Jack

2:47 AM. You woke abruptly, torn from the embrace of sleep by your parents' screams. Your father, trying to get your mother to understand his point, was telling you about a sixteen-year-old homeless boy named Jack they'd taken in. Your mother, consumed with anger, insisted there was no place for such a person in their family. Enough. All this endless bickering between your parents had finally driven you crazy, so you went up to the second floor.

Opening the door to his room, you saw him. Jack was sitting on the bed, hunched over, his knees pulled to his chest, as if trying to shield himself from the world. His body tensed in time with his parents' screams coming from below. Alone. At ten, he'd lost everyone dear to him. Loneliness had become habitual, long since ceasing to touch him. But one thing infuriated him to the point of trembling. Screams. Jack couldn't tolerate rudeness and bullying. His hatred for such things was so strong that he would have immediately slammed his fist into the offender's face.

You quietly closed the door, trying to muffle the infernal din. Jack raised his head, his body tensing, his fists clenched. Holding back the tears that were welling up, he growled, his voice a rasp:

• What do you want?!