Yeah, Chapter 2! You will all have to forgive me for making you wait so
long for each chapter. Work is a bitch and takes up most of my time.
Please be patient. I want to thank all of y'all who left a review for me,
and don't worry, the Farf-meister will have his chapter. The only thing
is, I don't want to put down anything from episode 18 (or 8 or which ever
one that was) for those of you who don't like spoilers. For those of you
who did see that episode, well you already know what happened with him.
Well anywho, Weiß ain't mine, but many ideas are, blah, blah, blah,
yackidy, shmackidy, on with the story.
Brad walked over to his dresser and opened the 3rd drawer. He pulled out the pair of jeans that were on top and put them on. He the proceeded to open the top drawer and pull out a black T-shirt.
As he was putting the shirt on, he looked at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall behind the dresser. He stopped and stared at himself.
"I look normal enough?" He always found himself to be rather attractive physically, as narcissistic as that might seem. But it was his mentality that seemed to make him unattractive to the rest of the world.
Bradley remembered it started when he was 10. Every now and again, he would see images in his mind. At first, he thought they were just minor daydreams, but then they all came true. Then he thought he was going nuts. And what did he do?
"I panicked," he thought to himself. He ran out and told his mother, told his father, told his grandmother, who of course liked to tell everybody else. He made his parents take him to see a doctor; five doctors, in fact. All of them said the same thing, "Perhaps you just have some extra mental abilities. Here, take these pills twice a day. It'll help calm you down."
So now he has mental abilities. His father said he is mental, his mother said he is a freak, his grandmother said he is a demon, the town said he is a monster, and the old lady down the street with the 50 cats said that he is the anti-christ.
"In 7 years, everything has been blown out of proportion and I'm stuck in the middle of it. I've been exiled from my own fucking life and I don't think I ever truly realized it. Why does this have to happen to me?"
He heaved a sigh and continued to get dressed. As soon as he put on his last sneaker that had magically appeared under his bed, he grabbed the biggest duffle bag in his closet and packed as much stuff into it as possible: another pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, a walkman, the 4 tapes that happened to be on his nightstand, deodorant, hairbrush, watch, some socks, and some underwear. Brad then went to the bathroom and got his toothbrush and the toothpaste and packed those.
He opened the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out all of the money he had stashed there over the last 3 months.
"$125.00. I probably should have more than this. I wonder what he has in his room?"
Bradley walked down the hall to his brother's room. There on the dresser was his brother's piggybank where he kept all of his money. He grabbed it, sat on the bed and proceeded to go through.
"I wonder how long he's been saving this up?" It probably took him a good 10 minutes to count all of the money now sprawled out onto the bed. "Wow. $467.58. Hope he wasn't planning on spending this anytime soon."
Brad pocketed the money and replaced the bank. He then stopped and looked around the room for a pen and something to write on. All he could find was a pencil and some tissues. On one of them, he wrote, "Pay you back someday, Bradley," and stuffed it into the bank.
"Well, maybe," he thought to himself.
Brad went back to his room, grabbed the rest of his money and the bag and went downstairs. He went through the cabinets in the kitchen to find anything of sustenance that he could take with him.
"Cookies." He shrugged and kept going through cabinets. "Aren't there any crackers or something else?" Nothing.
"Well, cookies it is." He threw those into the bag.
Brad stopped and looked around. In an odd sort of way he was going to miss this place; not the people, just the place. He walked out to the backyard and into the garage.
"I have no home now. I'm just going wherever I take me.or Greyhound at least." He tied the now full bag to the back of his bicycle. "Easier to ditch," he thought to himself. With that, he was off to the bus station to see where he wanted to go. Luckily, it really wasn't that long a ride; maybe 15 minutes.
When he got there, Brad set the bike against some bushes at the far end of the parking lot. "Maybe some lucky punk will find it." He strode into the station and looked at the schedule.
"I don't want to be waiting here too long, ssooooooooo, what is the earliest one leaving the soonest?" He scanned the schedule again.
"Hhmmmm, there is one for New York in 30 minutes." Brad stopped and thought about it. "Not a bad idea. It's a big city, lots of dreams happen, not that I have any to begin with. Okay, New York it is."
He went up to the counter and bought the ticket and then went out to the bus. As he was stepping up into the vehicle, an image flashed through his mind. A tall man. Blond hair. Business suit. Dark eyes. Sitting on a park bench. Cross legged. "Bradley, well that isn't too respectable of a name."
Bradley blinked and shook his head. "What was that?" he thought to himself.
"I'd like to get on the bus sometime today," came a voice from behind him.
Brad turned to see a short, fat man standing at the bottom of the steps. "Oh, I'm sorry." With that, he proceeded to the back of the bus. There were very little people back there. Solitude for the 4-hour drive ahead.
He sat down, duffle bag still in hand, and relaxed into the seat. With a sigh, he said to himself, "New York City, here I come."
Brad walked over to his dresser and opened the 3rd drawer. He pulled out the pair of jeans that were on top and put them on. He the proceeded to open the top drawer and pull out a black T-shirt.
As he was putting the shirt on, he looked at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall behind the dresser. He stopped and stared at himself.
"I look normal enough?" He always found himself to be rather attractive physically, as narcissistic as that might seem. But it was his mentality that seemed to make him unattractive to the rest of the world.
Bradley remembered it started when he was 10. Every now and again, he would see images in his mind. At first, he thought they were just minor daydreams, but then they all came true. Then he thought he was going nuts. And what did he do?
"I panicked," he thought to himself. He ran out and told his mother, told his father, told his grandmother, who of course liked to tell everybody else. He made his parents take him to see a doctor; five doctors, in fact. All of them said the same thing, "Perhaps you just have some extra mental abilities. Here, take these pills twice a day. It'll help calm you down."
So now he has mental abilities. His father said he is mental, his mother said he is a freak, his grandmother said he is a demon, the town said he is a monster, and the old lady down the street with the 50 cats said that he is the anti-christ.
"In 7 years, everything has been blown out of proportion and I'm stuck in the middle of it. I've been exiled from my own fucking life and I don't think I ever truly realized it. Why does this have to happen to me?"
He heaved a sigh and continued to get dressed. As soon as he put on his last sneaker that had magically appeared under his bed, he grabbed the biggest duffle bag in his closet and packed as much stuff into it as possible: another pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, a walkman, the 4 tapes that happened to be on his nightstand, deodorant, hairbrush, watch, some socks, and some underwear. Brad then went to the bathroom and got his toothbrush and the toothpaste and packed those.
He opened the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out all of the money he had stashed there over the last 3 months.
"$125.00. I probably should have more than this. I wonder what he has in his room?"
Bradley walked down the hall to his brother's room. There on the dresser was his brother's piggybank where he kept all of his money. He grabbed it, sat on the bed and proceeded to go through.
"I wonder how long he's been saving this up?" It probably took him a good 10 minutes to count all of the money now sprawled out onto the bed. "Wow. $467.58. Hope he wasn't planning on spending this anytime soon."
Brad pocketed the money and replaced the bank. He then stopped and looked around the room for a pen and something to write on. All he could find was a pencil and some tissues. On one of them, he wrote, "Pay you back someday, Bradley," and stuffed it into the bank.
"Well, maybe," he thought to himself.
Brad went back to his room, grabbed the rest of his money and the bag and went downstairs. He went through the cabinets in the kitchen to find anything of sustenance that he could take with him.
"Cookies." He shrugged and kept going through cabinets. "Aren't there any crackers or something else?" Nothing.
"Well, cookies it is." He threw those into the bag.
Brad stopped and looked around. In an odd sort of way he was going to miss this place; not the people, just the place. He walked out to the backyard and into the garage.
"I have no home now. I'm just going wherever I take me.or Greyhound at least." He tied the now full bag to the back of his bicycle. "Easier to ditch," he thought to himself. With that, he was off to the bus station to see where he wanted to go. Luckily, it really wasn't that long a ride; maybe 15 minutes.
When he got there, Brad set the bike against some bushes at the far end of the parking lot. "Maybe some lucky punk will find it." He strode into the station and looked at the schedule.
"I don't want to be waiting here too long, ssooooooooo, what is the earliest one leaving the soonest?" He scanned the schedule again.
"Hhmmmm, there is one for New York in 30 minutes." Brad stopped and thought about it. "Not a bad idea. It's a big city, lots of dreams happen, not that I have any to begin with. Okay, New York it is."
He went up to the counter and bought the ticket and then went out to the bus. As he was stepping up into the vehicle, an image flashed through his mind. A tall man. Blond hair. Business suit. Dark eyes. Sitting on a park bench. Cross legged. "Bradley, well that isn't too respectable of a name."
Bradley blinked and shook his head. "What was that?" he thought to himself.
"I'd like to get on the bus sometime today," came a voice from behind him.
Brad turned to see a short, fat man standing at the bottom of the steps. "Oh, I'm sorry." With that, he proceeded to the back of the bus. There were very little people back there. Solitude for the 4-hour drive ahead.
He sat down, duffle bag still in hand, and relaxed into the seat. With a sigh, he said to himself, "New York City, here I come."