Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. I am simply borrowing created characters and messing with them a little. Don't sue me; all you'd get is pocket lint and an old ticket worth nothing.
A/N: This is rated M and will contain some male slash. If you don't like, it don't read it. Simple as that.
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Five for Fighting
"World"
What kind of world do you want?
Think Anything
Let's start at the start
Build a masterpiece
Be careful what you wish for
History starts now...
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I could start this story with the birth of a very important young man. However, that is how most people start. I choose to be different about how I approach this story. Where I choose to begin is when it truly starts, his disappearance.
The young man walked quickly down Main Street to Times Square. He was on his way to his home in New Jersey and several months ago had found it easier to catch a taxi from his destination. After several minutes of waving his arms and whistling, he hailed one and sped home to cook himself dinner.
He was living an excellent life after moving from Britain to America. He wasn't always looking after others or being used as a weapon in a war he didn't want to fight. He had graduated from school the year before and had taken off shortly after that.
People, of course, had worried about him at first. His friends frantically wrote to him but, the letters were returned. Every once in a while, one would find him and he would respond kindly to it, making sure it couldn't be traced. Even this form of communication had ended shortly after it had begun. He loved the life he had found in America and he wasn't going to change it for anything.
The cab arrived at his home, a one story peach colored home on the bay. He paid the driver and ran up the three stairs to his large wooden porch that stretched across the entire frame of the porch. He grabbed his key and unlocked the large wooden door leading into his living room, collapsing upon the giant couch after grabbing the remote.
The inside was striped with a thin strip of light green and large strip of a darker green. The couch was dark green and sat against the wall dividing the room from the dining room. There was also a large Laz-Z-Boy recliner in matching color that sat on the adjoining wall. The TV was angled so beat seating areas had a good view. There was a small coffee table set in front of the couch and a matching one beside of the recliner. A stereo filled the corner along with a record player and an assortment of records, tapes, and CDs.
Just as the young man was getting comfortable watching the news, the phone rang. He sighed heavily and sat up, reaching for the phone on the coffee table in front of him.
"Hello?" he asked tiredly, his voice filling the small space.
"Yes, is Mr. Potter there?" the other voice asked in a professional manner.
"Speaking," was Mr. Potter's response, still sounding as tired as before. He had now muted the TV and was listening intently.
"We have your paycheck here at the bank. You can pick it up tomorrow," the voice said.
"Thank you, Max," Potter said kindly, his mood changing to a state of collectedness that came with his tiredness.
"You're welcome, Harry."