Chapter 2: How it Came To Be
This was a typical morning for me, Van Walker. I am a nineteen year old college dropout who got stuck working a graveyard shift at a stupid fucking sticker factory making less money than my fifteen year old brother, Mason. I know it is time for a change, but I don't have the slightest idea how. That is until she came unto my life. The Angel's name was Tia that saved me from myself.
In college, I was the biggest asshole to people and I prided myself on it. There wasn't one person who enjoyed my company for more than ten minutes at a time. I was what people in high school referred to as a douche bag, but in college, I was simply an asshole. I could live with that.
Two days before class started, I moved into my room. At this time in my life, I was quite the neat freak. I had to have everything in its designated spots, I guess you could say I was a bit obsessive compulsive about it all. It was how I coped.
As a naive high school student, I used to get into the silliest arguments with my parents, but when the argument with them was over, I still had to consult with my inner self. This was where the problems arose. When I thought I was dead wrong, or even sometimes when I know I was right, I would punish myself in any way possible really. Whether that be needles, razors, or even a good old fist. That particular problem still lingered even after the parents ceased caring. Then I was left to deal with myself. In truth I am my biggest problem.
I met my first roommate for the first time the day of classes. I vividly remember him walking in and dropping his fat ass on the bed that was clearly mine. "This'll do" he said as he proceeded to throw all of my belongings to the bed across the room. "oh and you might want to move the rest of your shit to the other side too." I was mere seconds away from clawing the face off this black haired poser and letting him see his own ugly expression by the most brutal means necessary. A mirror simply wouldn't do. Unless of course that was the instrument of pain.
As soon as he so much as thought about touching the picture of my great-grandfather and me sitting by the living room television at his house, the gloves were off, and the blades were out. Before he could utter one syllable of disrespect toward the late, great Frank Walker, my hands were around his throat. Wide eyes on the face that was just a few centimeters from my own assured me that he got my point. He instantly dropped from the lofted bed and picked up the mess he had so graciously made in his haste to be an asshole. I never heard nor saw him again.
This single instance was just one for the calendar. Daily these types of events happened, but this one, being on the first day of classes, started my freshman year off with a bang. Now that day was the day in which the needed change was made.
I am a punk. The kind of person that if a single instance of dislike entered my brain, it turns to disgust and soon to hate. I snap at the smallest thing and don't take shit from anyone and dished out my own whenever possible. I was shunned from pretty much everyone except those of my own kind. Even my parents "didn't quite get" what it was I was trying to do. I was alone.