A little boy bounced in his seat impatiently. He had learned not to ask questions but couldn't help but blurt out, "Mommy? Where are we going?"

"Shut up you little brat!" his mother snapped, not even turning to look at him.

He cocked his head and thought to himself, Mommy, why did you tell me to shut up? You do that a lot. He wanted to ask her this out loud, but didn't. She HAD told him to shut up after all. And 'shut up' meant you didn't talk.

The boy leaned his head on the window and checked his bandages. He had put them on himself since no one else would. His mommy never did, after all, she was the one who had caused most of them. It hurt a lot whenever she hit or cut him, but it was just a part of life. The child was beginning to drift off when he felt the car coast to a stop. He blinked away all traces of drowsiness from his eyes and looked out the window to see where they were. To his surprise, he saw nothing but a lot of trees. No signs, no trails, nothing to show any semblance of human presence except for the road they had driven on.

"Mommy? Why are we stopping here? There's nothing here but a lot of trees," the boy asked.

His mother turned around for the very first time since they had started on this little road-trip, reached back, and slapped him across the face hard with her mouth twisted into a snarl.

The small boy put his tiny hand to his stinging cheek. That was going to leave a bruise.

His mother grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the car. The boy scrambled to catch up so he wasn't dragged along on the ground. That really hurt, especially when there was poison ivy, or sharp rocks, or cacti. Without a moment's notice, the child found himself face-down on the ground. Propping himself up, he looked over his shoulder at his mother's sneering face.

"Stay right there, you little shit!" she snarled.

"Why? As I've said, there's nothing here," the five year old said with an innocent cock of his head.

"Just like there's nothing inside your head you piece of crap! You're a complete failure! A waste of resources! I should've just dragged you down to the subway and threw you on the tracks! But I didn't want to have you make a bigger mess for the janitorial crew to clean up!" his mother screamed.

The scrawny boy looked down and as boldly as he could said, "Mommy, I know I'm a failure and a waste of space and resources. You tell me that all the time. But I do help with managing the bills, actually I just about manage the bills by myself, even if you pay them-" he was abruptly cut off with a fist to his cheek. Biting back a scream of pain, he rolled with the punch and tearfully forced himself back up.

"JUST STAY HERE YOU LITTLE F*CK!" his mother shrieked.

Trembling, the boy whimpered, "Mommy, why did you yell at me to stay here again? There's still nothing here. And what does f*ck mean?" his reward for his daring was a fierce fist to the mouth. Gasping, he cried out, "Alright, Mommy. I'll stay here. Just don't hit me again. There's blood in my mouth and it tastes terrible."

Throwing a stone at him, his mother stalked off to the car. The child watched. Why was she going back to the car? Did she forget he was still here? Voicing this question, he said, "Mommy? Why are you getting back into the car? I'm still here. Do you want me to follow you now?"

With a feral scream of rage, his mother hurled a broken beer bottle at him. It smacked him on the head, hard. He fell back with the tears streaming down his face mixing with blood from an array of cuts on his forehead courtesy of broken glass from the bottle. The boy believed he had another concussion. What was this, his 23rd? He didn't know.

Wiping his eyes with his ragged grimy sleeve. He looked up. He noticed his mom slamming the car door shut and heard the ignition start. "Mommy, why are you closing the door? I'm still out here!" he half-yelled, too weak to do a full shout. He saw the car start to move away. He struggled to push himself up and started running after the car. "Wait, Mommy!" the little boy cried, but the car only went faster.

"Mommy, please, I can't run for much... longer..." he broke off as he collapsed on the ground gasping for breath. After a while, he regained his strength and slowly trudged back to the small pit stop his mother had left him at and sat down.

'Mommy? Mommy?! Where are you?! You drove too fast and I couldn't keep up. Mommy, you just forgot I wasn't in the car, didn't you? Okay, Mommy. I'll stay here until you realize you left me here and come back, okay?' with that, the child curled up in a small ball and waited.

The boy put his hand to his stomach to try and subdue his hunger pains. He hadn't ate anything for a week and a day out in the wilderness didn't sooth his hunger at all. He smacked his parched lips and thought, 'Mommy? It's been a day now. I'm getting scared. And hungry. And thirsty. When are you coming back? I'm not going to be able to wait much longer.' he hoped his mother would be back soon, he didn't know how much longer he had left. She never would waste good food on him like the stuff she ate, but at least he was good enough to be able to chew on bones. Here, there were no bones to be found.

The child shivered in the cold night. He was freezing. Last night wasn't so bad but tonight it was colder than an ice cube. He whispered out into the night, "Mommy? You- you are c-coming back, right? It's v-very cold out here at night. Last night wasn't so b-bad but tonight r-really is freezing. Are you coming back at all? Mommy? Mommy?! MOMMY?!" he screamed out hoarsely into the night. He would've cried, but he was too dehydrated.

The boy shakily stood up and started to walk down the road as he thought, 'Mommy, I'm leaving now. You told me to stay here, but not until you came back. Because you were never coming back, right? Sorry, but I'm not staying here to die. However, I'm also not going to look for you. I'm smart enough to make it in the real world. S-so screw you! Let's see how much better I can be than you think I am.' he clenched his fist, only halfheartedly believing it himself as he continued to walk down the road.

The boy panted as he collapsed on the side of the road. He had managed to walk maybe ten miles but he couldn't take another step. He trembled from fatigue and closed his eyes. 'You know, maybe death won't be so bad. I mean, Mommy told me I'll go to hell when I die but, maybe hell isn't quite as bad. Because if a masochist goes to hell and are tormented for all eternity, they'd be happy. Besides, it can't be worse than my life has been, can it?'

He thought he heard the sound of a car pulling up, but figured it was just his imagination because the sound quickly stopped. Then he heard the footsteps. The boy felt himself being picked up and opened his eyes. He saw a man, maybe nineteen years old with sunglasses and slightly tanned skin. "Hey, kid, can you hear me? Nod or shake your head." The child slowly nodded. "Good boy, now just sit tight, okay? We'll get you help."

"Here, drink this." he heard a woman's voice and felt his mouth being opened up and something wet falling into it. Without thinking, he quickly gulped down all its contents. He heard the woman's voice again, "How long have you been out here?" The boy tried to answer but felt himself spinning into into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was the woman saying something frantically before he blacked out.

The boy blinked open his eyes and stiffly propped himself up. A thick, warm blanket was covering him and he was lying in a plush, soft bed with white, fluffy pillows. He looked around in shock. There must've been a placement mistake for departed souls since this had to be heaven. After all, nobody would waste this much comfort on a piece of garbage like him.

"Ah! You're awake! Are you feeling better now?" the boy tilted his head towards the voice of the woman he had heard before he blacked out.

"There must've been a mistake. I don't belong in heaven," the boy said softly.

The woman looked concerned, "You're not in heaven, you're still alive but why do you think you wouldn't belong in heaven? A small child like you couldn't have done anything bad enough to be damned for all of eternity."

The boy looked down. "No, I've done enough to go straight to hell. I exist, I eat scraps that could be used to feed starving, rabid, stray dogs, who deserve them more than I do, I use up too much of Mommy's money... I could go on if you want me to."

The woman looked aghast. "Was this the same, "mommy" who left you in the middle of nowhere?"

The boy nodded. "She didn't want to waste more resources on me. And, when I started walking away from where she left me, I thought I might be better than she told me I was, that I was smarter than she said, I mean, I did manage her bills although she always paid them. But I was wrong, as usual. I really am just a waste."

The woman pursed her lips, icy blue eyes flashing. "I have a very hard time believing a boy who can't be more than maybe three-"

"Five," the boy interrupted, then immediately covered his mouth and braced himself for a blow that never came.

"Five?" the woman looked shocked, "In that case, you're severely malnourished, but I guess I already got that from the scraps comment," she sighed, "Still, maybe five years old that can manage bills and is smart enough to talk very formally and fairly politely is a complete waste. In fact, any child is not a waste. They're the most valuable resource in the world and every one is precious."

She launched into a rant about children and their value while the boy hung on her every word. All the persuasiveness she managed to cram into every word, the passion she expressed in every syllable, how she managed to make her words flow together, the deadly power her tone held and at the same time being caring and comforting. He knew he was in the presence of a master articulator and a very brilliant woman.

As she finished, the boy said, sounding slightly unconvinced, "So, you do not believe I am a waste of space and resources? That I, in some tiny way, could actually be valuable and treasured?"

The woman nodded and sat down on his bed. "I think you could be extremely valuable to me. You're an abused five year old who is smart enough to use words and understand concepts far beyond most other children your age. And I, for one, very much want to adopt you."

The boy's eyes widened, "You- you want ME?!"

The woman nodded, "Indeed, I just need to pull a few strings and you'll be my new son,-" she paused, then laughed, "Silly me, I forgot to ask your name! What are you called, little one?"

The boy looked down, "Well, Mommy called me boy, little shit, piece of crap, brat, any of those would work for my name I guess."

The woman looked horrified again, "Well, now, those won't do for names for MY little boy. I'll pick another one, what would you want to be your name?"

He shrugged, but the woman just smiled. "Well, I'll give you time to figure it out. Of course, you have to pick a good one. Not anything that... beast called you." she stood up and patted his head. "Get changed, there's some clothes in the closet I bought for you and a scarf that I tried to knit but I got a little carried away. Get downstairs for breakfast soon, you need some food in you." with that, she swiftly walked out the door. The little boy stared in shock, amazed at how his life had taken a 360 so fast, then slid out of bed and walked over to his closet. His jaw almost hit the floor. There were so many different shirts, pants, suits... all pressed clean and all for him. He pulled on a white collared shirt, a blue vest with red and white stripes around the chest, and white pants. He glanced to the left and saw a red scarf that the woman had apparently knitted for him. He pulled it off its hangar and put it on. He saw what she had meant by, "carried away". It was huge. He took it off and set it back on its hangar, vowing to wear it the second it would fit him when he got older. He hurried downstairs to see the man who had lifted him up and probably carried him to the car and the woman sitting at a fancy table full of food. His mouth watered but he mastered his urge to just stuff his face and politely sat down and used his knife and fork to pile food on his plate, then took small bites, being sure not to spill anything.

The woman smiled at him. "Even when you're starving, you're still refined and polite. Have you decided on a name, yet? It'd feel good to be able to call you something."

The boy thought for a moment, then asked, "Could you tell me your name first, ma'am? Please?"

The woman laughed, "Of course, but call me Mother from now on. Never Mommy, I don't like it and it would bring back unpleasant memories for you. But I regress. My name is Himika Akaba and the man beside me is Nakajima."

The boy thought for a second, then decided on his name. "Alright, then my name will be Reiji Akaba."

Reiji idly played with a pencil on his desk, pushing it, having it roll back, then rinse and repeat. It had been 11 years since he had been adopted. He had been able to wear the scarf when he was thirteen and only took it off to wash it. It was something special to him, because it was the first truly thoughtful gift he ever got. He leaned back closed his eyes and thought, 'So, Mother, what do you think of me now? We haven't seen each other since you left me all those years ago. I know now that you were abusing me. I wonder if you know how I've turned out. Maybe you do, maybe you don't, I don't really care anymore. But still, I want to ask you,'

Reiji smirked in triumph against the demon of his past, knowing just how great he had become now, 'What do you think of me now, Mother? What do you think of your little failure?'