, a obvious disgust in my voice. Recently, my brother had been more of a pain than usual. Rebelde wasn't exactly someone who spoke his feelings, so we never knew how to help him if he didn't tell us.

"But it's true. You don't stop thinking. What can you think about for so long?"

I sighed deeply before I stood up and walked over to my over-confident younger brother.

"You two," I stated, Resting a hand on my brothers shoulders, "me, this life. Is this what we were born for? To live in terror from the adults we're soused to trust. To have to fight for our necessities. There must be a better life somewhere."

"But where?" Dayan asked.

But really, I wasn't sure.


I stroked the back of my fallen triplet, I would have cried if I could but I had no more tears left in me to shed. Rebelde's unconscious body laid next to me, cuts and bruises scattered round his frail body. His dark brown hair was now dyed with stale blood and caught dirt.

Dayan walked over to his beaten brother, letting tears roll down his face. Dayan knelt by Rebe, his tears falling onto his older brother's blood soaked clothes.

"I'm sorry." Dayan whispered between his tears, "I'm so sorry."

I sighed sadly at the scene before me. It was the what we had always feared, always avoided.

And I had seen it all.


I walked alongside my brothers away from the nightmare we call home. We had been sent on an errand to collect a bottle of alcohol from the local store. We had been given a fake I.D. each and our mature faces helped our circumstances. We walked into the store and picked out the specified bottle of booze before setting it down on the counter-top.

The store clerk looked at us suspiciously, obviously bewildered by the teens attempting to purchase a bottle of adult drink. As suspected he asked for a form of identification. I pulled out the piece of plastic from my pocket and studied it. It had obviously been copied from a U.K driving licence. It looked real enough, not that I knew what a driving licence looked like. None of the adults I knew had one. Driving lessons cost money, money we didn't have.

I passed over the key to success. If it was accepted, then the adults would get their despicable drink and us kids would have a couple hours freedom from the constant beatings. If it wasn't, then we would surely be arrested for forgery and attempting to buy alcohol when under 18. However, that wasn't what worried me. It was the fact that my brothers and I were different genders, so we would be split up and I didn't know if I would ever see them again.

The clerk stared at the I.D. for a couple of seconds, then at us and the I.D. once more before, reluctantly, taking the appropriate money and giving us our prize. We almost skipped home. We turned corner, still chatting on how we were going to be heroes when we got back. Dayan took the bottle out of the bag and held it high.

"This is our greatest triumph!" He exclaimed, just as the bottle slipped through his fingered and smashed on the pavement below. We all stared at the mess at our feet, our mouths open. We weren't heroes, we were dead meat.

We walked back in silence, each supressed with the same thought, 'What is going to happen to us?'. Obviously, when we got home without the drink, a uncomfortable silence beckoned down, similar to the one we experienced on our walk back. The head of the gang, known only as 'Grande', come to stand in front of us. Standing at 6ft 3, he towered over everyone around, which only made us feel smaller, more useless. He demanded an explanation to why we hadn't succeeded. I glanced at Dayan for a split second to catch a glimpse at my guilty sibling. He looked exactly that. Guilty.

Dayan sighed and was about to step forward to speak the truth when Rebelde stepped forward, stretching out a arm to stop his little brother. He explained that as they were walking home, he tripped over a crack in the pavement, dropping the bottle in the process.

Needless to say, Rebelde was punished for his 'actions'. As he was dragged away by the scruff of his tattered shirt, his saved brother outstretched an arm to him, in an attempt to grab back his doomed sibling. Rebe just shook his head and mouthed 5 words that I know Dayan will never forget as long as he lives.

"I did this for you."


Half an hour later, his body had been dumped at our feet. Just barely alive, yet unresponsive. I held my brother in my arms as I knelt down from shock. As I started my crying, the realisation hit me and I knew that we had to escape this hellhole.

We had to find that better life.

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