Author's Note: Alright…I was working on my X-Men fic at one in the morning, right, and accidentally dredged this up out of an old folder. It's a year or two old, back from when I was obsessed with the movie Holes and the D-Tent boys—Zig-zag in particular. This is supposed to be about him, although I suppose I left it pretty open-ended.

I hate the color; burning, bright…starch. Not like feathers, not like clouds. The blinding, screaming shade of sterile halls, gloves, and padding.

I like orange. And I like reds, and yellows. I like when the trees turn those colors in Autumn. I like fire. I like the way it sways in the wind and goes out if you're not careful.

I like the way it makes the embers glow on the cigarette butt. I like how when it's little, you have to cup your hand over it and protect it like, and it's real fragile, and then when it grows it's powerful and it can hurt.

My dad didn't like a lot of things. My dad didn't like fire. My dad didn't like me much either, or so I figure.

Dad helped people with mental problems…he worked in a place just for crazy people.

He didn't have much time to spend with us. Dad, he was the real affectionate type; he always was touching and kissing us. When I got older, I spent less time at home because…well, Dad made me uncomfortable…so I avoided him.

My sister, Annabelle, was the sweetest little kid you'd ever meet. She had big blue eyes, like me, and curly hair like me too. She skipped to the school bus, and she liked learning, and she liked playing with May and Jamie, though she always went to their houses 'stead of ours.

Then one time, I came home from Jay's half-drunk and recovering from a good deal of hash, and I heard her screaming. Not a tickled scream or a giddy one—screaming because she scared.

So I ran like hell into the house, and find Dad got her good up against the wall Now, Annabelle was only ten and she couldn't do much, but I threw into it without really thinking. I was sixteen, and almost big as Dad, and I barreled into him and knocked him clear over the table. He hit me in the face, hard, with the flat of his hand. My lower lip was busted open.

"What the fuck are you doing!"

I told him didn't know. He hit me again. He said he was making sure Ana was ok. Then he hit me again and I said I was sorry, and then he told me to come with him, so I did. He took me into his bedroom, and then make me strip off my shirt, and then he took a belt to my bare back. He cracked it hard, over and over, and I whimpered, and then he cracked it extra hard and told me a man shouldn't cry.

I kept my mouth shut after that.

Finally, a few minutes passed without me getting hit. Suddenly, I felt his hands on my back. His fingers running along my shoulder blades. I shivered—it was cold. He touched the skin where it bled a little, and I didn't make no noise. I thought he was making sure he hadn't hurt me…but then his hands slipped across my neck and slowly down by spine, pausing on my waistline. I pulled away, and then he came in front of me, and handed me my shirt. We went back out to Annabelle.

She was crying, but she'd tried to wipe away tears when she heard us coming. Dad told me he hadn't wanted to hurt me, but I needed to learn I lesson. I told him it was ok.

Later Anabelle asked me if I got hurt, and I said no. Her eyes were all big and frightened, and I told her maybe she ought to stay at Jamie's house, and she said no, she just wanted to stay in my room. I told her ok. I told her Dad couldn't ever hurt us, no matter how many times he hit her against the wall, no matter how many times he belted me. "Because Daddy loves us," she said. "Yeah," I told her sadly, "Because daddy loves us."

A/N2: I'm aware that the ending sucks, but you see, when I found this a few minutes ago, I'd left it unfinished, planning all that while ago to write a good deal more. But I figured to hell with that, and decided that short and sweet was better (and easier for me .).