I was running. Not away from something, but away from me, the monster, from everything. But it all catches up to you. You're the only thing you can't run away from. When you run, your thoughts come with you. You can try but it never works. Trust me, I know. I do it a lot. It's a small town. Not the best town either by any means but you can run all you want and never be stopped. Even if like me, your twelve. I think to what happened before.
"Hey Mail! Heard you're the best fighter in town. Let's prove that wrong. Or we can do this easy and just give us twenty bucks." His words were quickly followed by a punch to my stomach. I get up and grin. " John, you and Edward against me? No problem." Bending over, I grab a piece of glass littering the dark alley way in between a wal-mart and a bakery. John gets into a fightin stance. Quickly, before he can do anything, I slam the flaxen haired boy into the concrete wall. John gasps, and tries to struggle, but it is hopeless. With the shred of glass between my fingers, I punch him once, blood trickles from his cheek. Two, he crumples and starts to beg. It's too late now. The monster is out. Three, he is out cold. I laugh. Yet I do it again. Just one more time. Then, realizing what I'm doing, I drop the glass and run.
I don't have to worry about the cops. No one will call them. They aren't trusted. They won't do anything anyways. Here, you have to take care of it yourself. It's survival of the fittest. It's not that I feel bad about hurting them, they started it, I just hate the fact that once I start I can't stop. Call me a sadist, a monster, a demon, I don't care. I've heard all of those already. I decide that I better walk home before it gets dark out.
The one person who I care about will be there to comfort me. I don't have any friends around here. Reckon there scared of me. I am too. All I have is my mom. She is my life. My warmth. My comfort.
I open the door, and thankfully there she is. She is a woman with short, messy auburn hair, and twinkling green eyes, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Embraced by her warm hug, I just stay there happily, relishing in the warmth for the minute it lasts. My mom then asked me "Mail, what happened?" I tell her the story. Most moms would freak out and say to never do it again. Not her, she knows that your dead meat if you don't fight around here. So she just hugged me again while I cried. After five minutes of that, we watched sponge bob on the T.V.
"Mail, I have to go to work now. Will you be okay?" My mom works nights at a gas station. She was smart, but had to drop out of high school because she had to work to make a living. "Yes, of course! Im a big boy!" She left out the door. Just then, I remembered that I forgot to say that I loved her. Something that I would always regret.
I'm lying around watching T.V. when I hear a knock on the door. While its not the best idea to leave an twelve year old boy alone, even a very smart one, in a neighborhood like this, we had no choice. Therefore I had a set of three rules I always made sure to meretriciously follow.
Always leave the T.V on.
Don't go near the windows and leave the curtains on them.
Don't awnser the door unless it is the police.
Because of the third rule, I grab a chair and drag it to the door to see who it was. Sur enough, it was the police. I let them in. Two guys walked in. One was your typical image of your angry, fat police man, with a face in a deep scowl. The other one looked very kind, but sorrowful. The angry looking one pulls out a piece of paper and starts reading.
"You are Mail Jeevas. Correct?"
"Yes."
He then continued to monotonously read an oviously scripted statement.
"We regret to inform you, that Anna Jeevas was killed at 8:03PM in an armed robbery."You will have to come with us."
What? Not my mom. I needed her. She couldn't die. Not yet. We still had so much to do. We always dreamed of getting rich, moving out of this filthy neighborhood and traveling all over the world together. That can't happen if she is dead. The kinder police man then spoke.
"Sorry kid. There is nothing I can do. Wish there was. You will have to come with us."
I was now at the police station. They asked me a few questions, some very mundane, and they also asked if I knew where my father was. I told them that I never knew him. That was the truth. They told me in response that that meant that I would be staying here with them until they found a place for me to say. They worded it nicer, like I was dumb, but Im not, so I understood exactly what they were saying.
A pretty lady, though not a warm kind, but the icy cold kind, led me into a room. She said it was an IQ test. Must of done well on it, because she seemed inpressed. After the adults did some talking, and made a bunch of phone calls, I was immediately put in a car, driven by the same lady. Apperantly it is her job to get me wherever I go safely. The car ride is quiet. She seems bored out of her mind, and the overwhelming sadness still feels like a spear through my stomach.
"We're here." She announced.
I stepped out of the car and am lead to a place that looks kind of like a church, but mostly like an institution. We walk in. In front of me is a man. He looks about in his late fifties, has a mustchashe and is dressed much more formaly than Im used to. Me and my mom just wore whatever we could get at goodwill. The man then opens his mouth and greets me.
"Welcome to Wammy's house.I am Rodger."
