Okay, this story is about a guy named Zach Rapparong. The whole fun of the story is that you have to wait to find out what his deal is. Where he lives is a lot like the society we live in now, technology wise, but with castles and rulers in place of democracy. That's all I can say =p. Please read the preface. Each chapter will explain a little bit more.

Preface

Sometimes, I worry that I'm pushing myself too far. At some point, your body has gotta give. What's the breaking point do you think? How long can you walk across a barren desert in 95 degree weather? Two or three weeks possibly if you have water. Sleeping is tougher. You have to find a covered spot thats also on raised ground so that you can avoid animals. AND you have to find somewhere secluded enough to make a fire, where it cant be seen when soldiers come scouting by looking for you. Not to mention food, which is almost impossible to find in the middle of nowhere. A backpack can only carry so many granola bars. But that's not even the worst of it. The worst part is waking up in the morning to the sun blasting down at you, knowing that today is going to be just the same as yesterday. Hair stuck to your skin, dirty clothes uncomfortably sweaty and disgusting, brushing your teeth with water from a water bottle and hoping to God that something good happens. But it wont. It never does. It's just an idea to think about while you walk, and walk, and walk; always ending up in a spot identical to the spot you slept in last night. So you can see why I'm wondering about pushing myself extensively.

That was my life only a week ago. Seven days ago I walked into the nearest town to refuel, and relax in a cheap motel for a little while before continuing on my merry way. Which is when i met a ghost from my past, somebody I was never hoping to see again. My family.

I blasted the hell out of there. Just for precaution, I'd died my blonde hair brown and placed blue contacts over my brown eyes. Just for even more precaution, I was wearing sunglasses. So even if my uncle saw me, the chances of him recognizing me were slim to none. I took a sharp left, then a right, then another left at the intersection; trying to remember every turn so I could find my way back to civilization. And food. And a bed. There was no way I was giving up my rare week of comfortability just because my uncle happened to be parading around the same streets. Not meaning to brag, but I'm a master of evasion. Just one or two more nights in town, and I'd blow this popsicle stand. I'd decided not to go back to the desert this time, six months surrounded by endless sand can have even the toughest of guys hallucinating. No, this time I'd try the forests. Not as safe, but plenty of trees overhead for cover. It'd do.

By now, I was all the way on the other side of town. I guess you could call it the ghetto. There were grungy old apartments layered one on top of the other, each with its very own fire escape and small circle window. Not the kind of place you want to end up. Also not the kind of place anybody would ever come looking for me.

I continued down this 'street', but it honestly didn't even look like it could fit a car. Like everything else around it, it was small and cheaply built. Nothing but the best for our loyal taxpayers, right. I sighed and kicked a stone. Then kept walking until I caught up with my stone, and kicked it again. It's actually pretty amusing. You can even get two or three stones going, see how long you can keep kicking all of them before they roll into a sewer of something. I chucked at the thought. But the way I live, there just isn't time for a good game of monopoly.

A window on the second floor shot open, sticking a bit in the beginning but finally groaning upward. A middle aged woman with mousy brown hair stuck her head out, waving a fork around like it was a sword. An apron clung around her body and her makeup was too heavy for her drooping eyelids. "HEY. Boy! Watch the petunias! You step on them one more time and I swear I'll come down there with my wooden spoon!"

Well well well, what do you know. There actually WERE flowers below my feet. They matched the tone. Dirty and dying. I thought about my own sword, resting comfortably in my bag, and knew that I could handle her wooden spoon. But I stepped off of the flowers anyway, keeping my head down and not responding.

I'm sorry, where are my manners. By now you must be curious. Why are you running away? Who's chasing you? Why do you hate your family? And probably most importantly; who the heck are you. My name is Zach Rapparong, and I'm a traitor. That's all I can say for now.

LOOK, YOU JUST TOOK ALL THAT TIME TO READ IT. YOU MIGHT AS WELL WASTE TWO MORE SECONDS AND REVIEW.