Up until the age of fifteen, Franklin Nelson lived a relatively normal life. He had loving parents who practically doted on him, a nice house with a large garden and all of the friends he could ever need in life.
A few weeks after his fifteenth birthday was when everything began to go downhill.
His parents were killed in a car crash when a drunk driver ran a red light and he was sent to live with his aunt, uncle and their children, who were the only fit, available relatives who were able to take care of him until he turned eighteen and then was able to inherit what his parents left him. It didn't quite work out like that…mind you, he spent at least a year in quiet harmony, slowly being coerced into doing more and more of the housework until it was only him doing it. He had become the glorified housekeeper and Franklin Nelson was soon pushed to the side in favour of his cousins. He wasn't even allowed to call his relatives aunt and uncle.
No
It was only "Sir" or "Ma'am"…and that applied to his cousins as well. He was even relocated to the attic, despite the family having a spare room that he could have used.
He was now twenty five, with the new name of Foggy (Wesley came up with it. Apparently, he snored and it sounded like a foghorn, hence Foggy….he quite liked it actually) and no money to it. All he had was his broom, a mop and a few mice….and yet Foggy remained optimistic to his plight. He knew that one day, everything would be okay again. His dreams were filled with the promise of true happiness…and someone who actually cared about him. These dreams were the only thing that kept Foggy going some days…well that and the mice.
At this precise moment in time, Foggy was cleaning up the fireplace (it was an old house and they hadn't gotten around to getting central heating in the dining room). It was early morning and breakfast had just been finished when his aunt walked into the room,
"I thought breakfast was ready…" she exclaimed tiredly from behind Foggy, who then span around,
"O, it is Ma'am. I was just mending the fire." His aunt sighed wearily,
"In the future, call us when the work is done!"
"Yes Ma'am…" Foggy decided to set up breakfast only to be interrupted by his aunt,
"What's that on your face?" Foggy narrowed his eyes in confusion,
"Ma'am?" Marci giggled,
"It's ash from the fireplace!" His aunt Vanessa sighed and his Uncle Wilson frowned,
"O clean yourself up…"
"You'll get ash in our tea!" Wesley nodded in agreement with Marci and scowled at Foggy who was beginning to set a third place,
"No decaf for me this morning Foggy. I was up all night, no thanks to you of course!" Foggy rolled his eyes, it was the same every morning. The same complaints and the same snobbiness.
"O my poor dear!" gushed Vanessa as Wilson gestured at the extra plate,
"Who's this for? Are we forgetting someone?" Foggy glanced around in astonishment, this had never happened before.
"I-it's for me…" Vanessa smirked and glanced around the table,
"O now…it would be too much to expect you to make breakfast, serve it and then sit with us…" She narrowed her eyes at her shocked nephew,
"Wouldn't you prefer to eat when all the work is done Foggy? You might lose a bit of weight that way!" Foggy recoiled at the venom in his aunt's voice, a dull flush spreading over his face as the rest of the table laughed. He quickly removed his breakfast from the table and headed back down to the kitchen, tears beginning to stream down his face. When he tried to place the plate down, it missed and crashed to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces,
"SHIT!" he sobbed brokenly, his knees collapsing out from under him. Slowly he picked up the pieces, however, upon catching his reflection in a mirror Foggy found that he was unable to remain in that accursed place any longer. Snarling in frustration, he ran out the back, pausing only to grab a spare coat. He couldn't stay there any longer.
He soon found himself quite a distance from the house, in a poverty stricken part of the town. Leaning against a wall, he wiped the tears from his face, only to hear a dark chuckle,
"Well, well, well…what do we have here?" Foggy yelped in shock, pushing himself away from the wall,
"Whoa dude!" He held up his hands in surrender, as a thin man, dressed practically in rags emerged from the darkness, a knife in his hand, "I don't have anything! I should, mind you, but not now…there is no point in mugging me, you only get a few crumbs!" The mugger shrugged,
"The clothes you're wearing will go for a pretty penny…" Foggy winced,
"O come on…my morning has been shit enough hasn't it?!" As the mugger moved forward, Foggy attempted to make himself as small as possible, squeezing his eyes shut. Before anything happened, there was the sounds of a struggle before complete silence,
"Sir? Sir, are you alright?" Foggy gently opened his eyes only to jump back in shock as he came face to face with a man, whose head and eyes were covered by a black mask. The colour of his clothing was very similar…in that it was pitch black…and highlighted those mus-no! Don't follow that train of thought Foggy! Glancing down, he spotted the mugger on the ground. He was clearly unconscious and his face had blood splattered all over it.
"Sir? Are you alright?" asked the man urgently. Tearing his eyes away from the wheezing man, he nodded,
"Yeah, yeah dude…can't really say the same about him though…" The man cocked his head to the side, as if in confusion. Foggy gestured frantically at the unconscious mugger,
"Him! Look at the state of him! He's way worse off than I am!" The man's confusion seemed to increase as he glanced, seemingly, at the mugger and then back at Foggy,
"He was going to hurt you…"
"There was no need to beat him that badly!" There was silence for a couple of minutes before the masked man nodded sheepishly,
"You're right…What do they call you?" Foggy frowned and glanced at the ground,
"Never mind what they call me…"
"You shouldn't be out here all alone!"
"Aah, but I'm not alone. I'm with you Mr….What do they call you?" The masked man chuckled,
"You don't know who I am? You've not read about me in the papers?"
Silence. The man grinned,
"They call me Daredevil…or that masked bastard…depends on the mood really"
"And where do you live O Masked One?"
"At the 'palace'. My…tutor is teaching me his trade." The 'palace' was a large mansion that stood at the edges of Hells Kitchen, named because of its owners. Battlin' Jack Murdock became known as the 'king' of boxing, making his son the 'prince'. He'd bought the house, and then he and his son disappeared from the public eye until news came of a horrible accident revolving around the son and then Jack being killed a couple of years later. The Murdock family still owned the 'palace' but the son hadn't been seen in years.
"So…you're an apprentice?"
"Of a sort…"
"That sounds awesome dude. Do-do they treat you well?" The man smirked,
"Better than I really deserve….and you?" Foggy smiled sadly, his mind flashing back to that morning's incident,
"They…treat me as well as they are able to" The man's face (or what Foggy could see of it) seemed to crease in concern,
"I'm sorry"
"It's not your fault…"
"Nor yours either I'll bet?" Foggy shrugged,
"It's not that bad. There are so many out there who have it worse I'm sure. You…you just have to have courage and be kind. Isn't that right?" The man grinned, making Foggy's heart beat just a little bit faster,
"Yes, you're right. That's exactly how I feel" The pair stared at each other for a bit, before something seemed to catch the man's attention as he tilted is head to the side. Almost like he was listening to something,
"If you need to go you can, just…try not to hurt too many people. Let the police handle them, okay?" There was a pause before the man nodded,
"Agreed…" As the man moved away, he turned back to Foggy, "…I hope to see you again?" Foggy nodded and smiled,
"Same…Daredevil." The man ran off and Foggy found himself practically skipping home. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all.