FicWad

It was a cold October night - unseasonably cold for this time of year in Calfornia. Infact, you could see your breathe when you exhaled, a rarity on the west coast - that is, if you were unfortunate enough to be outside. In a city like this, there were numerous vagrents, and homeless people, huddling in streets and doorways, not to mention prostitutes who worked the streets for a living. Every one of these people had a story to tell, as to why they weren't curled up at home with a cup of steaming hot chocolate or coffee on a night like this. Some had become unemployed, others not able to afford the rent, a few were just incredibly desperated, and a couple were just unlucky. However, there were a few people who were heading home to warmth and comfort, stuck outside due to sheer misfortune - Frank Iero was one of these people.

At thirteen years old, he was still short for his age, but not drastically so. He was a skinny kid, who both looked and felt continually awkward. It was rare to see a boy so young wandering the streets at nine in the evening, but Frank had first been stuck in detention for an hour, then chased in to the school's toilet by a few boys who seemed to take extreme pleasure in tormenting him. The boy had cowered in the cubicle for a good few hours after they'd left, and in doing so, missed all of the buses leaving from school. As a result, he'd ended up walking home. Really, he should have just called his parents, but he had too much pride, and didn't want them to worry about him. So he walked home, preparing lies as to why he was late being ran through his head.


Frank turned a corner down a small back alley. On either side was a large garden - belonging to the overly rich snobs who lived in that area. The path hid them from view however - there were short, thick leafy trees lining either side of it. The thirteen year old was unsure as to whether he should take this route, but it was the quickest route home, and he was tired. So he began to walk along it.

The moment he stepped past the first tree that turned the path into a tunnel, the air changed. It was only subtle and Frank barely picked it up. A shiver ran down his spine as he continued to walk, but he ignored it. Bad idea. Perhaps if he didn't have his headphones in, he would have heard the drunken cackling of boys no more than four or five years older than him. But then again perhaps not. Either way, the small boy suddenly found himself confronted with a group of ten boys - several of which were the same that had him running scared into the toilet earlier that day. Why they did what they were about to do is a mystery to all, even themselves in some cases.

Frank stopped in fear, and began to back up, but it was too late - the youths had already seen him. And were closing in. Most had hoods pulled over their heads and were clutching beer bottles, despite being underage. Several were smoking cigarrettes.

"Hey there faggot!" One laughed, showing off to his mates.

The adressed boy turned, and ran, but it was much too late for that - one of the older boys simply reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him make roughly. Frank let out a small whimper of fear.

"Awww - does the little faggy want his mommy?" Another - or maybe it was the same as the one who had spoken earlier - said.

Frank shook his head frantically, trying to pull away, but the guy holding him was far too strong. He whimpered and the group laughed, a hand pushing him roughly to the ground. That was when the reall horror began.

The youths' fists and feet rained down on him, each connection resulting in a sharp pain in the boy's stomach, legs, arms, head, crotch, everywhere on his small body. He was screaming, yelling, shouting for help - but none came. Frank was doomed, or at least, that was what it felt like.

"Stop!" He shouted. The group just laughed again, and a few boys crouched down beside their begging victem, delighted when they saw both blood and tears trickling down his face.

"N'awww - poor little emo." One whispered to another, and his friend grinned in response. He began to run his hands over the small boy, digging his nails into the flesh and jabbing the already formed bruises. The others were jeering and laughing, still delivering the occasional punch or kick. Most were just hanging back now, enjoying the show.

Frank lay trembling in the dirt, exhausted, screaming in his head, but not really emitting a sound. Someone kicked him particularly hard in the gut, winding him. He gasped for air, and whimpered at the pain shooting through him. "Leave me 'lone." His voice was barely a whisper.

The sound seemed to egg the older boys on, as they continued their punching, kicking, clawing, jabbing. One crashed their fist into the side of Frank's head, ramming it down on to the cold, hard, rough tarmac. It was littered in pebbles and broken glass, and the boy felt as though the side of his face had been spilt in two. A heart wrenching scream escaped his lips, but it seemed his tomentors didn't have a heart, and they just laughed.

"Does the little faggot want his mommy?" One teased in a mocking baby voice, feighning pity.

"You're scum." Another sneered. And then, unheard to Frank, he smirked at his mates and whispered; "I've got an idea." As he shared his diabolical plan with his mates, the two crouched by their victim continued to practically molest him, each touch delivering pain. Neither protested when another suddenly leaned down and ripped the boys pants off, although they were more than a little surprised. But they both grinned again when catching sight of the beer bottle their mated was holding, catching on immediately.

"You're going to like this." Yet another youth leaned forward and sneered in Frank's ear. He was whimpering on the floor, but let out a full throated scream when on of his tortures suddenly thrust the glass bottle neck up his anus. The only noise emitted from the majority was laughter.

"You like that queer?" One said, vioce undescribably malicious. More screams were emitted as whoever was in charge of the bottle pulled it out and shoved it back in. Blood spurted out repulsively, but no one seemed to care. It could only be guessed how much of this cruelty was a result of the alcohol they had all consumed, and how much was pure malice.
Another ear piercing scream was cut off when one of the boys slapped Frank round the face. "Rot in hell." He hissed, apparently oblivious to the blood and tears covering the thirteen year old's face.

"Your parents must hate you!" Another youth teased.

There was more screaming. More blood. More tears.

"Yeah, who'd love a shit faced whore like you?" The boy thrusting the bottle laughed, before straightening up. "I'm done here - to the pub?"

The others glanced down at their small victim and shrugged. "May as well." They stood up one by one, leaving a parting gift of a bruise on Frank's body. Their voices faded for the boy as they stumbled drunkenly down the corridor of trees. Luckily for them, the thick foliage managed to block most of the noise emmitted, and it was likely that the thirteen year old they had just beaten and defiled wouldn't be found until the morning. By which time he'd be dead.

Fortunately for Frank, his luck changed. It wasn't much, but it was probably what saved his life. He was lying by the side of the narrow path, body growing colder and number by the second. The pain was fading, which may seem blissful for the boy, but in reality, meant his body was shutting down. It had been abused enough that night - he was bleeding in several places, and was bruised all over. It was a miracle that nothing but skin was broken. Actually - that wasn't ture; the boy's mind was broken beyond repair, and he would still dream of this night for years to come. Now, the cold was the final straw for his abused body - it was slipping into a coma, as blood poured out, and Frank felt weaker and weaker.

"Shit!" He didn't even hear the feminine voice that swore. didn't even register her presence. But she was standing there; staring at the most obsence sight she had ever witnessed in her fourteen years of life. There was a boy lying of the path in front of her, the blood and bruises obvious under the light of her torch. She guessed that he couldn't be any older than her, because of his height, but that wasn't what she was focused on. Her eyes had landed on the boy's bare lower body, a beer bottle still sticking obscenely out of his arse. Itwas the most disgusting thing Seraphin had ever seen.

"Hey kid?" She said nervously. She was scared, but wasn't sure why. Partly because of the boy lying on the ground, although it was obvious he couldn't hurt her. So she swallowed her caution, and bent down to pull the bottle out. Blood gushed out like a bright red river, and Phin was ready to puke. She swallowed it down though, and carefully rolled the boy over. His eyes were closed, and his skin cold, but the girl could feel a pulse where she held the boy's wrist. There was blood on his face, and that may have been why she didn't recognise him immediately. She gasped when she did though - Frank Iero was a popular target for bullies at her school due to his size, and general inability to defend himself. Phin herself had only spoken to him a few times, but already felt a strange affection for the boy.

"Frank," she said, shaking him. It may not have been the best idea, but then, he woke up so she figuered there was no permanent damage done. Atleast he hadn't gone comatose.

"No.." His voice was cracked, and barely there. "Leave me 'lone. I don't wanna get hurt anymore." Frank had been lying in that alley for over an hour now, and really was on the brink of falling into a sleep impossible to wake up from.

"Oh fuck, you poor thing Frankie." Phin whispered. "I'm not gonna hurt you - I promise."

"Ok." Was the mumbled response. The girl sighed, and went about pulling the boy's pants up. It wasn't easy, and she felt very awkward doing so, but it would be better than taking the boy home with his trousers halfway down his legs.

"Come on Frank." She pulled his arm over her shoulder and wrapped her own round his waist. Then - with difficulty - pulled him to his feet, and half carried Frank home.

The result of this night would last for years - Phin being the only one Frank really trusted, and the latter still being haunted by nightmares of the torture that no one - never mind a thirteen year old boy - should ever be put through.


I can't be bothered to leave really long author's note. Please review and rate anyways!