Chapter One: And Life Goes On…

I've been shot at by the army, burned by arsonists, blown up by countless people, stabbed by countless people, injected with lethal chemicals by my parental equivalent and been pushed off the top of the Empire State Building. I can withstand virtually anything. I can take anything life throws at me.

Except wiping a three-year-old's butt.

Now don't think this my kid; I'm not that kind of stupid. I'm the sympathetic kind of stupid. I mean, come on, a seventeen year-old girl with animal senses and a love for cigarettes (Ahh, forensics) dies on your doorstep, leaving her infant child with you. Do you just leave the kid there and walk off? Well, I don't.

Nah, I take the kid in and raise it. Along with four bird kids, Underground Rodent Boy, Bitchy Ginger Girl, The Flash Jr., Gender Ambiguous Spiderkid and an annoying winged dog.

You'd think one of them would help me with my exciting task, but no. The only person who wouldn't mind wiping a kid's butt is with the only other person that may consider wiping a kid's butt, and they are busy collecting seashells at the beach.

So here I am, with a poopy butt in my face and a flushable wipe in my hand. As I begin the task, I can't help but feel an overwhelming amount of pity for myself. Not that anyone else really has a much better life. After The Watchers destroyed everything, the world has been a real mess.

And I don't mean Global Warming. I mean 80 percent of the world's livable area has been dubbed "too radioactive to support human life". And if that sounds bad, think about how the majority of the human population is completely and utterly dead.

After getting the kid ready for bed, I pick it up and carry it to its cot. "You tired, Kittenpig (The result of Angel bickering with The Gasmen about what to name it. I feel so bad for this thing, I'm tempted to rename it myself when it's old enough to care.)?"

Kittenpig smiles. "Can I have Celef?" I hand it –okay, it's a he- the little white teddy bear that used to be Angel's. He smiles and waves at me. "Goodnight Fangy. I love you sooo much!" He spreads his arms as wide as he can and I can't help but smile. "I love you too, kid. Goodnight."

I leave the room, shutting off the light. At this point all I want to do is go to sleep, but there's always work to be done.

"Fang, Rex says you're emo. Are you emo? What does emo mean?" The Flash Jr., AKA Smort asks me.

"No. And tell Rex he better shut up if he knows what's good for him." Smort seems to believe me and runs off.

"Aww, are you a little non-conformist emo kid?" Iggy makes a sad, pouty face and laughs. "Come on, they're just kids. Don't be so mean all the time." Now, Iggy is my best friend, there are very few things I'd trade him for, but the fact is, he's just as bad as everyone else when it comes to misbehaving.

I sound like a nag, but you try being the "leader" of a bunch of mutant kids who think they're entitled to Ultimate Sympathy, and are constantly acting like they're the best people in the world because of what they can do.

As I've learned on a number of occasions, there's always someone stronger. Fortunately, I haven't yet met my match.

(Haha, how wrong I was…)