There are times when I think I'm crazy.

Sometimes, I call myself a jerk.

People say I'm a dirty boy.

But I ignore them. Paint them into the background.

Because in truth, paint is highly flammable...

Today, on that hill, everything went wrong.

It was my 14th birthday; A beautiful day, really. The Sun looked like a huge, round saucer filled with bright, glowing yellow paint, which the dew on the grass reflected like the raised swords of war glinting and glittering with sunlight.

I look around the field, watching the crows fly around the rice crops.

Rice. That's my name. I used to detest it - so badly, in fact, that I demanded to be called Jay - but now I take great pride in it.

I turn back to the crows and stick my tongue out, standing and tugging on the torn green shirt that rests upon my crows are being crows - nibbling at my namesake and screeching loudly. Sighing, I raise my hands high in the air and stomp loudly through the field yelling, "Hyah! Get away, jerks! Go away!"

The crows fly off still singing their horrid song here and there, and I sit back down, closing my eyes.

I hear something - and groan as the crows resume their feeding.

-

I'm choking on this bow tie. Mum wants me to look good, because we're going to dinner. Just a few hours in this suit - Surely it can't be that bad.

But it's my birthday! Oh, well, I'll be fine.

I'm dressed like a city boy - Black dress pants, socks, and shoes. A white lace dress shirt. A brown sweater vest that looks like someone smeared chocolate all over it, and a deep black tie with silver stripes.

Those are my only clothes that I can wear into the city. I bought them myself and it took ages.

My family works and lives at this farm, you see. I don't like it, but I have to do it. I pick the rice. Ironic, right?

But I get plenty - or at least, plenty on my standards - of money, about 415 yen a week. Over the years I've managed to buy painting supplies. I love to color the world, you see. My room is now a blinding mixture of oranges and greens and reds - filled with roses and bluebirds and anything else I can think of painting - a sunset, a lamp, anything, really.

"Rice!" A voice, my mother's voice, calls. "Rice, get down here, we're leaving!" She sounded impatient today. In this case, today is everyday.

"I'm coming!" I call, walking down the hall as slowly as possible.

My mother has bright red hair like me, but it's all curly, like a misused paintbrush. Mine is straight and short and it sticks up like no one's business. Mom beats me to the end of the hallway, rolling her eyes at how slowly I'm going.

She looks at my hair and groans, licking her hand and slicking my hair back.

"Ew!" I whined, leaning back and pushing her hand away, "I don't want your spit on my head!"

"Uh, yes, you do!" She argued. "You can't go into Tokyo with your hair like that."

I looked my mother over, three times. She's dressed in a plain white dress that's torn at the bottom, just a little bit. The sleeves are rolled backwards so that the blue side is showing, complementing her eyes well - They were lighter than mine, you see.

Mom is also wearing boots - those long brown boots you often see on television shows with hunters that aren't really hunters.

Don't get me started about her hair - And really, I'm only saying this because I'm telling you anyway. It's not a rat's nest or anything - In fact, I rather like it. The reason I'm mentioning it is because it's no better than my own. One particular curl a bit longer than the rest is sticking out, draped over her forehead, and the rest is in a sloppy ponytail.

I rolled my eyes, and thankfully Mom never caught it.

-

There isn't a bus stop near our farm - Thank God we own a car. I myself don't know how to drive, even though it's legal for me to do so at this age. But Dad does, so we hop in the car and drive into the city.

I'm always fascinated by Tokyo. Lights and posters and people, all of them acting in perfect harmony.

But what catches my eye is the graffiti of 2024.

I myself don't want to be in a gang. I wish I could just practice graffiti all the time, anywhere, but not be mistaken for a gang member. That's the part that's not fun. I hear from my friends about all the bad things gangs do like murder and mug people and stuff. I don't want to be a part of that, partially because I think it's wrong and partially because I don't want to be arrested.

Dad stops the car, getting out at a distance he thinks is safe, and then he looks around. Mom and I get out after him, stepping onto the sidewalk. Dad locks the car, and we start walking towards the restaurant.

It's very small; But it smelled like the chefs of heaven had brought their cooking to Earth. I smelled many things I've never smelled or eaten or even known of before - I must be used to a diet of mainly beef and rice.

I don't really know what I ordered. I just know that it was some sort of stew.

But as soon as I brought the steaming spoonful to my lips I closed my eyes and took my precious time to eat it.

I'm wondering what kinds of seasoning they used for the pork. I've never tasted it before - I'm not surprised by that at all.

-

We leave the restaurant soon after I'm finished with my meal. It was delicious, so I wrote the name of the restaurant down and kept it in my pocket. I'll make sure to go back sometime.

Focusing back on the streets, I see something out of the corner of my eye as I walk with my parents. I held my breath as I realized what it was...

It wasn't just a person. There are a ton of people here. I swear, this guy - and he was huge, let me tell you - I swear he had a knife.

I may only be fourteen, but I can tell when someone's staring at me. He was staring at me - That's just creepy.

I hid behind Mom in fear, still making sure this guy wasn't following us.

And sure enough, he was.

Like I said, he was huge. He was wearing a mask kind of like a lizard's face, so I couldn't make out his expression. A kind of suit with scales on it covered most of his body, and get this - The guy was on skates.

Rollerblades! He was wearing them, right there. I am appalled.

I tug on Mom's sleeve to try and get her attention, but when she turns to me and I point in the suspicious man's direction, she rolls her eyes. "Don't judge people Rice," She stated. "He's probably been hunting."

I groaned inwardly. How stupid of her!

I tried the same with Dad, but he didn't say anything.

That's when I realize that the man has gotten much closer. I really want to just shout it out, but I feel like that will make our deaths quicker.

I'm wrong.

I should have shouted it out to the world.

Because now there's a knife right there, right through my father's heart.

Pfft. Here you people go.

Review and have fun reading.