The PrologueMature

Their past shrouded in mystery and surrounded by enemies, Twin brothers Sean and Zach have seen the worst side of the adoptive system. When one night all hell breaks loose, they escape an abusive home to end up in a far worse fate, becoming victims of the sex trafficking trade. But things are not as they seem, soon they will learn the truth about their origins, and how the world, and society are not what they seem.


     “The real people you can trust are the one who will walk alongside with you, even in the darkest depths of hell.” These words are ones that embody the lives of me and my brother. We had lost our parents to a freak fire, caused by a bolt of lightning that struck the house, when we were only a few months old.

     They said that the flames could be seen all around the city, that it lit up the dark city of Chicago more than the lights and the sky-scrapers ever had. They said my mother had crawled out of the fire with my brother and I, managing to hand us to emergency workers. That was the last time she would ever see us though, as the burning building collapsed on her, killing her within a few seconds. My father was never found in the ruins of the house, and was assumed to be a pile of fiery dust.

     Needless to say, we were orphans since the first memory we had. The word 'home' and 'family' were both just words. We never experienced them, all we ever experienced was the horrors of the Foster Care System. The closest thing we ever found to solace was the knowledge that at the very least we would at least have each other.

          We had a bond that most siblings never had, or would even care to have. Nine months in the womb had drawn us together, both emotionally and physically. We were nearly identical physically, the same chestnut colored hair, strong jaw, semi muscular frame, and gentle eyes. Emotionally, we were both fragile, both scared, after all the hellfire that had engulfed us since the day of our birth. The only real difference was that I tried to protect Sean as much as I could.

         Ever since we were toddlers I would always do my best to take most of the beatings, because it killed me every single time I watched him try to hide the tears as the bruises and welts began to spring up and swell across his body. I know he felt the same, and he tried to protect me when he could, but he was the one they usually chose to slap around the most, as he was the more gentle of the two of us, making him an easy target.

          I can remember so vividly the nights when we were in our early teens, how we would get home from school, exhausted, to a home filled with a horrible tension. Our foster father was an alcoholic who got completely wasted and incredibly aggressive at least twice a week. Always taking aim at his younger wife, who was a good woman, one of the very few foster parents I can remember actually having actual affection for. He would holler and scream like a banshee, throwing fists madly as we cowered behind the counter before he finally began to pound on us as well.

         Once he was especially hurtful, throwing punches and grabbing Sean’s wrist and wailing on my brother while I begged for him to stop, trying to push him off, I succeeded for about five seconds, enough time for him to let go of Sean, who went flying into our room, with me right behind him, slamming the door and locking it as the mad bull of a man came roaring through, pounding on the door, causing the hinges to crack and bend until it gave way.

        I truly think the only reason we both lived through that night was the fact our bedroom had two very large dressers, with just enough space for us to squeeze behind them and hide until the police rolled into the driveway, the neighbors having heard everything and called them.

          Then there were the nights like tonight, and those are the ones that are always the most painful to deal with. When we were alone in the middle of the night, just talking about how we felt, a glimpse into the other’s mind. How after all of the beatings, and emotional wrecking balls hitting us in the gut, we would simply sit there and have to accept the fates we were given.

          But sometimes, fate has a way of changing things to where your eyes open up to see the way that the world really is.

The End

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