bam

he kciks out, hands scramping agaisnt he cobblestones undethim for purcvhase, he things he might have hit his opponant

bam

the world darkes and spins,

bam

he stuggles to grab at ahingthing

bam

he might trhow up

bam

he's flauting, head busted open on the rocks, limb and deadweight. his attacker is dragging his jeans down, and he wants to tell them to stop. he likes this pair - its hard to find pants that fit him.... he barely feels the knife that knicks his calf when the pants get tangled in his soes and get cut free.

's'op..' he whines out

hands close around his thoguhat, squeezing, lifting him up beofre

bam

he;d been torn open, face shoved into the rough bags of trash with each thrust

he deosnt knwo hwen he pased aout bit he world comes back to a vague sence of up and down

ther;s a load bang, metal door being opened. and he;s being lifted up, thrown over a railinf or ledgth. the way he lands knocks the wind from him. hten he's being tipped, legs tossed over aftet him and he hits the trash pile in a daze.

he's heavert han the baes, the pile eating him awlive, pulling him down. something hits him - he cut jeans thogun in on top og him.

he tries to rach out, but his right arm jsut senk depers. his head poutns to much to try and turn,face down a nd sufficagin.

out side hte dumpser, there is a stricing of flame, a match being lit. it's held to the match book until the whoe things catches, before causully being tossed hin tiwht hte rest of the rash. it lands in a crease btween shirt nad jean burning steadily down, until, at last, the fire fatches ont he cloth.

it burns quietly in the empty street.

"found another kid in the trash today.."

Bodies in the trash was common enough for this island, but Athair had thought he'd made it clear that his turf was not a dumping ground for anybody else. "Another heaps kid or one of mine?"

"Heaps."

athair groaned. really, was it too much to ask that people not bring trashing out fo the trsh put into hes turf to though it wawy on his door step. the heaps belongs to no one, it was free game down there. but leave it there.

"figure out who's dpign this and get them out of my city. by any means." he was so done with people disprecting him.

"they tried to cover burn it this time, the fire was the only reason we noticed in the first place."

if this asshowl burned his city down because he couldn't keep it in his pants, athair was going to string him up by his own guts, once they caught him. "Fire get put out alright?"

"yeah, stayed contained in the trash pile. but ah..."

the body. damn. he'd need to send a cleanup crew then.

"The heap kid's still alive."

gross. Those things where diseased and disgusting alreay. how anyone would want to stick their dick int hat was beyond athair. maybe burning it was an improvement. "dump the whole mess in the heaps and be done with it."

"Ceannard thinks the kid might pull through."

So what? "So what?"

"I think he wants to keep it."

Athair waved his hand in accnonyace. "As long as it gts its shots and i don't have to see or smell it." he turned on heel to leave, "And kill whoever is disrecting me by dumping his trash in my streets"

<><><>

He.. he didn't hurt anymore. but before, before it had stopped hurting and he just felt heavy. held force, force down. smothered. beatned and viloated, hands around his thraot, pressing pressing pressing.

he'd been so happy when it fianlyl ent dark.

but then the light came back, at least around the edges. he still couldn't see, couldn't move, but he felt hismelf being lifted and dropped. fall pillered by bags or trash, softer nad kinder then the trash that he spend most of his days kidding in. the bags shufted with his weight, swolloing him up. the smell and plasci pressed in on him, face down, he couldn't breath, cound't even choke. he was sinking down, swolled whole.he tried to push away, his right arm lsipping down, but he lieft was free. he tried to craw his way ouy, hand claising at air.

clasping at fire.

 he was drowing. he was birning.

puch up intot he fire. dink down into the dark.

burn int he sun. dorwn in the garbage.

his arm screamed, he could tell if it was there or not. he tried to puch freel, right hand sinking into the dark but he pushed up enough to get a lungful of burning putid air. his back and scalp scremened and burned. he fought harder into the fire.

he lost the fight. he lost.

it was over.

\he was flaouting.

there as a hum in this place. a life to this place. a wamth softer than the heat the'd died in.

there was a clean speckeld ceield above him, a light covered in frosted glass. no dirst or webbing cling to the corners, light even and soft. the air was drya nd steral smeeling, no life or story, no breeze.

it hurts to swallow. like his throghts been scrapped raw ont he inside, crushed and proken on the outside. it hurts to breath, like his lungs are full of cottena nd his rubs are smashed down into him. ahis stochae, ahis guts, shis legs. everything hurts.

exect his arm.

he can't move his head, its bound to tight with abngages and too stiff from  he can't even glacnch out of the corter of his eyes, his vision endind atthe bridge of her nose, the left side blacked out comepelrty.

killer frwos. he's no longer so sure he's dead.

He lifts his hand up into his line of sight, his right comes up easy enough - its been wrappd. his broken wrist and fingers are splinted, the busted knuckles covered in clean guaze. His left doesnt respond at all. he cant turn his head. he can't feel his arm...

he fianly raches over with his right, h;es sench of touch is muffled by the gause and prlits, but no - no it's okay. his let arm is there. he drags his wrist over until he can see - while whole left arm is wrpped, unlike his right, these bangages are soiled nad needeing changed.

killer forces himself up - its an infirmy bed, simbple and bare. he's been stripped bared excetthe bangages and the light blanket pooling at his waist.

nothing is familour. he doesnt' know this place, he does n;t know how he got here.. and..

someone is comming.

he throws hislef off the bed, legs unseady as he  stumbled to the door, throwing himself flat against the wall behind it. it wont give him musch of an advantage, but there's no wehre to hid, not enough time to flee.

-

"I can apprecate your will to live, but you will nat harm another one of my men."

Killer snarrled wher the man held his fist, the broekn scaple falling from his useless fingers.

"I'm Ceannard, one of Boss Athiars men. You owe me, therefor you owe him, for your life. IF you want to keep it, you;ll fall in line, kid."

his face fell. shit. kidd. he had to get back to kidd. he had to get out

"You already belong to one of the Bosses?" Ceannard asked, his tone mocking. when killer said nothing, he scoffed. "THat;s what i thought. what do they call you, anyway. they give names to heap kids?"

"Killer."

Ceannard looked at the body on the floor. "Yeah. i belive that."