PROLOGUE

It is said that the world is a mystifying place. That it is filled with wonder and love, with heartbreak and greed. It is said that the world is small, yet you could live for "forever" on it and never discover all its wonders.

But my humble opinion, Mother Nature is a grasping bitch, unforgiving to those who incur her wrath, and she holds her secrets in an iron grip; denying and declining the right of her children to know about them.

You hear nothing but good about Mother Nature usually about how beautiful she is. Nature is rightly named as a female at least, for like most women she has a glowing, awe-inspiring side that the artists are nuts for; and then she has the side that WILL kill you if you mess with her.

I know, right?

So why do we attribute the name of "Mother" to such a bi-polar mess of weather patterns and gut-ripping atrocities? Atrocities? Mother Nature? Nooo, you can't possibly be talking about the same Mother Nature I know, right…. right?

Yes, it is beautiful to see an orange - a weird color all on its own - and black cat the size of a pony stealthily roaming the jungle. The light filtering down warm through the shuttering leaves of enormous trees that make the average human feel puny in comparison. Pretty picture, isn't it? Most definitely awe-inspiring at least. Now, imagine that stunning tiger opening up an equally stunning mouth and attacking you, a helpless dumb-struck human, and eating your flesh. Which begs the question, if we really DO taste like chicken, why do "experts" say that most predators dislike the taste of flesh? I digress, tiger chewing on your arm, "Munch Munch, yummy."

It is Mother Nature though; a tiger is expected to eat, isn't it? A spider may make a beautiful web, but it's not for us to stare at in wonder and then philosophize about it, though I'm very sure the spider would be very much flattered by the stories, songs, and movies dedicated to them. NO, a spider does not make its webs for us all-important humans; it does it to catch tasty meal, "Slurp, Slurp, and REALLLY yummy."

That said, tasty meal could be one of Mother Natures "masterpieces," let's say a butterfly. Oh no, you meanie; why a butterfly and not an icky fly? Well, cause life isn't fair or justified, and butterflies, as pretty as they are, are as equally stupid. While we're on the subject, would you reach out a hand to save a fly caught in the web? Or would you stand there and cheer on the spider as it shimmied down the strands of the web and watch with fascination as it injects, and ultimately, eats it? Yet, if it were a cute little butterfly, most would probably knock it free from the web saying, "I HATE spiders."

But… they are only answering nature, aren't they? The butterfly lives another day, but the spider does not. Well, surely this ONE butterfly won't make the difference, right? What if the next meal it catches is another butterfly? What if everyone keeps knocking away the butterflies and the spider dies? "Good riddance," is quite possibly what most would say. Only for our aesthetic pleasures of course, butterflies are so much easier on the eyes.

Well, good for the damn butterfly. Yet, I am a spider. NO! Not a REAL spider, ya' know with eight hairy legs and more eyes than I could possibly EVER need. I am that unpleasant-to-gaze-upon creature that people would prefer to just wither into itself and die. It is unfair, that just because you are pristine that your life should be easier. That damn butterfly… so nice that its wings are bright. So nice that they only eat nectar from equally beautiful flowers. So damn NICE, that they will sit quietly and gently on your fingers so that it makes it impossible to… well, hate them I guess. 'Cause wouldn't it just be terrible to kill such an unsuspecting insect?

The most cold-hearted person would hesitate, even for a half a second, at killing a butterfly; but hell if you're a spider, or a fly for that matter, well watch out for newspapers.

It would be so… so much easier to be a butterfly. Something that people enjoy spending their time looking at, something that people don't shriek in horror at as you pass by them. 'Cause it's the butterflies that get stupid Mother Nature's best perks in life, they get the best jobs, the best clothes, the best damn EVERYTHING.

Yes, you could argue that there are people who find spiders fascinating, who will purchase them and stare at them for hours while they scuttle around in a tiny little terrarium. Well those are the lucky ones.

You could also say that it is the beauty of butterflies that is their very downfall. After all, what is going to catch your attention, hmm? A bright flutter-by butterfly, or a creepy creeping spider, crawling about the dark recesses of anywhere? It's that very flashiness that will eventually kill them, whether it's some stupid, grimy-handed little brat that captures the butterfly and squeezes "a little" too hard; to a full-blown professional butterfly hunter, who is quite literally, going to stick them with a pin. Take that you little fluttering specks of cuteness and joy.

Well, I've already said I am a spider. No, I'm really not trying to confuse you. I am physically NOT a spider, but I am one of those skulking creatures that sticks close to the dark and hides in those sorta-hard-to-get-to-places. I spin my webs and cast them out, because you know I have to eat too. Damn it all if I'm not always hungry. I'm not pretty to look at. My clothes are rags, and I don't smell like a dumb flower. I'm not gentle; I won't come and sit on your pointing finger. I'm dangerous, my bite is poisonous, and I'm misunderstood.

Well, not really. I'm an orphan on the streets. Yeah, blah blah blah you know typical sob-sad orphan story like allll the other's out there; I know a tragedy, blah blah blah. Really, I'm over it. 'Cause, well there is no use crying over it, ya' know?

I'm not going to tell the whole of it, or at least not in very great depth. There was a fight one night at my house, a typical drunken brawl that got way way WAY out of hand. The story sorta runs like a drama:

Dad: You whore! How could you sleep with HIM? -who is him? I have no flickin' clue-

Mom: You're the whore! Did you think I wouldn't Notice (at this point her voice went high) that you're fucking that blonde bitch at your work!?

Dad: How dare you, you little slut talk to me like THAT (he took some menacing steps toward her) I'll teach you!

Mom: Go ahead you bastard! Act like the drunken man you always are! Hit me!

Well, she probably shouldn't have asked so damn nicely.

One thing led to the next and soon I was running like a gazelle being pursued by a lion, though for the record; I do know it is a LIONESS that makes the kill. Lion = my drunken, panicked father, get the picture?

Soooo, it started to slide downhill after that, and I could sit here for hours just talking about the amount of SHEER bullshit I had to go through after I managed to run all the way down the street, screaming like a little girl AND crying like a little baby girl at that. Neighbors, also for the record, do NOT like being woken up at the wee hours of the morning to try to stop some crazed maniac chasing down his child son with a butcher knife; looking like a bad rendition of the Scream movie.

Police showed up about then, but they really didn't know quite what was going on and were a little slow on the uptake. And as if we all weren't already on our way to chaos, hell broke loose. Maybe it was the utter amount of alcohol he downed at whatever seedy strip club he'd visited earlier, or maybe it was the fact that he JUST fucking realized he had murdered his wife of many years. Maybe it was just the embarrassment of sprinting down the asphalt road wearing only his boxers; it doesn't matter really anyway WHY he did what he did. It took only a minute for him to go off track and run into a nearby house, screaming insanely, he knew these neighbors and also about the guns they had, a few seconds more to take a gun and try to shoot an officer. Maybe he did shoot an officer cause… I really am a little fuzzy on the details. Don't think that the event didn't scar me for the rest of my life -physically and mentally- it's just, well cut me a break, O.K? I was bleeding out on the ground so excuse me for really missing most of the party.

Needless to say, after one shot I'm sure that I no longer had the other person that donated their DNA to create me, not that I really gave a shit at that point. I reiterate complete-utter-bullshit ensues.

"What do we do with the son?" Well what indeed you jerk-offs, how about a damn trip to the hospital, I'm only lying in a crimson pool of life here. Oh, they were talking about what to do with me AFTER my surgery AND recovery. What indeed.

And so THE SYSTEM.

Run that by any person living on the streets and they'll just cringe at the mere thought. They say the system is the cure for the problem of orphans and unwanted children. And I say that "they" should go get bent.

There is no cure for being an orphan. It's not a disease that you can treat with some medication and bam you're healed! Being adopted is often a quick fix-it, which in itself is like putting a Band-Aid on a shark bite. "Oh, I'm sorry you lost half your body, here's a Band-Aid, you'll be back up and around in no time at all!" Doesn't really work now does it? And "they" should also be brought to these so called "orphanages," more like Satan's little breeding grounds for humiliation, torture, and enough emotional damage to make a person want to find a nice bridge to go jump off of.

Unless…you're a damn butterfly. If you are, don't worry you'll be adopted. And even though it's just a Band-Aid at least it's better than bleeding out and your wounds turning rancid. You're going to make it out of THE SYSTEM. THE SYSTEM that swallows up kids whole like the evil gobbling monsters from under the bed. Food and shelter are all that's needed to be an orphanage, and yeah they have guidelines, but hey who's keeping them anyway?

Oh, it's not SO bad right… right?

No, you're right of course! I'm wrong and I'm sorry to have misled you, it's so much worse.