I'll never read my children 'Little Red Riding Hood'. It always gave me nightmares.
I'm twenty three and me and my girlfriend have moved into a flat with our   4 year old daughter. This flat scared me. Sometimes at night, when I lay awake listening to the sirens outside, I had to check if my daughter is still in her bed, if she hasn't been taken. Because this flat, well, to me seems more unsafe than the terrifying world outside.

The flat, that we dwell in everyday, as our life is reliant on the welfare check every month, and the street that we walk down, to find a place that my girlfriend and daughter can have a coffee in without me having to sit with them and make sure they're safe, all of this, becomes familiar, and with that, it becomes home.

The screams and sirens every night turn into my daughter's first lullaby and her mother's sombre mood as she spends her days deadlocked into the two room flat we call home, becomes my daughter's idea of happiness. The only other child we see is a boy, he couldn't be older than eight, and I'm not sure which door he belongs to in our flat, but he's always on the stairs.

This boy becomes my friend, everyday he smiles at me and asks me how I am, I smile back and always reply 'good'. Our conversations become more in depth, and I learn his name is Austin, he is eight years old, his favourite colour is orange and he wants to learn how to play soccer.

One night, as I drag my legs up the seven flights of stairs to return home to my girlfriend and my daughter, who is now 3, I look forward to seeing Austin and his smile. But he isn't there.
This continues for three days, he isn't there. I asked my neighbours, the guy with the trashy tattoos and the woman with the loud dog and aggressive son, where Austin is. They don't know.

Seven months past and I haven't seen Austin at all. I soon forget him and focus on my own life, I've gotten a job and my daughter is starting school, the dodgy flat, on the scary street becomes a...