Chapter 1
In. Out. In. Out. Left turn; 100 meters and then another left turn. In. Out. In. Out. In, hold it. Exhale.
These breaths are the best kind, like a warm cup of cocoa in the middle of the winter. They help relax your body and replenish your muscles. Of course so do short quick breaths, but the long breaths? Bliss, absolute bliss.
Right turn; 200 meters to go. Speed up. Pain.
Pain—this is something Gregor understands. Bliss is more of a concept; deep breaths in the middle of a long run are the extent of Gregor's blissfulness. Day in and day out keeping a secret and living in a world in which you no longer belong…that's not bliss, that's pain. More pain.
Finished. Pain in lungs subsides.
Gregor bends over gasping for breath, memories of all the loved ones he's lost, and all the friends he's had to leave behind flash through his mind. None of the other teenagers understand. How many 18 year olds have had to fight wars, and watch the people they love get cut down like wheat stalks during harvest? Not any at Gregor's high school, that's for sure.
Gregor pushes all these thoughts from his mind and starts up the steps to his family's apartment. This is why he enjoys exercising so much these days; the rigorous work out routines help take his mind off the nightmares that are constantly invading his sleep, or the weird stares he gets from all the kids at school. It's not that Gregor was weird looking or anything—actually, Gregor had grown into the stereotypical attractive-athletic-looking-teenager. At over 6 feet tall and more than 200 pounds of pure muscle, with his long, dark, windswept hair and defined jaw, it didn't even matter that he almost always wore baggy long-sleeve hoody to cover his bulging arms. Anyone who stole a glance at Gregor would say he was a good looking young man.
Nobody ever saw any of the scars on his legs and arms, so consequently nobody knew to be curious about them. One lone scar on his forehead that remained from the Cutters' invasion about 6 years ago wouldn't draw much attention. No, what caused Gregor to stick out at a high school in New York with plenty of kids, each with their own "style", was his demeanor. Something about the way Gregor looked at people was just different from the average 18 year old high school senior. The way he reacted so venomously when people sneaked up on him. How much older he acted. It was like someone had stuck a 60 year old war veteran inside the body of a high school quarterback.
Gregor walks down the hallway until he reaches apartment 216, right across from Mrs. Cormaci's apartment. Mrs. Cormaci. The only person outside of Gregor's immediate family who understands what had happened to them. Mrs. Cormaci had been a huge help to Gregor's family about 6 years ago when they had gotten wrapped up in some…foreign trouble. If it hadn't been for her they would never have made it.
Gregor grabs the doorknob to his apartment and starts to open the door before the alarms start to go off in his head…something isn't right. For a split second, panic starts to set in as Gregor wracks his brain trying to figure out what is wrong. Then it hits him; the house is completely quiet. There is no sound coming out of the tiny apartment his family calls home. With his two sisters, one aged 9 and the other 13 years old, the tiny apartment never gets a moment of complete silence—another reason for Gregor's two to three hour work out sessions. However, as Gregor stands outside his apartment, hand clenched around the doorknob, there is absolutely no sound coming from inside his apartment.
Is nobody home? No, they are always home at this time—they don't have the money to go running around the city for no apparent reason. What if-
Before Gregor allows time for the next thought to form he swings open the door with such force that the doorknob punches a hole in the wall behind. He follows the short hall through the empty living room into the tiny space they call the kitchen. Before he has time to go racing into the bedrooms he spots a yellow sticky note hanging on the refrigerator. Gregor stops dead in his tracks. He reaches out for it with a shaking hand, and plucks the note off the fridge.
Written in his mother's fancy cursive handwriting are the words,
"We are at the hospital.
It's your grandmother.
Get here as soon as you can."
~Love You, Mom.