Lukas Smith Porter

Status : [Alive]

Age At Story Point : [7]

---

     "You worthless piece of junk, why were you even born?" His father screamed. Lukas sat there, helpless, unable to move. His arms and legs were covered in cuts and bruises. He didn't say anything.

His father threw the knife onto the ground, and spat on it before stomping away like an angry beast. Silent as a mouse, Lukas approached the abandoned knife on the floor.

He picked it up, and sat there, picking at lint on the floor. Then he began poking at his own chest.

...

     His eyes snapped open. The first thing that welcomed him was pain. Pain poked and throttled at him, all over his body.

He tried to get up, see his surroundings.

A car, all busted up and broken, tangled up in a mess of leaves and branches. Splotches of blood on the dirt, rain pouring heavily from the sky, the night being pitch black.

He groaned, trying to get up from the wet, cold dirt. He looked around with his blurred vision, saw two bodies lying before him.

His parents.

Both twisted, unmoving, dead, lifeless.

It didn't take a touch of a finger to know that they were already dead.

Despite the pain throbbing in his head and all over his body, he got up, tears covering his face, and ran far, far away.

A trail of blood was all that was left behind him.

---

     "Kid, you okay? Hey, kid! Listen, can you hear me?"

     He woke up to somebody shaking him gently, somebody talking in front of him, hands carrying him. Opening his eyes, he saw somebody in a suit, the suit already smeared with blood.

His blood.

     "He's alive, I'm bringing him in. Where is the nearest hospital, George?" He hollered to his right. Sirens blinked and flashed everywhere, blinding him. Lukas shut his eyes again, not able to win the pain that swallowed him whole.

---

     "Time for your antidepressants, Lukas." He blinked several times, jerking a bit as he still remembered the ordeal few weeks ago. He still got nightmares, and for some reason, he couldn't remember what his parents looked like.

Things were much better than before.

He had his own private medication room. Friends came to visit often, some of his relatives did, too. They said it would take about a few years for him to heal mentally, so the hospital kept him in.

He didn't mind.

He was just happy to be free.