trey; d6

t r e y .

"Life is parallel to Hell"

Francis.

It means he's a free man.

And yet he's found himself in a cycle of bondage his entire life. When he was a child, shackles bound him to a broken home. A father who was married to a gun but not his mother. A mother who wanted to watch the world melt behind a chemical storm before her eyes. He remembers - small feet stepping over pipes and broken glass to find her slumped on the sofa in front of the television. He learned quickly not to shake her, it was better to let her ride it out.

He'd sneak out and play with the other kids. It gave him the illusion of freedom. The freedom to laugh with everyone else whose parents didn't give a shit. The freedom to trip over and scrape his knee until he learned to laugh it off. The freedom to sneak into abandoned buildings and swear as loud as possible because it was funny when their voices echoed.

But every day he went home and he was shackled by his foot all over again. He would step over discarded pipes on his way to the dinner table, then step back over them when he went to his room. He'd crawl underneath his blankets, wrapping himself tight because the house was cold.

Wake up. Go to school. Repeat.

When he was eight, his father died on the streets of District Six beneath a hail of bullets. A few months later, his mother was found slumped on the sofa in the front room with the television still on.

She didn't ride it out that time.

So he was packed off to his father's parents. Traditional and Ripred-fearing. He quickly found that he was no longer shackled to his parents' chaotic routines but to the pressurizing judgment of his grandparents. He never forgot to say please and thank you while they were in earshot. If he dared use profanities he heard his parents use on the regular when his grandfather heard he'd quickly earn himself a backhand for his sins. Tough but fair, he supposed.

But the shackles of his grandparents' rules and religion couldn't stretch beyond their own doorstep, let alone the streets of District Six. When he was thirteen, he met an older boy they called Smiles. Smiles and his crew? Damn they were cool. They were all older, either no longer reaping age or about to age out of it. They had the prettiest girlfriends, always stayed out late, and had the wildest parties. No one wanted to fuck with them. The perfect friends to have.

Smiles gave him his first joint, his first beer, even showed him how to hold a gun. "Why do you have this? He'd asked. He was young, not outright stupid; the only people who were meant to have guns were Peacekeepers.

"Protection Lil Man, protection." Smiles replied with a cocky grin.

"How'd you get it?" Trey asked.

"I have my ways Lil Man, I have my ways."

Yeah, he was the coolest.

He always found it strange to be called Lil Man, considering he was one of the tallest in his class. As he aged he stayed on the taller side, easily reaching six feet on the dot before most people in his class. As he grew, he ate and his shoulders broadened while he found he could lift more. Hell, eventually he grew taller than Smiles and the other olders in his crew. He supposed he got it from his Mum, she was taller than most of the men he saw in his life.

Still, despite the fact he was one of the first in his class to start shaving, he was always Lil Man. They jokingly told because it was still mentally twelve. He wasn't as quick to catch onto things, but that didn't make him stupid - he just wasn't always paying attention. There he was, always with his head in the clouds.

He supposed if he paid more attention, he would've caught onto the kind of people Smiles and his crew really were. First, it started off with getting him to steal stuff, Smiles taught him and he was good at that. Sometimes he'd be the lookout or the distractor as they raided empty shops and factories. He even learned how to pickpocket from them. But it wasn't that bad. The people they were stealing from were far richer than they were, they could afford to lose some stuff. Besides, if Smiles and his crew were doing it, and Smiles and his crew were cool then that meant Trey was cool. At least, that's how it worked out in his head.

He didn't notice the chains binding him to them even as the shackles tightened around his ankles.

When he was fifteen, he told Smiles about a shopkeeper and his wife who was always a prick to him. He'd sometimes refuse to serve him and tell him to get out for 'acting suspiciously even when he just wanted to get some juice. Smiles slapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "Don't you worry Lil Man, I'll set him straight." That night they entered the shop, and Smiles swaggered in with a calm demeanor, unphased by the pressurizing glare of their disapproval. He picked out two beers and went to the counter.

"You're gonna sell me and my boy some beer, you feel me?" The shopkeeper looked shocked while his wife continued to lurk behind them, but Smiles wasn't so much as fazed. "None of this bullshit you've been pulling." He threw some coins on the counter before handing Trey his bottle.

Trey grinned as he took it before quickly taking a sip. He tuned out out the words that were exchanged. Even as they got heated.

And louder.

And louder.

BANG! BANG!

The shopkeeper's body hit the ground and his wife's screams echoed throughout the store as Smiles spun on his heels and dragged her behind the counter, demanding she give him whatever money they had. Two more gunshots and she stopped screaming.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

Smiles pocketed the money before leaping over the counter and pulling Trey by his shoulder, ignoring his question. "Run Lil Man, we're getting out of here."

They both sprinted into the night.

He told himself he wouldn't roll with Smiles and his crew anymore. They were murderers. But the shackles had dug into his skin. He was trapped in a glass cage while he was chained to the floor - he wouldn't be ditching that crew any time soon. Every time, the olders in their crew would find him after school, promising him a fun time with booze and drugs.

("Don't be a lil bitch man, come roll with us.")

And after robbing some store or breaking and entering into some factory before taking what they could find, they'd take him to somewhere he used to think was cool. And yet the sight of bullet hole in the shopkeeper's forehead had burned itself in the back of his mind. He didn't feel as cool when he hung out with them anymore.

When he was sixteen, they dragged him along for another burglary. The factory of some rich industrialist, they could loot the place of a fuck ton of stuff then have it sold on the streets somewhere. Easy. Another simple job.

Except it wasn't. Something went wrong - Trey didn't understand what. Only that rather than making a clean getaway, they were being chased by guards, Trey carrying what little stolen loot they had. They all split up, him and Smiles going one way and everyone else going their own separate ways. The guards wouldn't be able to catch them all, they'd have to pick who they went for.

Shit, of course, they followed him and Smiles. He was carrying the bag. They were being chased into a dead end, a wall they could climb. Except smiles was too short to reach. "Come on man, give me a boost. I'll take the bag, then I'll pull you back up."

He ignored the alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind. After all, Smiles was his homeboy.

So he let Smiles climb on his back to the top of the wall.

"Give me the bag, give me the bag."

He threw the bag up to him.

"Aight, now help me up! Before they get here man!"

His fingers closed around his wrist, slowly he went up.

Then back down.

"Fuck this man, you're too heavy. Find another way."

And he was gone.

Trey still remembers the way his heart sunk into his stomach, how numb he felt when calloused hands gripped him and pinned him to the ground, the defeat that resonated in his chest as they dragged him back to the factory he had stolen from.

That was when he met Declan Garner, the owner of the factory. His options were clear, work for him or he was screwed. Replace his shackles to save his life - it was an easy choice. A snatcher he was, finding unwitting victims and luring them back to Declan for him to do something to. Trey didn't want to know - he only had to understand they wouldn't be seen again.

The following week, he saw Smiles after school.

"You bastard," he sneered, squaring up to him. "You sold me out."

Smiles only tilted his head to the side, his lips smugly curled upwards. "Couldn't take you with me man, I told you to find your own way," he shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you gotta eat less, I don't know."

When Trey blinked, Smiles had hit the ground - blood trickling from his nose. When Trey blinked again, he was on top of Smiles; his fist was throbbing. When Trey blinked again, Smiles' gun was in his hand.

He cracked the pistol across Smiles' stupid face before dropping the gun and fleeing.

He guessed this made him on the run, not from the boys in white but from Smiles and his crew. Shit, why did he do that? He wasn't a violent boy. He didn't want trouble with anyone. And within a week he'd gotten on the wrong side of two very powerful people.

That night he started his new job. Declan gave Trey benefits that were beyond the confines of his imagination. Beer, drugs, money - anything he needed. Every person he delivered to Declan, meant he got something else. It was easy, he tended to find other youths around the district to deliver to Declan. Or he'd meet someone more desperate than he was, talk to them a bit, then take them to Declan.

He never saw any of them again; he tried not to think about it.

He didn't think about it.

He only thought about survival. Giving Declan enough people. Looking over his shoulder so he didn't get smoked by Smiles and his crew - they were looking for him. No, he couldn't think about them. He couldn't think about what Declan did to them. He didn't think about it, he just did what he was told.

It's not like he was ever a free man anyway.