Stories often begin with a bit of a back story, and this one certainly needs one. You see, life never let up on Alfred F. Jones. Whether it was family, friend, gang, or health issues, they always seemed to attack him when he least expected it.
Alfred was born into a poor family. His parents were unemployed newly weds whom had just settled down in a small single-story home in a bad neighborhood. They received their welfare eagerly while they got fired from a constant stream of low-income jobs. After all, they didn't even have their GEDs. Sadly, they didn't realize that their property sat on the line of two rival gang's territory.
Within their first week of living in the house, the two gangs had sent hitmen to their homes. After getting their points across, the two gang leaders payed them a visit to talk to them about paying their dues to leave the young family alone. The two parents rushed out to find steady jobs and worked hard to keep them to pay the dues.
Two years of barely making it by later, the parents decide to brighten their lives a bit more by having another child. Once the gangs found out the mother was pregnant, they decided to start making them pay even more for the baby, as soon as it was born. Although frightened, they decided to keep the baby. So once little Matthew came along, everything got more tense at home.
The added tension hurt the parent's relationship because neither was home enough to deal with it, or their children for that matter. So when Alfred turned ten, and Matthew was eight, their mother walked out on them. This made their stressed father nearly spastic and an alcoholic. He found a way to vent in smacking around his children every day after work.
One night, Matthew got sick and tired of being beaten, so he ran away with virtually nothing to help him along his way. Two nights later, on Matthew's ninth birthday, a policeman turned up at their door and informed them, in what Alfred later learned to call a "funeral voice," that the eleven-year-old's little brother had been found in an alley a bit deeper in the city with a bullet lodged in his skull. Alfred sobbed his eyes out, but his father beat him for crying over someone whom had left them.
Because of his struggle of a home life, Alfred's social skills were lacking. He tended to stay out of people's way, but if he was provoked he would beat the living shit out of them. So in middle school he was in and out of the administrative office with referrals, detentions, and suspensions. Each one earned him another ten minutes of his father bruising his organs.
Alfred simply couldn't take it anymore, so he took his father's pistol one night and hid it in his waistband. Later on, when his father came home and hit him, he pulled the gun out and fired three bullets into his father's chest. After he was sure his father was dead, Alfred picked up the phone and dialed emergency services.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"I just killed my dad."
"What?"
"My dad...I just shot him. Bring the police," he said, staring at the dead body in the kitchen.
"O-Okay," the operator said shakily. "Just stay on the line while I send them and an ambulance."
"He's already dead, and I'm fine. There's no need to get an ambulance."
"It's just to be safe. Where's the gun now?"
"I put it on the counter because I didn't need it anymore."
"Why did you need it, sir?"
"I didn't like being hit all the time," Alfred replied simply. "Oh, bye, I think they're here."
Outside, Alfred saw the flashing red and blue lights pull up. Two car doors slammed moments before a very forceful knock could be echoed throughout the house. He walked to the front of the house and opened the door for them. The policeman on the right was more experienced, you could tell by his "I've seen it all" eyes and his salt-and-pepper hair. The policewoman on the left looked fresh out of the academy with her naive expression and completely black hair.
"Did you call us, young man?" The policeman asked.
Alfred nodded, "C'mon in. He's in the kitchen." He led the two of them through his tiny house to the kitchen. The blood pooled around his father's dead body and stained his grey work shirt.
The woman gasped and turned away while her partner turned to him. "Son, do you know what you've done?"
"I killed my dad, right?"
"Why would you do that?"
Alfred pulled his shirt up, revealing a badly bandaged and seriously bruised abdomen and chest. "Because he wouldn't stop hitting me."
The maternal instincts came out in the female officer as she whimpered and hugged Alfred in a gentle, yet reassuring hug. Alfred stood there confused as to why he wasn't being put in handcuffs. The male officers was calling for an ambulance for him, not his father.
"Don't worry, kid, we're going to get this straightened out."
From there, Alfred was taken to the hospital to take X-rays, rewrap his wounds, and get some pain killers. He was kept there overnight for observation, and because he didn't have anywhere to go back to. A social worker came and spoke with him for an hour and a half before leaving. The next day, the social worker came back and explained in her fake cheer.
"We have a suggestion for you, Alfred. This is the first time I've ever seen a case like this, but we're willing to try and see if it will work with you. Your father, despite being quite poor and abusive, had a surprisingly large amount of money in life insurance and a sizable trust fund for you. Using some of the insurance money, we've paid off your house's mortgage and got you caught up on bills. The state will continue to siphon money from the insurance to pay for your living costs in that house, because you must remain there at least until you're eighteen.
"All foster homes in the area are full at the moment, and you are considered too 'dangerous' an entity to enter any adoption centers. This is our only option currently, but you seem like a responsible young man, so we're willing to try. You will meet with me, or one of my colleagues for an hour a day to talk, help with homework, or anything else you may need. You will also go through therapy for PTSD to help you get over this experience.
"Any questions?" The woman finished.
Alfred shook his head, his eyes wide with surprise.
Later on, when he entered high school, he mixed in with a bad crowd. Him and a few of his friends started a gang and called themselves the "Heroes". Alfred made a lot of friends and enemies, but ultimately became the top dog in the city, however young he was. He made sure that he could protect those he loved, and make sure the streets were generally safe. He managed to not have to kill to many people, although that was only because he was a pretty imposing person when he got mad.
In his sophomore year, a boy named Arthur Kirkland transferred in. Alfred was pretty feared by then and most people stayed out of his way, even the teachers. Arthur didn't know this and accidentally bumped into him in the hallway. When Alfred looked back, Arthur was looking up at him challengingly. Without any sort of apology, the Brit stood there with a scowl on his face.
Alfred smiled and said, "Hey, what's your name?"
"Arthur."
"You're cool, ya'know that? Wanna join the Heroes?"
After an explanation, Arthur shrugged nonchalantly and accepted. Soon the two were the best of friends, even more than Alfred's previous friends. Kiku, Yao, and Francis all understood though, because even though Alfred never admitted it, it was obvious that he was in love with the British transfer student. Arthur was just as infatuated as Alfred, as the American's friends very well knew. Yet neither wanted to sacrifice their friendship, or all their hard work they'd put into the Heroes.
After all, a week after Arthur's induction, he had become Alfred's second in command. That couldn't last past highschool though. A month and a half after graduation, Alfred walked over to Arthur's house to hang out, uninvited as he always was. It was a week after his birthday, where Arthur had taken him out to dinner with a bunch of their friends to a burger joint. When the dumber of the two blondes reached his friend's door, he saw that there was a note taped to it.
Alfy-
I'm sorry, but I moved. I didn't tell you because I thought that if I did, you'd convince me not to go. I got a full ride scholarship to a school back in the UK, and I really wanted it, so I decided to go. I can't give you anything to contact me with, because I'm sure that if you did, I'd just drop out to come see you again. You're my best mate, so of course I would. So, to make my dream come true, I've got to leave. Once I'm done here, I'll contact you, I promise.
-Arthur
Alfred thought he could hear his heart break as he read the note, but he wasn't sure. He was drowned in despair during the following months, letting so many bad things happen when he was out of it. Kiku was stabbed in the chest, and ended up dying in the street, that was the beginning of the end. Rather quickly, the rest of the Heroes decided they couldn't keep going without a competent leader, and that simply wasn't Alfred.
So they broke up. Francis became a prostitute. Yao decided to leave town and travel to get over his brother's death, promising to visit every other month. Ivan was sent to jail for mutilating an enemy of his. Everyone who was alive, kept in touch in some way, yet Alfred never resurfaced from his depression.
Some new gangs took over, but Alfred never budged. He couldn't.
((This is the third time I've written this story, and I'm hoping it's the best. I thought it'd be easy to write this, but it never was. My ideas never came out thoroughly, and that kept bothering me. Review please! Tell me if I didn't explain things well enough!))
