Cookie: I'll try to make this short and sweet, read if you like, ignore if you don't. Review and I'll give u a cookie (not literally as I doubt I have enough money to post you a cookie wherever you are in the world).
Kai's POV:
The only memory I can recall of my mother was my last one, I was only three then but as the cliché goes "it was almost like it happened yesterday". Tears streamed down her beautiful face, she wasn't conventionally beautiful but to a child of my age then she was my whole world. I can pick up the image in my mind as easily as if it were a physical picture. She had luscious locks of mahogany hair, glistening brown eyes (but I suppose that was from the crying) and a constellation of about five freckles on the right side of her face. I was in a black Mercedes as we pulled out of our driveway, she didn't try to stop the car, didn't yell or scream, just tears, like a never ending broken dam.
To this day, I have never seen a person with such anguish across their faces, and I cannot stand to see people cry. Actually, any extreme emotion disturbs me for I cannot cope with it, to be more exact, I do not know how to cope with it.
My grandfather, Voltaire, was the one to take me away. "It's best for you" they said to me, although I did not understand how leaving my mother could be in anyway beneficial. Grandfather lived in a big house, a mansion really but I prefer not to use that term. He was a great grandfather, better than I could ever have wished for. Over time I forgot about my mother and everything to do with her.
You see, grandfather was rich because of oil. It was found accidentally on his farm which stretched for acres and acres, as did the oil. He invested in many different profitable businesses, Biovolt being his most treasured one. Biovolt was a science and medicine laboratory which made human "improvements".
I was ten when grandfather started forgetting things, first it was just small things like his car keys and to turn the tap off and it was easily ignored by the maids but I knew something was wrong, he wasn't a forgetful person. By the time I was twelve, it got to the point where he forgot even my name. Boris Ivanov, the head scientist of Biovolt decided to take matters into his own hands. With his newest development, he decided to test run it on grandfather to reverse the Alzheimer's but ever since that operation I haven't seen my grandfather. His place was filled by a heartless bastard.
The day before the operation, grandfather seemed to be fine, he seemed to remember everything but that was probably because all he did was lie in my bed and read. I just sat by him, once he looked up from his book and said to me "This is a very important book boy. You must read it."
I nodded but never planned to actually read Dickens A/N: I'm not writing off Dickens, I think he's a brilliant author, but this was to a 12 year old boy. and discarded my grandfather's words.
It's was three years since my real grandfather had gone, in that time I just grew to be an empty shell. I went to school, I trained with Boris's experiments out of force and did all the other mundane things humans must perform in order to survive. The only thing that kept me sane was my music, just popping on my headphones and turning the volume up to block the whole world was all it took for me to slip into bliss, lying on my bed, falling mesmerized by the plaster swirls adorning the ceiling. It was March and we'd just started to do "The old curiosity shop" in English class at school and I'd left my book in my locker so I decided to borrow Voltaire's copy, not that he'd even notice considering all the time he had was spent with Boris and the new experiments. That was how I found grandfather's will.
I found out that grandfather had set up a trust fund for me and that I was to receive it on my 16th birthday, all fifty million. It was more money than I knew what to do with but I was certain of one thing; I was getting out of this hellhole that was once my home.
The day after I turned 16 I escaped, apparently no one knew about the trust fund, at least that's what I hope is the case and I took the next plane to the least likely place anyone would go to find me; New Zealand.
A year has passed since I've been here and I assume that Voltaire thinks I'm dead… But assumptions always got people in trouble.