Dreaming in Digital

My mother had three children - two sons and I, a daughter. We were very poor and lived on the streets. It was dark out and we took shelter at an abandoned apartment suite, on the top floor, without a roof. My older bother sat by the edge of the building, looking out to the streetlights as the sky masked the world in a dimming blue. He seemed troubled, but no one would ask what demons danced upon his thoughts. Our little brother sat in an empty bathtub with his friend, a girl with a bonnet covering her flattened pink locks. They were silent and slightly out of sight, but every now and then I'd hear giggles escape from the tub. Men in dark uniforms burst through the barely held door and went after my older brother. He struggled against their tight grip, and shouts erupted from his and my mother's pleading through chapped lips. I couldn't recall what they said, but my family had a British accent. As the men dragged my brother away, my mother followed, pleading continuously. My younger brother and his girlfriend, as I assumed, continued their giggles, unaware that our brother forcefully left.