You tried to stay out of trouble for the most part—even though you were adopted by a gang. You were 16, being the “middle child” in the group. John Being 13 and Arthur being 23. When the adults left camp that left you to watch john, mostly for convenience but also for your more responsible nature.

You sighed as you leaned against a tree, your arms crossed against your chest. John was sitting down next to you, fiddling with a knife and a small twig. “Put the damn knife down” you muttered, glancing down at john. John rolled his eyes “you ain’t the boss of me” he muttered. Just as the words escaped his lips the knife slipped, slicing his palm. “Fuck!” He yelled, shaking his hand.