John slumped back against the doorframe, breathing raggedly in an attempt to stop the sobs that had been wracking his overly-skinny 12 year old frame for much of the last two weeks. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and stared up at the door. He could already hear the noise of the TV and one of the twins crying. They were always crying now. Finally, he pushed himself up and moved toward the door, wiping his face one more time and taking a moment to calm down.

The stench of rancid piss and old beer hit him full force as soon as he pushed the door open. Sure enough, there was his father, passed out on the ratty old couch, the TV blaring from the other side of the small room. John could see the remains of dinner littering the table and floor, and the twins lying in the bottom of the playpen, Jeremy wailing at the top of his lungs and Molly crying quietly around the thumb that was securely jammed into her mouth. There was no sign of Michael, their father and his older brother. Not unusual. He worked a lot, but never seemed to have any money to spare, though he always had enough for beer.

Looking into the one small bedroom at the back of the trailer, John spotted his sister, Nicole, sleeping soundly in the middle of the bed, also sucking her thumb, a habit she had adopted sometime in the last two weeks, he thought. Now five, it had been years since she had done anything of the sort. Convinced that she was fine, he turned back to the twins.

�Shhhh...� He picked Jeremy up, not a difficult task, given how small the child was. At 19 months, he should have weighed at least 25 pounds, but was well short of that. �It�s ok. You want a bottle?� John carried him over to the small refrigerator, making a face as he opened the door and was hit by another unpleasant odor. When he got out the milk, it was sour, so he threw it in the trash and resorted to walking around the kitchen with Jeremy, carefully stepping over the many obstacles. Molly had fallen asleep, thumb still in her mouth.

As he stepped over a box of engine parts to a car that hadn�t run in five years, he heard the front door open. Michael stormed in, swaying slightly as he stopped to watch the TV. After a moment, he turned and, spotting John, narrowed his eyes.

�Wha�re you doing with him, creep? Don�t you know what time it is? He should be sleeping.� He staggered over to where John was standing and roughly grabbed Jeremy, putting him into the crib with a grunt.

John clenched his fists at his side, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. �I was trying to get him to sleep.�

�Like hell you were. Get out of here. What�re you still doing awake, anyway? Shouldn�t you be sleeping, too?�

�No. Mom said...�

�Yeah, well, Mom�s not here now, is she? She won�t ever be here again...�

�Shut up! Just shut up!� John yelled, spinning and running from the room, pausing only to throw open the front door. He sprinted down the narrow alley, half-blinded by tears, ignoring the obscenities being hurled at his back by Michael.

Finally having reached the city park five blocks away, John collapsed against a large stone, sobbing. He cried until he couldn�t cry anymore, too exhausted to do anything but sit and try to breathe. His limbs felt leaden and he could barely keep his eyes open, but after a while, he choked down a last sniff and wiped his nose again, standing up.

John started walking, not really caring where he ended up, just walking. He stopped on the bridge that stood in the middle of the park. He leaned against the cool stone and watched the water pass swiftly underneath him. He thought of his mother, her dark brown hair and deep, expressive eyes, which had always held a smile for him. Even when she was so sick she couldn�t talk, her eyes always smiled, always. She�d looked so terrible, those last few days, her bones showing through her pale skin, and her hair dirty and tangled. He couldn�t bear to remember her like that. Looking up at the stars, he whispered �Why? Why did you have to go and die? I hate it here.� His gaze found its way back to the water. �I wish I could die too. Then I could be with you.�

Slowly, a thought worked its way into his full mind. He bit his lip, staring into space for a moment. No one would have followed him. Michael probably wouldn�t care at all. That thought steeled his resolve, and he climbed up the stone wall of the bridge, balancing precariously on top of it, one hand on the support next to him. He stared down at the cold water, taking a deep breath. One step. That�s all it would take. One step and he could be with his mother, see her, touch her hair, hear her beautiful laugh...

�John?� Came a quiet voice from behind him. He turned his head to see Nicole standing there in her torn pajamas, trembling and looking up at him.

�Nicole, what are you doing here?�

�John, come down. You�ll fall.� She was about to burst into tears, he could tell. He could always tell. He realized suddenly that with their mother gone, he was all she had, and felt his stomach churning at the thought of her left to the care of his father and Michael. With one last look at the water, he carefully slid down to the base of the bridge. As soon as his feet touched the solid stone, Nicole�s arms were around his legs, her face buried in his shirt. �I was scared. I heard you yelling and the door, and...�

�Shh. It�s ok, Nicole. It�s fine. I�m not going anywhere. Does Michael know you�re here?�

Nicole shook her head, her big, watery eyes fixed on his face. �Nuh-uh.�

�We should probably get you back to bed.�

Nicole shook her head again. �Nuh-uh.�

John hugged her more tightly. �Nuh-uh? Do you want to swing for a few minutes? I can push you, like Mom used to.�

Nicole nodded, loosening her grip on his legs.

John smiled for the first time in a long time. �Ok. Come on.� Nicole smiled back, brushing away a tear, and they headed for the swings, hand in hand.