Hey. This is my first fanfic, thanks for taking time just to read these words. If you didn't like it, please tell me what I am doing wrong. Expect to see reflections of James Paterson (slightly) and Rick Riordin (not sure I spelled that correctly, but more of him). Also, I would appreciate it if a nice guy told me what Au/OOC/OC/OMGWTFBBQ meant. Thanks.
Have you ever heard the term 'flight or fight'? It originates from adrenaline, that hormone that gives you the fight or flight option in life threatening situations. I always hated it. Mainly because it was an absolute, I couldn't get around it. I liked to have a choice. Just to know there's another option. It gave me some relief, I guess.
Anyway, I should warn you, this is not the story of a hero, who bravely makes the final blow against all odds to the villain or monster or whatever it is. This in not the story of a evil villain who has a change of heart or who remains evil. I am neither. I am simply a, sidekick, pawn, tool, any term you care to use. I do not strike the finishing blow, deliver mass hysteria, or even get an opponent to think I can beat them. I merely had the chance to be a friend/teammate to the hero and a pawn to the villain.
The beginning of this story starts with me waking up, which I find ironic, because it is a beginning commonly used to start tales of heroes, because it is a metaphor to waking up to the great unknown. Anyway, once I woke up I found it hard to breath and see. I rolled over, realizing my face was buried in my pillow.
I rolled of the bed, because I couldn't make myself sit up and get off of the bed.
"Adrian! Stop making such a racket!" I heard my sister shout at me.
"Sorry," I yelled back, "What's for breakfast?"
I walked over to my dresser and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans.
"A very ceremonial pop-tart and water bottle."
"Awesome."
I walked down the stairs and turned into our kitchen. I automatically sat down at a chair.
"Pop-tart me," I said, holding up my hand. "Ow! What the heck! That's my eye!"
"Sorry," she said. "Accident."
"Whatever. This is for the Playboy magazine thing I did with Miles, isn't is?"
A couple years back for Christmas I gave Miles, my sisters boyfriend, a Playboy magazine with a note that read, If your looking at Ariel every day, your gonna need this.
"No."
"Yeah right, Ariel. I know how good of an aim you are. You wouldn't have missed that shot."
She blinked.
"How-"
"Elementary, my dear Watson. Also, you haven't let that go for two years now."
"Well..."
"C'mon, I'm gonna be late."
"Right."
She walked over to the door as I grabbed my favorite hat, a Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword (I wish I owned that) baseball cap and a zip-up hoodie.
"After you," she said.
I nodded and walked out the door. I noticed a shoe pull itself onto the roof over our doorstep. I grinned, Miles, apparently, had decided how much of 'Ninja' he was. This started after I told him "No matter how big of a hero you are, I could still could kick your butt if I 'Ninja'd' him."
He was clearly going to ambush me. However, I had a few tricks up my sleeve. I already had great control over my soul wavelength even though I never had official practice. I tried to concentrate it into a single point, the palm of my hand.
I slowly counted down as I continued to walk.
3...2...1...Now!
I whirled around, in time to see him falling toward me. I brought my palm into his chest. A bit of blood and spit landed on my face.
"Awhhhhh. Gross man. That's just sick." I groaned.
END. For now.
