It’s nothing personal. You understand? We won’t be in this place much longer, no need for him to get close to people; it’ll just make it harder for him later.

Those were his exact words. The tiny letters formed into strong words and persuasive sentences. That was the back up for the words that came later in the argument: Come on, we’re leaving. Now. And after, those words floated around in my head as my feet pounded against the ground, pebbles flying in each direction. But, what comes next? Mark questioned. It doesn’t matter anymore. Michael replied back. As long as we’re gone. Mark had no more fight, no more to give. He was running away, and he didn’t care in the slightest. Johnny was running behind them. Mark could hear his tears hitting the ground like bombs, they hurt that much. He was still a kid, after all. To uproot a kid from his home, its well, sickening. But better that than him ending up like his parents, and that’s all that matters. He was safe from them now.
“NO!” He screamed.
“No? No what, Mark?” Michael looked at him, daring him to speak out.
“No! He needs them!” Mark screamed. Michael asked him what the h*ll he was going on about. “We can’t just tear him away from everyone and everything he knows! It’ll kill him inside.”
“He’s fine, Mark! Now shut up and keep quiet. If anyone hears us, we’re screwed.” Michael spat out threateningly.
“Look at him! He’s sick, Michael, real sick. He’s dying inside; he’s an innocent kid, he doesn’t understand this. Just look.” The two brothers turned around to see Johnny in the corner of the decrepit, old house, rocking and muttering something.
“You’d rather him be back with our parents? Our drug-addicted parents? They’re the sick ones. When we were back home, I sat around, just waiting for one of them to die. Waiting. Have you ever waited for thirteen years for something? I have, and I’m never going back. Ever.” Michael hissed, every single syllable dripping with hatred. From outside the old house, gun shots rang. Michael mouthed one word: Run.
Be brave. Be strong. That’s what his mother would tell him when he was going through hard times. She said that she lived by that. Liar, he thought.
They ran out and didn’t stop. Mark looked up and saw the look of hatred in Michael’s eyes. But something else was also there. Fear. He had to put on a brave face, and pretend that everything would work out, even if it wouldn’t. Johnny’s tears were falling to the ground, making little streams along the rocks and gravel. Mark thought back to his parents. How will they feel once they realize their sons are gone? Will they care? No, they won’t. They never cared, and never will care. It was a painful realization, but it was true.
Be brave. Be strong. Mark said these words over and over again while his tears dripped down his face, tainting his pink cheeks, and breaking his fragile heart. Be brave. Be strong.