What started World War…3?

Just like its predecessors, the sheet of paper was crumbled and thrown on the floor of the room Tucker shared with his mother. His bed was a folded blanket and a sheet while hers was just a futon mattress. The rest of their little box was occupied by various tubes and creams and clothes and medications.

Outside of their room was a box of a kitchen and a bathroom attached off to the side. Outside of that…well a whole neighborhood of trife awaited outside. His neighbors were obnoxious, loud and rude…to put it kindly. Bluntly, they were a horde of fucking cockbites. La-La, as the neighborhood had dubbed her, would be out strolling for a while. She was by no means clean and was by no means ever at the house either. Dirty whore. He jammed his pencil back into the corner if his mouth and shifted to sit on his knees as his feet fell asleep. He shivered as he forced the numb limbs into a sitting position. The table he was pressing on was probably three days from collapsing in on itself. Splinters were rising from the slope of a future crack in the center, ruining his new homework sheet as he tried to figure out half the stupid shit his teachers assured him was vital to his survival.

Shit, if knowing the causes of war is going to help me live longer why didn't it help any other soldier in history?

He gently wrote his name in the corner of the empty page then set it aside to join the stack of homework he was also never going to turn in.

He only attempted it to give himself something to do after school besides be embarrassed by accidentally running into his mother on the streets. It only took one time to make that mistake before he had decided to make better use of his time.

A loud beep sounded in the kitchen and he stood up to retrieve his bowl of ravioli. The red sauce bubbled up then settled as he returned to the table and sat it next to him. He narrowed his dark eyes on the next question and groaned at the extra effort he had to exert just to make clear the blurry images on the page. He had needed glasses for a while, but La-La had expenses to pay and bills to manage at the bare minimum, so he put up with it and peacefully napped for most of his classes. The doubled image had just faded into one when the door creaked open and a chocolate woman with long dark hair and a skirt that covered nothing strolled in like a red carpet had been rolled out for her. Her dark eyes flashed to Tucker only for a moment before she continued into the kitchen.

"Lavernius, where's my lunch?" She snapped.

He snickered while inhaling his ravioli so she wouldn't ask for any, "I dunno. What am I, your fucking keeper?"

"My keepers pay be, baby. That's more than you've done so far already."

"Meh, not enough if you're asking me for lunch."

She slammed the cabinet shut and shoved a granola bar down her throat, heading back to the door, "Don't eat any more of my food unless you're going to help put money in here."

"What? I'm only ten! What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Figure it out!" She yelled back over the sound of the door shutting.

He turned back to his paper and blinked when he caught the last word on the edge of a piece of paper beneath it, "Money…" He read aloud.

He tossed the paper aside and pulled the newspaper up to his nose to be able to read it.

"Must be…aw, fuckberries." He set it back down and laid his head on the table wondering if there was possibly a way out if the age barrier for work. Then his thoughts went onto if there was any possible way out of work itself. La-La only knew of work related to sex, which Tucker had caught onto, but he needed a real job. He stood up and pulled an aqua hoodie over his head. Pushing his feet into his sneakers, he grabbed a few quarters from the couch and headed to the door, head up and eyes narrowed against the faintly filtered sunlight of the mid-day. He ignored the snickers he heard as he walked- 'That's La-La's boy,' 'Wonder if he's a pro like his mom…'- he paused in front of a phone booth and dialed in the only number he knew and somewhat regularly called other than 911.

After listening to the dial a few times a voice picked up, half asleep and a little hung-over, "What's up, Jr.? You never call me yourself."

Tucker shrugged, realized people couldn't see through phones and muttered, "I need a break. Mom's being a nasty tramp again and she wants me to get a job. Think ya'll could help?" He added hopefully.

There was a small break in the conversation where Tucker could hear the inevitable 'no' but it didn't come. Instead, Lavernius Sr. yawned, "She's such a child killing fucktard. You're like eight. You can't get a j- whatever, anyway, it's not my week to get you, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Alright, meet me on the corner than. Be there in an hour."

Tucker frowned, "A whole hour? That's like 80 minutes."

"An hour is 60 minutes, retard. Just hang out where you're at like you usually do. If your hungry-"

"Nah, I ate." He said, "I'll just be bored."

"You'll be fine. I'm getting dressed so I'm gonna hang u-"

"Hey, wait. Just talk to me while I wait."

A sigh filled the line but he didn't hang up so Tucker sat down beneath the phone and held it in his hand. He pulled his hood up with the other and blew a dark curl from his face.

"…Dad?"

"Yeah?" Came his far away voice.

"…What are you doing?"

"…"

"…"

"What?"

"I said, what are you doing?"

"…"

"…"

"…Jr., don't make me change my mind."