Post by Atticus on Nov 30, 2015 0:34:09 GMT
-Prologue-
One of the activities I've never thought of ever pursuing for an occupation would be writing. At first, in my younger years, I always hated reading. But as the great Harper Lee put it, "Until I feared I would loose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing". I've read many books in my time, and have, at times, debated on whether or not to create something of my own. I doubted myself in possessing such talent to make something as great as Sherlock Holmes or Tom Sawyer, which caused the idea to look like some childish fantasy to me. Something never to be achieved. But here I am now, writing. Funny, isn't it? It's funny how we think of things we would never dream of doing only to do them in our spare time in some way or another.
This story is just one of a not-so-everyday man. Born, as society puts it, an abnormality. Others would consider me a 'monster', 'mutant', or more simply put, a 'freak'. Of course, like most common people, I assumed I was the only one with this abnormality. This special ability that separated me from the rest of my family and former community. It separated me from the world. One will learn, as they read through this book, of my endeavors before I was accepted into this gracious and understanding group of individuals like me. These individuals who understand what it's like being what we call 'shifters'.
I would like to thank those who have decided to read this. I'm not quite sure if I'd ever be willing to publish this narrative, but if I do, I would like to thank my audience. It brings me great pleasure to know someone would find an interest to read the first, and probably only, book or narrative that I will ever write. You have my deepest gratitude.
-Chapter 1-
My mother was driving us home from school, and I knew very well not to interrupt her while she was driving. By now, I was very familiar with the terrible traffic that was an ongoing phenomenon in the large city of Chicago, Illinois, as well as all the accidents that could happen at any time. It was never surprising to see someone’s tire on the road, nor to see a car completely totaled by a recent crash now being towed away. It was still an amazement to me that my mother hadn’t ever gotten into a crash yet. Then again she was a very pretentious driver, so it may or may not have been much of a surprise. Right now, it was just about lunch time, which was one of the most busiest times of the day. We had already waited an hour for our mother to get there and pick us up. Like mentioned earlier, traffic was often congested. When school got out, it often became this way an hour before. It usually took two times as long to get back, as well. It was a rare occurrence if we got home by four p.m. Usually we were home well after five. That was the price one had to pay when living in such a large city.
"Do you want to go out to eat somewhere?" My mother's sweet voice rang around the car through the muffled moans of the radio and the soft hum of the engine. Ah, yes. My mother. She was a short, yet slender woman with long, beautiful blonde curls and hazel eyes that swirled with a mixture of browns, blues, and greens. She was a woman born of Wisconsin, but she moved to Chicago in her early years to start fresh. At least that was what she used to tell me. She could be vague at times, but when she wanted someone to hear what she had to say, she would speak her mind. Sometimes, a little too much. If she had a rough day, she would often times become rather emotional. She would confide herself to her room and watch her The Lord of the Rings series while Sebastian and I were left to make dinner for ourselves. We, of course, understood and allowed her behavior. Mostly because we were not women, so we wouldn't have known what it was like.
It wasn't often that we got the choice to go out and eat, and my brother took this opportunity with little to no thought. "Yeah! I'm starved. Let's go to McDonald's," was his reply. When one hears the name 'Sebastian' one often thinks the man with that name is a collected, prestigious gentleman. That wasn't Sebastian's case. My brother was fourteen at the time, my elder by six years. However, even though he was my older brother, I could occasionally catch him acting like a little child. He didn't think ahead much, and was quick to act on most occurrences. He could be rather rash, and everyone within his school knew never to discriminate him or call him names because he would, and could, get angry very fast. But he was also rather protective of his younger brother. I couldn't go very far without him watching my every move. If I ever got picked on after school and he saw it, he would often come to my aid. I would try to repay him somehow, often by doing his chores or helping with homework. I, once, attempted to assist him when a bully had tried to get on his nerves. I used every single large word that my vocabulary gave me when explaining the disadvantages of being bullied. I assumed that most children in Sebastian's class had to be studious. The poor boy became so confused and bored that, after some time, just walked away from my lecture.
I didn't mind McDonald's. It sounded rather pleasant at the time. I was silent, but my mother always wanted my input as well. She waited for sometime before I caught her look at me through the rear-view mirror perched in the middle of the driver and passenger seats.
"Atticus?"
"Yes, mother?"
She was silent for a time, just looking at me through that little mirror. Occasionally she would glance at the road ahead of her to see if anything had cleared up. Most times it was the same way it looked a couple seconds ago.
"...McDonald's sounds fine," I replied. After my reply, I felt the familiar sting in my shoulder as my brother punched me playfully, a sign of both approval and affection. He'd often do this to me for giggles or if he was happy. I took a moment to glance back at him with a smile before moving my hand over to rub my shoulder. I was a rather feeble child, so I was hurt a bit more easily than most children. Another reason why Sebastian normally kept an eye on me, but he'd occasionally try to build me up with no prevail.
"Alrighty, then. Of to McDonald's we go," My mother sang cheerfully, although we all knew it would take some time before we actually got there. Traffic didn't seem to have moved an inch. Luckily I had my book with me. Even though I was eight, I read religiously, and most books in my grade level had already been read. By this time, I was reading War of the Worlds. It was an older, scarier drama about aliens that took over the world. I hadn't finished it yet, but I was still deep in thought of whether these aliens could be stopped or not. As we waited, I decided to take out the rather large book and begin to read where I last left off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time we got back to our humble house it was almost six. One of the problems of living farther out of town was getting home later than expected, which also contributed within our school schedule. Full of fast food, our little trio entered the house, my mother first, then myself, and finally Sebastian. He was last to come in, so he was the one who closed the door. What indicated that he had shut the door was the loud slam that followed, which caused me to wince. But then again everything was loud. Ever since I was born I had always had better hearing than most. I could hear our neighbors from my upstairs bedroom, along with footsteps or other sounds in the forest behind the house. In school, I could usually hear three to four different classes, along with my own, within the day time. If I was close enough I could also hear the teachers discussing with themselves during recess. Because of this special ability, most of my classmates favored me. I could often get them information beforehand, although I knew who and who not to give it to. One of the other reasons why I was bullied. I wouldn't give the information to the one's who couldn't handle the information with proper respect or care, so I would often get beaten because of this. Although I didn't really care at that age. I had the favor of my teachers and that was all I wanted. My teachers were my friends, not my classmates, themselves.
But this was all evened out by my poor vision, however, which I was also born with. As long as I can remember, I've always had a hard time seeing things without my glasses. Everything was a large mass of blurriness that mixed together. Technically, I was blind. Without my glasses I often felt helpless. I could not see where I was going nor what was in front of me. In this different world, I was in constant danger, more so if such objects didn't move or make any sound. Tables would stalk me, chairs would pounce on me, I would slip and fall from the maniacal toys or obstacles that saw me as prey. My house, the place I was raised in, without my sight, was a danger zone. Because of this deficiency the main tactic of the local bullies was to blind me by stealing my precious glasses. If it ever happened in school, I would sit still, let what ever was coming to me pass, then continue to sit where I was left to stay, listening in silence to everything going on around me, too petrified to make a move for fear of hurting myself. My teachers knew me well, though. Whenever I was late for a class, my teachers knew something like this had happened. They would contact the principal, since my other teachers were already engaged with teaching the current curriculum, and ask her to find me.
As I entered our house I took a moment to take off my coat and place it on the coat rack near by. My mother did the same and Sebastian just threw his close to the coat rack, missing the hanger entirely. I took a moment to pick it up and place it on the rack neatly before entering the kitchen. Our kitchen was rather large, much to our mother's liking, but nothing too extravagant. I walked through the kitchen and into the living room, then up the large flight of stairs before turning to my left and walking down my hallway. Our house was rather large and orderly since my father was part of Congress, although he was currently residing in Washington D.C. so we didn't get to see him very often. It was usually me, my brother, and my mother. We never had any pets. I had always wanted a dog but my mother was allergic to them and she never really preferred them. We rescued a cat once but that didn't turn out well at all.
I unlocked my bedroom door before turning around and closing it behind myself, then flopping onto my bed and letting out a sigh. My room was neat and tidy. The walls were a light blue and the carpet was white. My bed was a twin sized bed and had matching blue and white sheets, blankets, and pillow cases. I had a large golden lamp by the right of my bed, along with a little nightstand on the left, where I kept part of my large collection of books. A desk was positioned by the large lamp and on the opposite of my bed was a couple dressers that held my clothing. My room had no closet so the dressers had to do. There was a window on the left side of the room, on the right of my bed, looking out to the road, the houses across the street, and the vast forest beyond. I had large stacks of books in almost every corner, and even more underneath my bed. I had some pictures to decorate my walls as well, none of which really included myself. I didn't really have an interesting life unless it was at night, where I could transform. What pictures I did have on my walls were usually paintings of random wildlife or places. Overall, a rather dull and drab room. There wasn't much special inside it, and I wasn't usually inside it much too long before I would come down and spend time with my family anyway.
One of the activities I've never thought of ever pursuing for an occupation would be writing. At first, in my younger years, I always hated reading. But as the great Harper Lee put it, "Until I feared I would loose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing". I've read many books in my time, and have, at times, debated on whether or not to create something of my own. I doubted myself in possessing such talent to make something as great as Sherlock Holmes or Tom Sawyer, which caused the idea to look like some childish fantasy to me. Something never to be achieved. But here I am now, writing. Funny, isn't it? It's funny how we think of things we would never dream of doing only to do them in our spare time in some way or another.
This story is just one of a not-so-everyday man. Born, as society puts it, an abnormality. Others would consider me a 'monster', 'mutant', or more simply put, a 'freak'. Of course, like most common people, I assumed I was the only one with this abnormality. This special ability that separated me from the rest of my family and former community. It separated me from the world. One will learn, as they read through this book, of my endeavors before I was accepted into this gracious and understanding group of individuals like me. These individuals who understand what it's like being what we call 'shifters'.
I would like to thank those who have decided to read this. I'm not quite sure if I'd ever be willing to publish this narrative, but if I do, I would like to thank my audience. It brings me great pleasure to know someone would find an interest to read the first, and probably only, book or narrative that I will ever write. You have my deepest gratitude.
~ Atticus Wright
-Chapter 1-
My mother was driving us home from school, and I knew very well not to interrupt her while she was driving. By now, I was very familiar with the terrible traffic that was an ongoing phenomenon in the large city of Chicago, Illinois, as well as all the accidents that could happen at any time. It was never surprising to see someone’s tire on the road, nor to see a car completely totaled by a recent crash now being towed away. It was still an amazement to me that my mother hadn’t ever gotten into a crash yet. Then again she was a very pretentious driver, so it may or may not have been much of a surprise. Right now, it was just about lunch time, which was one of the most busiest times of the day. We had already waited an hour for our mother to get there and pick us up. Like mentioned earlier, traffic was often congested. When school got out, it often became this way an hour before. It usually took two times as long to get back, as well. It was a rare occurrence if we got home by four p.m. Usually we were home well after five. That was the price one had to pay when living in such a large city.
"Do you want to go out to eat somewhere?" My mother's sweet voice rang around the car through the muffled moans of the radio and the soft hum of the engine. Ah, yes. My mother. She was a short, yet slender woman with long, beautiful blonde curls and hazel eyes that swirled with a mixture of browns, blues, and greens. She was a woman born of Wisconsin, but she moved to Chicago in her early years to start fresh. At least that was what she used to tell me. She could be vague at times, but when she wanted someone to hear what she had to say, she would speak her mind. Sometimes, a little too much. If she had a rough day, she would often times become rather emotional. She would confide herself to her room and watch her The Lord of the Rings series while Sebastian and I were left to make dinner for ourselves. We, of course, understood and allowed her behavior. Mostly because we were not women, so we wouldn't have known what it was like.
It wasn't often that we got the choice to go out and eat, and my brother took this opportunity with little to no thought. "Yeah! I'm starved. Let's go to McDonald's," was his reply. When one hears the name 'Sebastian' one often thinks the man with that name is a collected, prestigious gentleman. That wasn't Sebastian's case. My brother was fourteen at the time, my elder by six years. However, even though he was my older brother, I could occasionally catch him acting like a little child. He didn't think ahead much, and was quick to act on most occurrences. He could be rather rash, and everyone within his school knew never to discriminate him or call him names because he would, and could, get angry very fast. But he was also rather protective of his younger brother. I couldn't go very far without him watching my every move. If I ever got picked on after school and he saw it, he would often come to my aid. I would try to repay him somehow, often by doing his chores or helping with homework. I, once, attempted to assist him when a bully had tried to get on his nerves. I used every single large word that my vocabulary gave me when explaining the disadvantages of being bullied. I assumed that most children in Sebastian's class had to be studious. The poor boy became so confused and bored that, after some time, just walked away from my lecture.
I didn't mind McDonald's. It sounded rather pleasant at the time. I was silent, but my mother always wanted my input as well. She waited for sometime before I caught her look at me through the rear-view mirror perched in the middle of the driver and passenger seats.
"Atticus?"
"Yes, mother?"
She was silent for a time, just looking at me through that little mirror. Occasionally she would glance at the road ahead of her to see if anything had cleared up. Most times it was the same way it looked a couple seconds ago.
"...McDonald's sounds fine," I replied. After my reply, I felt the familiar sting in my shoulder as my brother punched me playfully, a sign of both approval and affection. He'd often do this to me for giggles or if he was happy. I took a moment to glance back at him with a smile before moving my hand over to rub my shoulder. I was a rather feeble child, so I was hurt a bit more easily than most children. Another reason why Sebastian normally kept an eye on me, but he'd occasionally try to build me up with no prevail.
"Alrighty, then. Of to McDonald's we go," My mother sang cheerfully, although we all knew it would take some time before we actually got there. Traffic didn't seem to have moved an inch. Luckily I had my book with me. Even though I was eight, I read religiously, and most books in my grade level had already been read. By this time, I was reading War of the Worlds. It was an older, scarier drama about aliens that took over the world. I hadn't finished it yet, but I was still deep in thought of whether these aliens could be stopped or not. As we waited, I decided to take out the rather large book and begin to read where I last left off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time we got back to our humble house it was almost six. One of the problems of living farther out of town was getting home later than expected, which also contributed within our school schedule. Full of fast food, our little trio entered the house, my mother first, then myself, and finally Sebastian. He was last to come in, so he was the one who closed the door. What indicated that he had shut the door was the loud slam that followed, which caused me to wince. But then again everything was loud. Ever since I was born I had always had better hearing than most. I could hear our neighbors from my upstairs bedroom, along with footsteps or other sounds in the forest behind the house. In school, I could usually hear three to four different classes, along with my own, within the day time. If I was close enough I could also hear the teachers discussing with themselves during recess. Because of this special ability, most of my classmates favored me. I could often get them information beforehand, although I knew who and who not to give it to. One of the other reasons why I was bullied. I wouldn't give the information to the one's who couldn't handle the information with proper respect or care, so I would often get beaten because of this. Although I didn't really care at that age. I had the favor of my teachers and that was all I wanted. My teachers were my friends, not my classmates, themselves.
But this was all evened out by my poor vision, however, which I was also born with. As long as I can remember, I've always had a hard time seeing things without my glasses. Everything was a large mass of blurriness that mixed together. Technically, I was blind. Without my glasses I often felt helpless. I could not see where I was going nor what was in front of me. In this different world, I was in constant danger, more so if such objects didn't move or make any sound. Tables would stalk me, chairs would pounce on me, I would slip and fall from the maniacal toys or obstacles that saw me as prey. My house, the place I was raised in, without my sight, was a danger zone. Because of this deficiency the main tactic of the local bullies was to blind me by stealing my precious glasses. If it ever happened in school, I would sit still, let what ever was coming to me pass, then continue to sit where I was left to stay, listening in silence to everything going on around me, too petrified to make a move for fear of hurting myself. My teachers knew me well, though. Whenever I was late for a class, my teachers knew something like this had happened. They would contact the principal, since my other teachers were already engaged with teaching the current curriculum, and ask her to find me.
As I entered our house I took a moment to take off my coat and place it on the coat rack near by. My mother did the same and Sebastian just threw his close to the coat rack, missing the hanger entirely. I took a moment to pick it up and place it on the rack neatly before entering the kitchen. Our kitchen was rather large, much to our mother's liking, but nothing too extravagant. I walked through the kitchen and into the living room, then up the large flight of stairs before turning to my left and walking down my hallway. Our house was rather large and orderly since my father was part of Congress, although he was currently residing in Washington D.C. so we didn't get to see him very often. It was usually me, my brother, and my mother. We never had any pets. I had always wanted a dog but my mother was allergic to them and she never really preferred them. We rescued a cat once but that didn't turn out well at all.
I unlocked my bedroom door before turning around and closing it behind myself, then flopping onto my bed and letting out a sigh. My room was neat and tidy. The walls were a light blue and the carpet was white. My bed was a twin sized bed and had matching blue and white sheets, blankets, and pillow cases. I had a large golden lamp by the right of my bed, along with a little nightstand on the left, where I kept part of my large collection of books. A desk was positioned by the large lamp and on the opposite of my bed was a couple dressers that held my clothing. My room had no closet so the dressers had to do. There was a window on the left side of the room, on the right of my bed, looking out to the road, the houses across the street, and the vast forest beyond. I had large stacks of books in almost every corner, and even more underneath my bed. I had some pictures to decorate my walls as well, none of which really included myself. I didn't really have an interesting life unless it was at night, where I could transform. What pictures I did have on my walls were usually paintings of random wildlife or places. Overall, a rather dull and drab room. There wasn't much special inside it, and I wasn't usually inside it much too long before I would come down and spend time with my family anyway.
