- half a year ago -

"Nathan? I wanna run away," Georg Quinn stated. He was standing next to a little suitcase, a pout plastered on his face, his hands clenched until they turned white. He was staring up at his older brother, Nathan Quinn, who was trying to write a song.

"Georg, why would you think such a thought?" he asked, setting down his charcoal pencil.

"Mummy told me I was a waste of her time," and then all of a sudden Georg started crying. Nathan's eyes opened wide, and he didn't know what to do. Never had he been in a situation like this...ever.

"Uh...um....Mum didn't mean it. She was probably just drunk--high, I mean," and he cursed inside, knowing what was about to come.

"Nathan, what does 'drunk' mean? Is it a toy?" the little boy asked. Nathan had to laugh--how could you not, when a little kid thinks drunk is a toy?

"Well...no, not exactly. But the point is, Mum isn't concentrating right now. She probably didn't have a good day at work. And that's no reason for you to leave home."

"Oh....ok..." Then little Georg left Nathan's room, dragging the little bag behind him. Nathan closed his bedroom door and sighed, falling onto his bed. The mattress made a loud noise, as the springs were very old. The almost-seventeen year old shifted, but it still wasn't comfortable. Nothing was ever comfortable, ever since the poor boy's dad lost his job.

From then on the family had been poorer then ever, living off scraps and food from soup kitchens.

The mum, Debora, was known for getting drunk. Often. Even more than her husband. She's never seen without her cigarette packet and lighter, or her beer and champagne. Just her buying her alcohol and drugs makes the income rate in the Quinn household lower.

Christopher Quinn. The dad who lost the job. He recluses himself to one room in the house--his man cave--and never does he come out, only to complain about the poor lighting or wretched heating. He is among the hated in the family.

Little Georg. Who wanted to run away. The eight year old doesn't know the world as it is, with his messed up family. The only person he could trust is Nathan.

Nathan. The guitar player. The only person that's sober enough (or old enough) to make a living. Strumming his guitar and writing his own chords, it's all he does, every minute of the day. He's the family money maker. But even then, he doesn't earn much. Only a few dollars a day, bonuses every now and then.

"Georg, clean up your goddamn room!" Debora yelled from the kitchen. Nathan winced, hearing the slur to her voice. He hated it. He hated it all.

"Nathan? I wanna run away" the teen heard his brother's small sentence in his head. And it was kept on repeat, playing over and over again, until Nathan couldn't take it anymore.

The truth was, he had been thinking about it for a while. His life was already messed up. He was the only person making money. Why couldn't he just run away? He could leave money for Georg to get on, but...why couldn't he? Nobody was holding him back. His mother barely payed attention to him, except when he had rent. Nathan could do this.

Nathan had an idea. A great, superlative idea. He would take a train to Ohio, where his wealthy uncle lived. The only relative who cared about him. Then he would come up with the rest of his life when he was ready. And he was ready. He was.

He packed a backpack with a few things necessary: toothbrush, toothpaste, clothes, iPhone, money, charger, deck of cards, and obviously sheet music, extra pencils, and his guitar. Nathan left his goddamn house, with confidence and courage. Nothing was gonna stop him. He had given Georg the envelope filled with a thousand dollars, saved up in his college fund. Hopefully his mum wouldn't take it for her own use (involving drugs of all sorts)

And despite her yells, he walked straight out. Away to happiness. Away to his uncle's house in sweet, old Ohio.

Nothing could stop Nathan Quinn.

Nothing.