"...Hello me,
Are you in there
Making sure you're not dead,
Smelled some rotting flesh..."

[ Monkey, Saves the Day ]

Waking up wasn't fun at all. I jerked out of my sleep, afraid of being late for school, and fell out of bed. I rolled over onto my side, breath escaping in a slight sigh, and tried to sit up. My hands were cleaned and numb with bandaged palms; it hurt to move my fingers.

"Oh, you're awake." A voice said from the doorway. I turned, and blinked. A giant turtle stood leaning against the door jam. Okay, that was strange. Trying not to stare, I looked down at my watch. To say the least, I spazzed.

20 minutes until the bell rang, and I didn't have my homework done. Not that it was anything new, but I didn't actually enjoy the look of disappointment when my teachers saw I didn't do the assignment. "Hey, where do you think you're going off to?"

"School." Short answer, could be considered rude. "Where's my bag?" He held up my messenger bag, the strap was torn. 'Damn. I can duct tape it later, I guess.' I dug it through it, making sure most of my stuff was there. I paused in my searching to rub my head. 'Ow, damn it. Head ache, pain... going to die.'

"Kid, are you okay?" My bag fell to the floor, pens rolling across the room. I followed soon after, slipping into welcomed darkness.

I dreamt that I was walking down the hallway in my school, only it stretched on forever. There weren't any doors or lockers either, just kids lining the wall, pointing and laughing. Above their heads were the many notes I had gotten from the Pretty Elite.

I tripped on the hem of my dress, falling. I looked down, noticing for the first time the dress was Mother's wedding gown. Even though we were close to the same size, it was big on me; the sleeves hung way past my hands and the skirt got caught in my legs.

Biting insults were hurled at my face, getting stuck there with bitter adhesive.

"Freak."

"Bitch."

"Damn whore."

I closed my eyes, opening them as someone grabbed hold of my arms. Simon Devine dragged me to a locker at the very dead end of the hall, and shoved me in. The door clanged shut with a metal finality. My hands started bleeding, and the walls closed in. I screamed that I wasn't dead, and that they should let me out of my coffin.

A gentle touch on my back startled me, I was no longer in the cramped locker anymore, but in an empty space of nothing. Mist swirled around me, brushing against my hands like comforting air. Julie stood behind me, and she spoke with my mother's voice.

"You're worth more than they could ever know, love. Don't forget that." Where she touched my back, a set of black wings unfurled and fluttered. "Just fly away..." My bare feet lifted off the ground, and I smiled. "Let go... and fly away."

I yawned, rubbing at my eyes. It felt like they were sealed shut, and judging by the amount of daily eye make-up I wore, it wasn't a surprise. My muscles stretched painfully as I tried to sit up again. Drawing my knees to my chest, I rested my head on them. Dreams were always confusing. My watch told me that school was well underway into 5th period. So much for trying to get over what happened and get on with my so-called life.

'Great, not only am I a supposed druggie, but also I play hooky too.' Sighing I stretched my legs out, rotating my ankles. 'Where did my shoes go?' Deciding to pursue the issue later, I crossed my legs, laying my arms across them. 'I have to remember to thank them for helping me,' I wiggled my fingers, 'and for wrapping my hands.'

I wished desperately for my CD player; that would help me take my mind off of things. 'Oh well, staying away is just prolonging the obvious abuse I shall receive for getting out of their locker trap.' "Getting shoved into lockers sucks."

"As I imagine it would." I jumped, eyes darting to the door way. An elderly rat leaned on a walking stick. That was almost as strange as, if not stranger than, the turtle. "Please, calm yourself, my child. We have no intention of harming you."

I made room for him to sit on the bed, which he did so. I stared at my hands, picking slightly at my chipped nail polish and scabby fingers. There was something oddly comforting in the way he called me his child. It wasn't condescending, simply a statement. Compared to him, I was probably a little bitty kid. "Is something troubling you?"

I shook my head, banishing the tears to behind my eyes. I had cried enough, it was time to move on. I think he knew he wasn't going to get much out of me. A yell and thud sounded in the other room, grabbing his attention.

"Perhaps it is time that you meet the rest of our family." I followed him, silent as always. I stared at the ground, trying not to bite my lip. I had to let it heal, that's what Julie said when I came to school with it raw, or it could get infected.

'You know, people want me to talk. I should try and do what they want once in a while.' Wrapping my arms around my middle, I dug my fingernails into my side. 'My abnormality scares me.'

"Hey, the babe's awake!" I paused, I had never been called babe before. It was the way ...I didn't know the rat's name... had said 'my child'. Simply a statement of life. Perhaps I was a babe, or at least a chick. Was I a babe? Simon seemed to think so, but Simon was a horny 18-year-old. What did he know? "What's your name babe?"

Lying on the floor was another turtle. There were two more on the couch, one of which being the guy from earlier. Harmless, freakishly big turtles. Okay, that was still weird. I raised my eyes to the concrete ceiling, kicking lightly and pushing on my shoulders, I freed myself from my body. I hovered above them all, watching as Ground Me stuttered out our name. I grimaced as she hugged herself tighter.

The turtle on the floor said that we already knew Master Splinter, and then gestured to the rat. Splinter nodded and took his leave. Floor Turtle introduced himself as Michelangelo, but we could call him Mikey or Mike. The two on the couch were Donatello and Raphael.

Ground Me gave a hesitant wave. Michelangelo said that their oldest brother, Leonardo, was training. It never occurred to me to ask what he was training for. The turtles watched her hesitantly as she nodded, staring at the floor and chewing on her lip.

'Stop that! You're going to make it bleed again.' Ground Me was invited to sit with them, and watch TV. She glanced upwards, and I nodded. Ever the hesitant one, Ground Me lowered herself to the ground, automatically pulling her legs to her chest, resting her chin atop them.

'You...I... We need to act more social, or people are gonna think we need to be committed.' An almost smile flickered across her face, but disappeared rapidly as the news came on. I woke up in my body with a jarring slap.

"We're sorry to interrupt your regular programming, but we have some breaking news." Raphael groaned, as did Michelangelo. My face turned paler by the second as the story progressed. "At a local high school, a locker was found open this morning. Blood was smeared on the dented inside, and hand prints were on the floor as well."

I didn't mean to make the news, honest. God, what was Auntie going to say? "More blood was found in dried streaks on the walls of the stairwell." The turtles' complaints died away as more details were expressed.

Images were shown of the evidence, and I tired not to whimper. It was all there, in my head. If they needed a story, they could just extract it from my brain. I had tried to forget it, and bury it, but no. The damn media always brought things back for you. I was positive they weren't going to mention the suffocating or the darkness, or how I felt like my mother.

The newscaster continued, oblivious to my anxiety. "While the staff of General High is reluctant to share any opinions, the students feel nothing holding them back. Let's go and interview some of General High's population, shall we? It seems as though they have a lot to say."

'I'm sure,' I thought dryly to myself, 'I wonder if they're going to play the pity or talk me up to some kind of drugged whore.' The camera moved to the Pretty Elite, where they stood with blonde hair and perfect lip gloss. My head pounded dully.

"Yeah, like, we don't know who it is for sure... but, like, we're almost positive it's, um... Can we say her name?" Reporter nodded. "Okay, well, her name's Taxic Peters or something like that." I could feel the stares of my reptilian companions drilling holes in my head. "It was probably her, right guys?" She turned to her mindless followers. "I mean, she's only been here a month, and she's totally cut herself off the entire world!"

"Yeah!" A girl piped up behind her. "Taxic was a total freak, yanno? She hated everyone, and she so tried to sell me drugs once. I bet she tried to like, kill herself in the locker. But, it didn't work or something, so she skipped school to drown herself in beer. That's what I'd do, if like, I was her."

'Well, I'm so glad you're, like, not me.' I glared at the screen, cursing the Blonde Mafia into hell.

"Interesting, let's see what some of the male portion has to say." My fingers turned cold, the camera was focused on one of my locker friends.

"Taxic, she was the freaky goth chick, right?" Reporter nodded. "Oh, yeah! Man, she got me a detention. I wasn't do nothing too, I mean, out of nowhere the teacher comes down on me sayin that Taxic said I attacked her or somethin'. Man, I dunno what that girl is trippin' on, but it's something heavy."

"Dude, yes!" Another jock stood beside him, and the camera panned out to accommodate them. "That chick was so screwed up. We were there when she tried to kill herself in the locker. We were all like, don't do it! But, she wouldn't listen, yanno?"

The overall vocabulary of Pretty Elite Members astounded me into silence.

The reporter closed with parting promises of more information as it is uncovered. 'What else is there to say? That I did most of the guys at school? That I had an abortion?' I sighed as a commercial came on, and someone behind me turned off the TV with a deadly click. 'Ulp. This isn't good.'

"I think," Raphael growled from the couch, "that it's time we had a little chat with our new friend." Wonderful, I had yet another reason to despise every single person at my school. My eyes grew to twice their size, and my throat burned. Donatello, who had been sitting there silent, looked over at me.

"I do have some questions, yeah..." I had to talk. Now was the time to set the record straight, but I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I could prove myself innocent or even if I had the guts to talk against my so-called peers. They obviously believed I would just lie down and let them get away with it. "Is what they said true?"

I shrugged. Maybe I would, too. What was the point? The second I walked through the scarred wooden doors and down the scuffed hallways of General High, the Pretty Elite had me beaten, and they knew it. It was their word against mine. The adorable, lovable blondes of General High or the dark, scary loser, take your pick. No contest there.

"Even if I said it wasn't, would it matter?" Michelangelo crouched in front of me, his brothers behind him. 'I'm the outcasted sophomore.' I added silently. 'The seniors plain don't care, the freshmen are freaking scared of me, the juniors hate me and all sophomores, and my fellow 10th graders want to see me dead.' High school was a bitter, bitter cycle. "I'm the freak at my school."

"So, you're just going to give up?"

"What else is there to do?" As I said that, Raphael glared at the ground, looking ready to kill something. Lowering my head, I rested it against my knees; I wanted to sleep. I thought that they would've left me alone, deserting me in my wallowing ways.

"You can fight back." That was entirely new to me, that concept of taking a stand against the bitter politics of high school. I didn't know if I could do it, though. They already had so many rumors destroying my credibility. They had their evidence and support of everyone, I had nothing. Funny how often the odds were dead set against me.

"There's no point to." My voice was muffled by my arms; I could feel my body starting to shake. 'They'll win. They always do. It sucks to be at the bottom of society.'

It hit me just then how I wasn't bothered by the obvious hatred people felt for me. Sure, it was a tad bit annoying, but what was I going to do about it? Not much. Maybe I was too used to it. They say that kids that who get abused are scared of any thing but the smacking. In a very demented way, I found comfort in the fact that I knew what to expect from my classmates.

God, I really needed help.

I tired to escape and drift up to the ceiling, to avoid my twisted musings, but something kept me nailed to the ground. My only means of escape was gone. Enviously, I stared heavenward, begging with my glazed over eyes.

"What is it you want?" The ceiling whispered to me, with a voice cracking and crumbling.

'I want... to fly away...' Desperately, I wished for the wings Julie/Mother had granted me in my dream. I wanted nothing more than to escape the stereotype I had been slapped with. Slowly, I was being broken down. Soon there would be nothing left but a shivering mass of bones.

I stashed that mental picture in the closet of my brain, with all the insults I had been bruised with for the past month. That was where I kept all my horrible memories that were too precious to give up.

It vaguely registered that Michelangelo was waving a hand in my face. I blinked, eyes refocusing on the turtle. "You okay?" I shrugged. Who knew if I was okay or not? "You went all spacey on us for a minute there, babe." Not knowing what to say, my eyes flickered to my watch. Half past four.

'Fuck.' I wasn't one to swear, but Auntie probably expected me to be home at least an hour ago. And, if she'd seen the news, then I would have a lot of explaining to do. 'Oh, man.' "Where's my bag?" Michelangelo pointed towards the hallway I had come from earlier. Nodding, I took off in that direction. I literally ran into Raphael on the way.

"Hey, where's she going?" His brother shrugged.

"Getting' her back pack or something." Biting my lip, I tied the broken ends of the strap together and tugged. I never noticed how heavy it was getting, probably all those damn notes from the Pretty Elite. I should have a bon fire with them soon. It was getting awesomely cold outside, wasn't it? Hefting the thing up onto my shoulder, I returned to the couch-ly area.

"I need to get home." Yeah, that was just plain rude. 'I need to learn manners.' "My aunt... will probably kill me." The world was pitted against me. Donatello studied me from where he sat on the couch. He gave me directions on how to get to the topside. "Thank you for bandaging my hands..." He nodded.

"Taxic," I turned at Michelangelo's voice. "Come back and visit us, alright?" I nodded. Who really knew if I truly meant it? I probably did, and with an inner smile, I promised myself that I would indeed come back and visit this odd little family living under the city. Taking a deep breath, I half-ran half-shuffled my way out of the sewers and into the dim sunlight of New York.

Auntie was not as angry as I had thought. She told me, that Uncle was pissed off because the boys at work had seen the news, though. She wanted me to apologize to him. I kept it to myself that it wasn't my fault, and that it had all been lies.

"Taxic, honey..." Auntie petted my head as I sat at the kitchen table. "Why didn't you tell me?" I bit my tongue, keeping the explosion of words inside my head. "Won't you tell me the truth?" Clenching my eyes shut, I breathed heavily through my nose. "Won't you tell me anything?" For the second time that day, I tried to escape.

Viewing my unraveling from the kitchen ceiling would've been so much better than actually living it out. I was glued in my chair, feet nailed to the floor; it felt like there was blood filling my shoes. I had to check to make sure there wasn't blood leaking all over the tile.

"I'm not mad, Taxic, I'm just worried." Swallowing, I scratched at the old table. "I want you to open up to me! I want you to tell me what's been happening at school. I want to know where you were last night, and I want to know why you weren't at school today. Just, please, grant me that..."

She was getting desperate, and it scared me.

"Please, tell me the truth! Are you on drugs? Did you try and kill yourself? Just tell me anything!" My lips were sewn shut, and eventually Auntie left, crying. I heard her as I stumbled to my room. It echoed in my head, carving itself into my brain.

It hurt like hell to breathe. It felt like my skull was on fire as I glanced around my room. It wasn't mine, it was a borrowed prison. This was my cousin's domain and I was not welcome. Escape was a sure definite.

"I can't stay here." I whispered this to myself as I blankly stared out the window. I knew it though, so did Auntie. I didn't belong with them, I couldn't. I reminded her too much of my mother. She didn't want to look me in the eye. Methodically, I emptied out my messenger bag. I went about the task of preparing myself a survival pack.

In place of a calculator, I had a plan; in place of pens, I had batteries; in place of text books, I had my CD player and CDs; in place of notebooks, I had clothing. Stripping down to nothing, I changed my under things, and donned a pair of nice, clean, black jeans. I pulled a tank top over my head and a black shirt over that. I slipped a sweater over my ears, tugging it into place and smoothing it over my ribs. I felt like a much screwed up version of Buffy the Vampire slayer.

Scrubbing my face clean, I re-did my make up with precision and care. Pulling back from the mirror, I pursed my lips. All I saw was a skinny, pale little gross girl, with druggie eyes. Grimacing, I stuffed some cash into the inner-most pocket of my trench. Picking up my converse, I folded them down lovingly and stuffed them into the bag. I would need my boots for this.

In one corner of my room, a pair of boots rested. They were steel-toed, with buckles at the top and going down. I loved them almost more than I loved my music. Once I slipped my socked feet into my boots, I kissed my fingers and zipped them up. As an after thought, I grabbed the cell phone I never used off my shelf and tucked it into the pocket with my money. I unplugged the charger, and rolled it up and shoved it down to the bottom of my messenger bag.

Once I was done packing and preparing, I slid my trench coat off, and put on my bag. The weight was more comfortable then it was before, when it was stuffed full of books and school things. With a sad smile, I once again shrugged into my coat. Not sparing my room any more thought, I opened the window, waved my Alkaline Trio poster good bye and disappeared into the night.

I could've sworn that I heard Daniel, Derek, and Matt bid me farewell and good luck. It must've been my ears playing tricks though; no one would dream of wishing me well. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I began my long walk to anywhere. Any tears I might've shed would have frozen in the early December air, and I used that as an excuse to why I wasn't crying.

The stars above me laughed when the whimpers escaped from my mouth, and I looked up with a glare, causing my tears to trail down my face faster. I always lied to myself anyway; it just made my head and throat hurt. Finding a bench in the park a few blocks down from the apartment complex, I pulled out my cell. There was only one person I knew of who could help me now... and she picked up only after the fourth ring.

"Hey Myca... It's Taxic."

= =

Oh ho ho! I'm feeling evil. That's kinda like a cliffy, I suppose. Oh! Daniel, Derek, and Matt are all members of the band Alkaline Trio. Daniel Andriano does vocals and bass guitar, Matt Skiba does vocals and lead guitar, and Derek Grant plays drums. I also got the name for Taxic's creative writing teacher from Derek.

I don't own the song "Monkey" by Saves the Day... I also claim no ownage over TMNT... I'm sorry if the bit with the guys in it sucked. I don't think I've got that good of a grasp on their

I'm checking around the few TMNT sites I found, trying to do some character study. I refuse to stay in this suckage of... suckiness! HA! IN YOUR FACE! ...Oh, if you want Taxic to be paired with someone/someturtle, tell me. I do listen, well... sometimes.