My eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight as a burly prison guard dragged me to the big metal gates and pushed me out. He wiped his hands on his trousers as if I were a dirty stain he was trying to erase. I blinked a few times, my eyes watering as I looked at my surroundings. I was a free man. I didn't know how I felt about that. The only thing I ever really felt these days was anger. I had a rage inside me that ran so deep, it wouldn't surprise me if I ended up back inside in a matter of days.

I looked down at the pitiful plastic bag in my hand that contained everything I owned. Two sweaters, four t-shirts, two pairs of pants, five sets of underwear, a toothbrush and an out of date passport that expired nearly ten years ago. I put my hand in my pocket, jangling the set of keys that were for my new home. Home was a loose term. For the foreseeable future, home to me would be a motel on the outskirts of town that housed hardened criminals like myself. Some of us had homes to go to, some of us had families that would welcome us back after years inside. Unfortunately, I wasn't one of them. I had nothing. I had nobody. Before I got sent down, everything in my life had turned to shit, so now I was on some rehabilitation course. I had to learn how to be a normal human again. Signing on the dotted line for this course meant that I had to follow the rules imposed on me, it was one of the many conditions placed on me ahead of my release. It made me mad to think about how I would have to agree and bow down to the powers above me for years to come. I had served my time, why couldn't they just let me enjoy my freedom and leave me be?

I checked the tag on the keys I had been given for the motel room, noticing that I recognized the address. I used to sometimes go to the little candy shop on the corner of this road when I was younger. Before I was left inside to rot.

As I walked along, I already felt drained. My feet felt sore against the unfamiliar ground. Back at the prison, we were allowed fresh air time for one hour a day, but the ground there had been squishy and un-natural. Like some sort of sporting turf.

As well as my few belongings in the small plastic bag, I had what I was wearing. My only pair of shoes, black sneakers with holes in them from years of being worn. I had black jeans on with a rip right across the left knee-cap and a black tatty t-shirt that had been stained with bleach from years of cleaning at the jail. If you were in the right frame of mind for it, you were allowed a job. I picked cleaning. For four hours a day, every day, I would wipe, scrub and polish the whole jail from top to bottom. I earned a few measly dollars a week, but I always kept it going. I needed the cash for my smokes.

I gave myself a little shake as I realized that smoking had been the only worthwhile thing in my life for years. It kept me going. It was my only joy in life. Every time I got beat by a fellow inmate or even at times, a prison guard, I would close my eyes and tell myself I could get through it so I could have a cigarette. Pathetic.

I kicked a stone into the gutter as I walked along a busy road. Not much had changed during my time away. I was expecting everything to look different, but it all looked familiar. I was only a fifteen year old boy when I got sent down, so much had changed in twelve years. And yet, so much hadn't. The only difference I could see were bigger, fancier cars.

I had heard stories of people being released from prison and skipping merrily on their way to a new and great life. I had heard about the joy in their hearts and the smile on their faces as they faced their future as a 'better man'. It was a load of bullshit. I didn't feel like that. I felt pained. I didn't belong to this suddenly noisy, polluted world anymore. The problem was, I didn't really belong anywhere. I ran a hand through my unruly black curls and hurried down the long stretch of road for ten minutes with my head down.

As I reached the end of the busy road I had to take a left turn down a little street which led through to an alleyway. As I made my way down, two huge tattooed men with bald heads were loitering down there, blocking the path for any on-comers. I shook my head in disbelief as I watched one of them brazenly snort something up his nose in the cold light of day, not caring if anyone saw him or not. I had a feeling they were ex convicts as the motel was just at the end of the alley. I lowered my head, walking purposely towards them, hoping they would get the hint to move. I learned years ago never to look anyone in the eye, It only led to trouble. Their massive frames took up the whole alley as I squeezed by them.

"Oh, look what we have here. A newbie."

I carried on walking, hearing them curse as I passed by them. No matter how angry they got, or how close they came, the key was to always, always keep your head down. I honestly couldn't count the number of beatings I had in the first few years in prison just for looking at someone the wrong way...or even just for looking at all. Sometimes, I got beat so bad, that I lay there in my own blood absolutely convinced I was dying. I prayed for it. I prayed to just have it all end. I spent many nights hoping that one day, one of the thugs would take it too far so there was no going back for me.

The brutes that had been blocking the way in the alley soon disappeared and in no time at all I was in the motel parking lot. I looked at the shabby brown building that housed the tiny pokey rooms with disgust. The place was such a dive it made jail look like a five star hotel.I walked to the grim looking front entrance to be greeted inside by a miserable skinny woman who looked at least eighty. Even though I had the keys to my room, I had to check in and sign some paper work. As I was still under the authorities care, I had to follow the rules or end up on the streets. Or even worse, back inside.

"Blaine Anderson."

My voice croaked with the strain of talking. I wasn't used to speaking to anyone. It seemed like an effort to even open my mouth these days.

She grunted at me, then turned away to get some things out of a filing cabinet. Her back was hunched, her hair was grey and she had wrinkles even on the back of her neck. She slammed some books on the desk in front of her, then slapped some paperwork on top.

"Sign this paperwork here, then take the books to your room and read them carefully. Follow the rules or you will be back where you belong. Scum like you shouldn't have a chance anyway, you are all disgusting."

I snatched the pen of the desk, taking the lid off with my teeth and spitting it on the floor. The old woman raised an eyebrow, looking at me with contempt. I signed my name away on the same ones I had just signed for in jail. Until I was making my own money and could rent my own place, I had to stay in this hole. I had to be back in my room every night by ten and attend all the courses I had agreed to do.

The chances of me getting a job were slim to none, I had no grades or qualifications as I never finished school. So the only chance I had to get some low wage shitty job was to get my head down and do these courses. It was just a part of my life that I would now be treated like garbage by everyone, including the old lady who was still staring at me like I was shit on her shoe.

I grabbed the books I had to take and made my way out of the grimy office, slamming the door shut behind me. I checked the tag again on my keys. Number thirty seven was up one set of rickety metal stairs. I unlocked the door, choking as soon as the smell hit me. It smelt like somebody had died in here or something. I rushed over to the one tiny square window, opening it as wide as it would go.

It really was no better than a cell. A tiny wooden bed that looked like it would collapse with a grown man in it next to a broken chest of drawers. The mattress on the bed was so thin and wiry that I may as well have been sleeping on the ground. The blankets were itchy and moth ridden. There was a small shower and toilet cubicle that were barely big enough to stand up in. A few cupboards and dirty looking kitchen sink made up the rest of the room. I groaned as I flopped down on the bed, hurting my ass in the process. This bed might as well have been made of nails.

I grabbed the books, ready to read all the information on the courses I would have to attend at the nearby offenders college. They all looked boring as fuck. I had been made to take two educational courses with one physical. In the end I chose Maths and Media Studies as my learning lasses and for the physical, mechanics.

Maths and Media Studies would be three days a week for the next year. Maths in the morning, Media Studies in the afternoon. The mechanics course would take up the other two days of the week and in total last two years. Being realistic, I probably wouldn't be able to get a job for at least a year, so I was stuck in this dump. I wouldn't be able to save anything from the measly allowance I was entitled to. In fact, I would be lucky to even be able to feed myself after paying for electricity and of course, cigarettes.

I closed my eyes, leaning back on the uncomfortable bed with my arms in a makeshift pillow under my head, yawning with exhaustion. I couldn't envision how I would ever get my life back on track in a place like this. Prison so far was definitely the better deal. At least there was structure and three meals a day. Out here, I would be lucky to buy a loaf of bread. If this was the real world...they could take it back.

*** I arrived home from school that day full of cheer. I couldn't quite believe my luck. It was valentines day and somehow, I had received four cards. Four! It was more than anyone in the whole school had gotten.

I shut the front door, singing a merry tune as I wandered in the kitchen to see my Mom sat at the table. My spirit dampened a little as I realised she still didn't look too well. She was usually full of life and happy. She had a nursing job which she loved, the patients would cheer up instantly when they saw her. Just a few weeks ago, she had taken a nasty tumble down the stairs and hadn't been herself since. She didn't break anything, but she wouldn't go and get herself checked out the hospital. She said that as she was a nurse, she knew what she was talking about and that she was fine, besides, she didn't want the embarrassment of explaining to her colleagues at the hospital that she had fallen down the stairs because she wasn't paying attention. I begged her to get checked out, worried in case she had given herself internal bleeding. She had just patted my head at the time, softly laughing saying that she would have died that very night and not to be so dramatic.

I set my bag down on the floor, pulling out a chair at the table sitting opposite my Mom, beaming with happiness.

"Hey Blainey days! How was school?"

I rolled my eyes affectionately at the silly nickname. She would never grow out of calling me that no matter how old I got. I was grown up now at thirteen years old, surely she would have to stop soon. I watched with worried eyes as she stood to make me a PB + J sandwich. She did it everyday and I loved that she was so caring. She clutched her side, gasping with pain as she reached over to get something from the fridge.

"Mom, sit down. I am old enough to make my own sandwich."

She clicked her tongue at me.

"We went through this yesterday, and the day before...and the day before that. I like making your sandwiches. It makes me feel useful. Now stop nagging at me and tell me about your day at school."

I sighed, but launched into the tale of the valentines cards, grinning as I remembered the feeling of being liked. She slid the sandwich over and put the kettle on to make us some tea.

"Sounds like you are popular with the school Blainey days. So...these cards...are they all from girls or...?

I looked up at her nervously. She gave me a reassuring smile, instantly putting my mind at ease. I think she had always sensed that I was different. She accepted it with love. I had never officially told her that I might be gay, I mean...thirteen was such a young age, how would I even know if I definitely was? I took a bite of my sandwich.

"Three girls and one boy actually."

She smiled at my answer, looking satisfied with herself for somehow knowing that there was more to the valentines day cards. We both jumped as the landline phone rang loud and clear. She grabbed the cordless phone from the kitchen counter, answering the phone as she held her freshly made hot tea in the other hand.

"Hello. Anderson household speaking?"

I tried not to laugh at her posh 'phone' voice. Me, my Dad and older brother Cooper always found it hysterical when she answered the phone. She liked to try and impress people.

I watched, still chewing on my sandwich as the colour slowly drained out of my Moms face. I put my sandwich down, not feeling hungry anymore and walked over to her looking anxiously into her eyes for any clue as to who was on the other end of the phone. She looked right through me, staring at the wall behind me as she listened to the caller. She whispered 'OK' into the phone befor hanging it up and setting it down on the counter, the tea spilling all over her as her hands shook.

"That was...that was er...one of my colleagues at the hospital. She very kindly informed me that your Dad was in a car accident this afternoon."

I felt sick and clammy. The sandwich I had just eaten was trying to make it's way back up from my stomach.

"What? Mom, is he OK? He's OK right?"

She put a hand on my arm, but she still couldn't look at me.

"He's ...he' dead Blainey days. Died on impact. He's gone."

I shook my head, taking a step back from her. This couldn't be happening.

I jumped as she dropped her cup filled with tea, the noise of the china breaking echoing all over the suddenly cold and empty house. Before I could stop her, she collapses into the broken shards and scolding tea, screaming in agony and grief, like something out of a nightmare.

I knew that I would remember that scream forever. ***

I jump as a loud knock on the door woke me. I must have fallen asleep. I sat up trying to get my bearings, not knowing where the hell I was. I rubbed my eyes, taking in my surroundings, suddenly remembering where I was. In hell.

I groan as the door bangs again. If it was that grumpy bitch from downstairs, she would be having the door slammed in her face. I wanted to be left alone, there were no rules saying that I couldn't at least have my privacy. I didn't have much else.

I lit up a smoke, sucking on it like I hadn't had one for years. It felt so good. I needed it after that awful dream. I cursed loudly as I tripped over my plastic bag of clothes that I had left on the floor.

I opened the door, raising an eyebrow as I realised that it wasn't the miserable woman from downstairs. Instead, in front of me stood a young man with perfectly quaffed light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. He had a huge smile on his face, whether it was fake or genuine, I couldn't quite tell. He was wearing the most ugly suit I had ever seen. It was light brown with random patches of colour all over it and on the pocket sat a hideous hippopotamus broach. He also had an official looking badge on the other side of his jacket that said 'Authority personnel' which was pretty ridiculous considering it could have meant anything. He had a black briefcase in one hand , and his free hand was held out for me to shake.

I stared at him with confusion, the cigarette hanging lazily out of my mouth as he spoke.

"Hello! I'm Kurt Hummell."