My second scar came when I was twelve, while I was living in New York. I was eating breakfast at the time, and spilled milk all over me in shock. For some reason that always makes me smile. The pain that time was manageable but it hurt emotionally because I knew somewhere, someone unlucky enough to be number two was hunted down and killed.
The third scar came an hour ago. I was watching TV in our sky blue one-story house, in Foxfield, West Virginia. It was a normal Saturday night, sitting alone keeping to myself while Allen checks the news on his laptop. All of sudden my ankle started burning. I barely even noticed the physical pain but cried for Three's sake. Allen heard me crying and walked in the room. One look into my eyes and he knew. We both just stared at the blank TV screen until the scar was fully formed.
"Which hair color will it be now?" Allen finally breaks the silence.
I look at myself in the TV, I hate my curly blonde hair. "Can I go back to my natural color?"
"No"
"Please, that picture was taken over five years ago, and my appearance has changed a lot," I beg.
"Alright fine, but next time I choose," Allen replies after a minute.
"Deal" I say happily.
This is the first thing I do when I move, change my hair. I use the thirteen crystal bottles Allen took from Lorien to dye my hair. Each one is filled with a different colored liquid. Just one drop from any of them will completely change your hair color and it makes it look completely natural. There are all types color, bright red, blonde, gray, and one of them has a clear liquid that removes all dye from your hair. I think I've used each one twice. I search around for the bottle with the clear liquid and find it stuffed in a cabinet in the kitchen. I walk into the bathroom and look out the window. I'm going to miss West Virginia, all the trees, mountains, and wildlife.
I wet my hair from the sink and unscrew the lid from the bottle. I let one drop fall. It lands on one of my hairs, and then slowly spreads down the length of the hair. One black hair in a sea of blonde. It spreads from the end of the hair, like how water spreads in paper. The black patch keeps growing and growing, and before I know it my jet black hair has returned. I smile, watching the dye do its work is almost magical.
I look into the mirror, what I see is a slightly-tan boy with piercing-green eyes, straight jet-black hair, wearing a blue-pendant around his neck. Its amazing how much your persona changes with your hair. I always like my natural hair color; it's like saying to the Mogadorians "You don't own me." I walk back into the family room. Allen has already packed our gray duffel bag with enough clothes to get wherever were going next, the Loric chest, the bank card, twelve crystal bottles, his counterfeiting tools, and our two IPods. I hand him the clear crystal bottle and he throws it in the bag and zips it up.
"Where are we going next?"
"Medfield, Michigan"
"How did you pick that?"
"It was the only place that I could rent without going there,"
We walk outside to Allen's green pickup truck. He throws the duffel bag into the back of the trunk. There's a pile of stuff in the driveway.
"Do you want to do the honors?" Allen asks.
"No, you can"
Allen grabs a match and throws it into the pile. It includes everything that's not in the duffel bag. Passports, birth certificates, clothes, toothbrushes, food, everything. I watch the fire consume my past life. I hate this part, it feels like a piece of me is being burned. I wish I could settle down like a normal person. By the time the fire ends the moon is right above us. I look up at the sky, all the stars are out and it's breathtaking. You can't see the stars good near cities, but I usually live in isolated towns where you can see everything. I used to do this all the time, wondering if one of the others were staring at the exact same star I was, and if for that brief moment we were connected. I stand right next to the truck for about ten minutes, taking it all in, the wet grass, the bright night sky, the cool breeze, the blue house, and the chirping crickets. I'm definitely going to miss this place.
"Nine," Allen whispers.
I don't reply, just get in the truck and watch the house slowly fade away through the back window. It feels like a piece of me is slowly fading away, the piece that became Matt Averill.
Bye Matt.