The Streets

Chapter 9: 'Care'

*FLASHBACK*
After my parents had fallen into the tight grasps of death himself, I was left to fend for myself. I had been living with them both in a small 2 floored house in a crammed city by the coast. On the fatal day when I discovered the cold body of my mother, instinct had swiftly kicked in and I took little time to call an ambulance. It took what seemed like years to arrive in a flurry of flashing blue lights, and during the wait I had stared at her lifeless body. Had I not been enough for her. Was it my fault? Beneath the mournful grief, a quiet rage was starting to slowly form. For my mother. My father. Everyone who had left me all alone In this life. Although these emotions were swiftly overpowered by the sadness I had inside. My loving mother, my caring father. Gone...
This opened a new wave of challenges upon me, seemingly changing the road of my life to a rocky slope. It just seemed to be going downhill now. Further and further down... The authorities had found me kneeling next to my mothers body, clutching a note, and it was clear what had happened... I was interviewed and I told them everything, every last detail, and soon the case was closed as if it had never opened; yet another suicide. I was sent to a care home to live, and me, as a 16 year old boy who had gone through what seemed like hell, I had never gained any friends. Those were the days that I would just play for hours. Endless melodies, chords, rhythms... Music was a silent escape for me; a means of venting my pain inside. A lot of pain was stuffed inside me to, with my father and then my mother as a follow up. I was going to leave that home one day. I didn't belong in a sweaty little building full of young kids and teenagers. I belonged in a studio, developing my own music for a living. And leave that place I would, disappearing in the night as if I was never there.
I had been planning my daring escape since about two weeks before it actually took place, and had packed my bags long before I had planned to make my disappearance. I had actually been cheerful then, often smiling at the younger kids who I would see in the home. It seems that the others noticed my sudden behavioural change too, according to the wide-spread 'care home gossip'. Even the workers noticed my change, noting that I looked far better than what I had been when I had joined. Little did they know that instead of starting to fit in, I was actually getting ready to slip away from this community...
On the night of my great escape, I finally made my long-awaited move. At 1:00 in the morning, after carefully checking everyone was asleep, I left a note saying simply 'Sorry!' and used the emergency keys to open the door into the rain, climb over the black, iron-wrought gate and into the soaking street. I had all the money that I owned with me (around £150) and made my way to the train journey, preparing to travel to the epicentre of British music production- London...