Red Right Hand

Chapter 1: Hidden in his coat is his red right hand

A slim shadow was cast upon the concrete sidewalk, the light from the moon shown brightly onto him. He slowly walked past many empty shops. Not taking a glance towards them. Not really caring what was in them either.

A frown was on his lips and a cigarette between them, the gray smoke twirled up towards the dark sky as he breathed in the one thing that calmed his nerves.

With his tongue, he rolled the cigarette to the other side of his lips, causing the lit ash to fall free. He didn't want his hands to touch the white paper; they were already in his pockets of his black trench coat. Even with the white gloves, he hated to sully his hands.

He continued down the street and halted in front of a grassy yard. Black orbs flickered to the left. There was a house there . . . The windows broken in, the grass had dandelions growing in patches, trash was scattered across the area. His lips raised in disgust, but the yelling was the worst. He couldn't shut it out. He could shut out the buzz from the phone wires above, the zoom from the cars that raced by- but not the shouting. His eyes went to the front door as it was flung open and smashed against the wall- a young looking man was shoved out, more cruel words were shouted at him but he seemed to ignore them- or accept them. Maybe they were true. Was he worthless? Was he nothing? Was he a . . . mistake? The voice screeched again- his father- booze heavy on his breath. Telling the teen to never return again and to burn in hell with his mother. Those seemed to hurt the most. His mother must be dead . . . at least to his father she was.

The door slammed shut and the boy stood there for a moment. His mind racing and inquiring where he was going to go. His friend's perhaps . . . again . . . He knew they were sick of taking him in but they never said anything about it, he just knew.

The man that was standing there watching him could hear the low sobs that came from the teen. The tears swirled in red as they dripped from his dark eyes and off his jaw. His hand lifted to his face, wiping the blood and tears. He sniffled and turned, but no one stood there on the sidewalk watching him. He was only met with familiar darkness and a void that filled his heart. He could have sworn he felt someone there. But there was no one . . . like usual . . .

With a frown still on his youthful face, he started down the broken concrete; chunks of it easily pushed with his worn shoes.

Maybe tonight he'd wander the streets again- he doesn't like depending on others. He had already ate dinner . . . if one could call it that . . . his father handed him a cold one and box of cereal that had about a bowls worth. And he was being generous with the beer. Of course he hadn't drunk it. He didn't want to be like his father. He'd die first.

His mother died three years earlier. Before her death, everything was wonderful. Perfect if he could say so himself. They had a nice house, money, and food. They had everything they needed to survive and more.

But, his mother came down with leukemia . . . she had gone through chemotherapy but nothing worked. She succumbed to the disease. After that, his once great father turned to alcohol, cigarettes, and anything else to get his mind off of his dead wife. Which often involved his fist and his son's face. It would have been the same for the eldest brother but he had long since moved out. He never visited . . . to his brother's dismay. He left no phone number . . .

The teen continued down the vacant street. His heart bleeding and so was his cheek.

This was just another day . . . tomorrow he'd go to school, come home, wait until his father got back from the bar, take a beating, and go to bed. But on special occasions he'd get kicked out. Usually because he was drunker than usual or he got in a fight at the local pub. The spiky haired teen kicked absently at the small rocks on the sidewalk, each one rolling into grass or onto the asphalt.

He didn't know where he should roam to; the town was pretty small. Maybe walk around it a few times. A few dozen times. It was only midnight, and it would be a while until it was 7. He wished it was a Friday night; so then, he wouldn't have to go to school looking like he did. If he got there early, he could take a shower and get a good breakfast. That would be very nice. And so he walked through the city, counting down the hour until he need to leave to Orange Star High School. He hoped that time would fly, but it inched towards 6.

The sun slowly rose, painting everything gold. But he remained in darkness as he grew closer to the school. He avoided all confrontations by going through the back gate. Down the many halls and soon he was in the men's locker room. The gym teacher was in there, but he didn't mind the teen being in there.

He quickly cleaned his body of its filth, dried off, and changed into clean clothes that he had in his locker. He was prepared for anything.

He ran a brush through his unruly hair and it still settled back to ebony spikes. He sighed and gazed into the scratched mirror. Dark circles were starting to appear under his eyes, fresh bruises adjourned his jaw, and a large cut was on his right cheek. What would he tell everyone this time? Another fight with some punk kid that didn't go to school here? He guessed he'd go with that one. They always fell for it. At least he hoped so.

By then, he could hear voices in the halls. School would start in half an hour and he had homework to do. He quickened his pace as he headed towards his first class.

He was flashed different looks as he walked by, envy, fear, and lust. He knew them all. He was a very handsome teen, and one that no one dared pick a fight with. He was happy that they didn't; he didn't need anymore pain in his life.

He soon arrived in his first class, his teacher Mr. Roshi greeted him with a smile as he took a seat towards the back of the classroom. He pulled out various papers from his folder he took from his locker and began to finish his work. He sighed heavily. He didn't care about what atrium the blood flowed into first. But he didn't want to fail this class, so he quickly finished the worksheet. Then he moved onto his English homework. Some questions about some boring book he had to read. He read the book. It was a long painful process but he eventually got it done. And in no time, he was finished with his homework.

He slumped into his seat, a groan at his lips. He cracked his knuckles and sat with his back straight as the first bell rang. Another day of boredom. Another day of pointlessness . . .

"Goku?" He looked up to see brown eyes looking at him. "You zoned out there for a second. You get in another fight? Or were two girls fighting over you and you got caught in the cross fire?" A smile appeared on his teacher's face and one came to the teen's.

"Another fight. That guy and his friends never leave me alone." He shook his head. "They never learn though."

Mr. Roshi chuckled deep within his throat. "Yes, you're right about that."

The door to the classroom opened and some students appeared they took a seat- their teacher didn't care where they sat, unless they became a distraction; then they would be moved. One of the girls waved at Goku. He smiled back and rolled his eyes. He obviously didn't like the sophomore but she didn't seem to notice.

Her and her group of friends sat in front of him. She sat next to her blue haired friend, who also was eyeing him like he was a piece of rare fruit. They both giggled and smiled at him. He made sure to avoid all eye contact with them. Hoping maybe they'd forget he existed. The room was soon filled with students. The seat next to him was thankfully empty. That's the one Yamcha usually sat in. He couldn't stand the kid. He had way too much energy and he thought he was a chick magnet. Most of the girls couldn't stand him, let alone like him more than a friend.

A voice to the left of him drew him from his thoughts. He smiled as he turned to his best friend Krillian. "Hey buddy, get in another fight?" Goku nodded. He knew that Krillian stopped believing the fight lie. "You know you could have came over, we could have talked or something."

"I know . . . I just didn't feel like it, that's all." His friend frowned as the bell rang.

Mr. Roshi started the day with his usual cheerful greeting, making the students gag at his happiness.

The day passed by quicker than Goku had anticipated. Too quickly if you asked him. In the last class of the day, Krillian invited him over so they could finish a stupid project for English. Goku called home using a pay phone, but no one picked up so he left a message. He prayed that his father would be okay with this. He didn't want him to be angry when he got home.

As they walked to Krillian's home, they chatted about their day. Mentioning how bored and tired they were. The trip seemed to drag on but Krillian kept on about his girl friend, Eighteen. Goku didn't mind, he was friends with the girl.

Goku was always astounded when he visited his best friend's home. It was magnificent and compared to his; his home seemed like an empty wet box in an alley. Three stories of brick caused one to look at it. Clean cut grass and a white picket fence. It was perfect . . . the inside was nothing short of that. The shades were dark green, purple, and magenta.

Krillian's parents greeted them with a smile. Goku gave a small wave and a hello as he and his friend hurried up the stairs.

Three hours later they had finished the project. A diorama of a scene from the novel. Nothing either of them was interested in. While he was there, Goku had a much needed dinner. With thank you and goodbye on his lips he exited the large house and went back into the cold. It welcomed him in, something he didn't want . . . The ice bit at his nose as he wrapped his arms over his chest, trying to stay warm. His teeth clattered noisily together as he strolled home. Almost regretting going to his friend's home. It wasn't nearly this cold the night before.

Then he felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as it appeared. Someone was watching him. He quickly shot his head over his shoulder but saw no one. A dull chill shudders through his back. He could have sworn . . . it was the same feeling he had the night before as he wept on the front porch of his house.

He once again scanned the area . . . but there was no one there. With a frown, he turned back and was on his way again.

After about ten minutes of walking, he was at his loathed home, yet again. He stood on the porch. The living room light was on. His father was home. His jaw clenched and he took a breath, waiting for the hit that he knew would come. He slowly opened the door and as he predicted- it was there- jerking him into the house and tossing him to the floor. Raining pain onto his body as he did nothing to fight back.

1.) Respect your parents

And he always did. No matter how much each knuckle dug into his already bruised flesh, he took it. His father's words hurt the most. Each one dealt a blow to his heart. Causing more red to spill unknowingly. He knew the tears would come, like they always did. Causing more words to slap at him. It stopped as his eyes rolled back. He stopped feeling the physical pain as darkness swallowed his form, but the words still cut into him deeply. His cries of pain died out as he lost consciousness, but that didn't stop his father from kicking his ribs mercilessly.

The onslaught soon stopped as a stomach whined for the bathroom and the liquor was spewed into the murky water in the toilet. He too found darkness welcoming.

In the front yard, dark lashes slid shut. He was glad the cries had stopped. The unheard screams from the teen caused his heart to wrench. He could hear them within his mind. Each silent prayer that went unheard by god. He felt his gloved fists within his pockets tighten.

Soon all would know his father's sins . . . He would pay the price for his wrong doings . . . as would so many others. He suddenly swiftly turned and moved towards the small shop he had recently bought. There will be hell to pay . . .

To be continued . . .

Agent 182: Thanks for reading. Yeah, I know. Another fic! I had to write it. I hope you liked it. I certainly did. I was inspired by a song, that's where the title comes from and the movie/book needful things. Just so you know. I hope you review. I love to know what you think. Oh and if you didn't notice yet, it's an A/U. Will be a VG/GK fic as usual!

^ ^ Love ya Ryan!