The characters are my own, though, loosely (enough so that I consider them my own so please do not take them...) based on real people. The names of places and companies, however, may not be...
Foetus of a New Age Kicking
Chapter 1
In the Beginning
The radio alarm blared to life.
"—And we have reports coming in now--"
Devon reached out to stifle the sound.
"—Of violent riots occurring--"
His finger finally found the correct button and the radio ceased it's banter.
Twisting and turning in vexed morning stretches, he tried, in vain, to hold onto the remnants of a dream.
A groggy minute or so later, he sat up on the spongy cushion of the couch and pushed the warmth of his sleeping bag aside. He often had trouble sleeping and the only solution he had found to this was to change sleeping spots every so often. He hadn't slept in his own bed in a month.
With an effort he stood and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
Day 1, Kamloops, BC, Canada, Tuesday, October 17th, 7:04am.
He stumbled downstairs to the bathroom, his body still in protest over needed rest, but he wanted to get today's math test over with. Studying himself in the mirror he knew he needed a shave.
He was a lean, athletic build of around five foot ten and 140 lbs with somewhat broad shoulders, though he had a tendency to slouch. His eyes, an often closely studied and appreciated feature by past girlfriends, were a grey-to-green colour, depending on how the light hit them, and his hair was jet-black, cut short to better fit under his martial arts headgear.
He was, indeed, an accomplished martial artist and would be testing for his black belt in only four months, but his martial arts was more than just a hobby. It did, in fact, earn him a very modest pay as he worked there as an assistant instructor and occasionally also at the front desk.
Satisfied, he left the bathroom and proceeded to dress into his all too usual colour of black. He pulled them on: a pair of thin black socks, a black shirt that spelled out "Opeth" on the front in archaic lettering his absolute favourite death metal band, a pair of charcoal black jeans, and a silver bullet studded belt, the buckle of which was a pentagram, a symbol that for him held deep religious meaning.
Upstairs in the kitchen he began preparing his morning mug of green tea and shoved a bagel into the toaster.
His mother must have gone back to sleep, deciding to get another hour or so. She usually made him his lunch, but he had a few extra minutes this morning so he decided to let her sleep and make it himself while he was waiting for his breakfast to heat up.
He flicked on the TV.
"—with nearly the entire west coast without power or heat and reports of civil unrest--"
He flicked it off again before the picture had even warmed having deciding he really didn't care to hear more about the coastal blackouts so long as they didn't affect power here in BC's interior.
Licking the margarine from his fingers he placed the lunchmeat sandwich in the plastic container and that inside the front pocket of his binder. He never bothered with backpacks. Sitting down at the table he munched on his bagel and sipped cautiously at his steaming tea while fingering his favourite martial arts weapon the curved samurai sword called a katana that lay across the table. Glancing up at the clock on the stove he realized he was running a little late and tried to gulp down the last of his tea. He zipped up his black boots, threw on his long black leather trench coat, buttoned on a black leather wrist band that his last girlfriend had bought him to his right wrist, pulled a single black leather glove onto his left hand, placed the blue headphones of his CD player around his neck and stuffed the device into his jeans pockets, and then placed in his other pockets his wallet, car keys, cell phone, a pack of matches, though he didn't smoke, and a folded hunting knife in it's leather case that his dad had given him before he had died of cancer four years ago.
Heading for the door, binder in hand, he nodded to himself in the mirror and called out, "Bye mom."
Which was answered with a muffled, "Bye Dev," from down the hall.
He closed and locked the door behind him, and noted with pleasure that, although the air was reasonably warm for an October morning, the sky looked as though it might rain today. He paused a moment and glanced around the quiet suburban neighbourhood.
"Picturesque," he thought and hated it, "the all American dream… Well, this isn't America, and I want no part of it."
With that thought he walked over to his car, a light blue 91 Chevrolet Cavalier. Getting in, careful not catch his long coat in the door, he tossed his binder in the back seat, and pulled out of the driveway as a track from one of his other favourite metal bands "Cradle of Filth" blasted from the speakers.
Alright so that's chapter one. I hope you'll stick around for the next one. I do actually have the next two chapters more or less done, but the next one is long, and I am rewriting a portion of them this weekend, so bare with me. Your comments/reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading.