I went outside in my T-shirt today! Whoooooo! The snow is melting! Spring is coming! YAY! It's getting WARM OUT!


The Files of Kazdan Kalinkas

Book Three: Shadow of a Boy

Chapter Six: Who I Am Hates Who I've Been


"I'm sorry for the person I became, I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change. I'm ready to be sure I never become that way again. 'Cause who I am hates who I've been."


It was the day after I'd lost to Klay in that stupid Drome match. Saturday, the day everyone's supposed to love. Winter's chill still clung to the beginning of February and seemed to be determined to stay there all through March. I was starting to really hate the cold. Spending a year in a mostly warm climate made me linger close to the heaters and wear jackets over my sweaters, even indoors.

That Saturday morning was no different. My parents were still asleep so I slid silently down the stairs, dressed in jeans, a long sleeved sweater, a jacket, and my scarf, and crept into the kitchen for some breakfast. I glanced around the empty room. It seemed cold and lonely. Disregarding the sensation as a half-sleeping sort of thing, I pulled the toaster from its corner and went about making my toast.

"Nooooopyyyiiinnn aveel treeeeennn…" I half-sang under my breath, tugging a paper plate out of the pantry and setting it on the kitchen counter, "Aveel luss briiiimmmyaaaaaaa ot is ahta frimyin, mahaaaaan ahata terrim brimyyyyaaaaaa, nadi whool nis thooooooonick." I pulled a clean knife from the drawer and spun it in my fingers before setting it down too, "Friya nacteeeeeeee atrissssssss quinin illum ahta brimya nis aveeeeellllll tyeeeelllllliiiisssssss. Nadi ahta terrim nacteeeeee atriss erifya ahta drooooossssss fooooooonn tah aveeel hessyeeeeee." The tune was slow and I dragged myself over to the fridge, reaching in to grab the butter and spinning around to kick the door shut with the heel of my foot. I froze.

My mom was standing at the doorway to the kitchen with a strange expression on her face. I swallowed and eased the tub of butter onto the counter. Then I let my hands drop to my sides.

"What were you singing?" She asked me and I licked my lips, feeling a tremor run through me.

"Nothing." I muttered, turning my back to her to get out the bread, "Just a…it was nothing." It had been the UnderWorld victory song and the fact that the words had come so easily to me was terrifying to me.

"It was not nothing." I heard her move into the kitchen, "I saw what you did with that knife. What's wrong, Kaz?"

"Nothing's wrong." I said in a strained voice, making a big show out of putting the bread into the toaster and pushing the knobs down to toast it. I felt her hand on my shoulder and tensed.

"Kaz, you can talk to me if you need to…" She said softly. I swallowed thickly. I couldn't tell her anything, "Kaz?"

"Mom, I…" What could I say? Why did it always feel like I was at a loss for words? I turned around to face her and looked her in the eye. She didn't flinch, "Mom, it hurts. I don't want to talk about it. I did…things, terrible things." That familiar pain was tying my stomach in knots and I nervously ran my thumb up and down my chest, "I saw terrible things. I…I'm not Kaz anymore. Not like I used to be. I just…I'm not even sure what I am." I was looking at the floor now.

"Kaz, look at me." I refused to, "Kaz, look at me. Kazdan." Her voice was stern, commanding. I glanced up, "I'll tell you what you are; you're Kazdan Matthew Kalinkas and you're our son. Nothing in the universe can change that!" She pulled me into a hug, "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. Whatever helps." She stepped back, smiling at me.

I couldn't help it, I smiled back. Then I jumped and spun around, smacking my hand on the hot metal of the toaster as my finished breakfast shot out the top.


The problem with Saturdays was that I was restless.

Yes, I had plenty of homework to do but it could only keep me busy for a while. Then I'd get all twitchy and lose focus. But it wasn't anything completely new. No matter what day of the week or where I was, I was restless.

I had to keep myself distracted.

Movies did it for a while. One movie kept me busy but halfway through a second one and I'd start fidgeting. Video games worked for a longer amount of time. I could lose myself in the fake worlds of racing cars, classic heroes, and movie games. But then something would trigger a memory or a reflex or a feeling and suddenly the game ceased to be a distraction.

But the biggest problem was that I couldn't say anything.

There was no one I could tell, no on to vent to, not in the way I wanted at least. Sure, Tom and the others were there for me but there were things I couldn't tell them. Things like how Ghost had been a voice in my head, the agony of the Virus, how easy it was to look at a person and know exactly how to kill them, and all those feelings I'd kept bottled up inside.

I was thinking about all this while I was sitting on my lower bunk in my bedroom. Some homework was spread across the bed in front of me, my Code Scanner sitting on the floor nearby where I could reach it quickly if I ported back, and I was rhythmically tapping my on my leg, staring at the closed door between the posts of my bunk bed. Even this wouldn't keep me busy for very long.

What could I do?

I couldn't tell anyone. I'd be labeled crazy and locked up faster than you could blink.

I flicked my gaze away from the door and surveyed the room for something to do. Chair, backpack, television, game system, door, desk, bookshelf, pile of clothes—. I looked back at my desk, getting an idea. I slid off my bed, walked across the room, and crouched down in front of the desk. I pulled open several drawers and started rifling through them.

If I couldn't physically tell anyone…

…then I'd find another way to get the words out.

When I found what I was looking for, I grabbed my pen and climbed up to my top bunk. I settled into the corner where the two sides of the bed met the two walls with a large, leather bound notebook on my lap. A Celtic design was embossed on the front. I'd gotten it from Husky four years ago but had buried it in my desk and forgotten about it.

I unwound the thin strip of leather cord that had been wrapped around the silver button holding it shut and flipped it open. Then I scribbled on the inside cover,

Kazdan "Kaz" Matthew Kalinkas

And then, after a brief pause, I scrawled above my name, The Chronicles of then I scribbled that out furiously, paused again, and wrote, The Files of. With a deciding nod, I leaned back and propped the notebook on my legs.

My pen hovered over the first, blank page. I wasn't worried about doing it…I just didn't know how to start. I forced myself to think back to that first day, to remember how it had happened. Then I knelt over the notebook and started writing,

A roar of anger echoed down the hallway from the direction of the throne room, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a Torrent of Flames attack ricocheting off the walls…


I don't know what in the world possessed me to go back to Chaotic the day after my secret had been let out and I didn't know what to except. I think there was some part of my wild imagination that was thinking that as soon as my Code formed, I'd be met with a swarm of players all armed with torches and pitchforks.

Obviously, that's not what happened but the reality wasn't much better.

There were a couple people who turned their noses up at me and scoffed and sneered when they thought I wasn't looking. That was the group of players—very low in the minority—who thought I'd teamed up with Klay to pull a stunt and grab some attention. Those were the players who didn't know me.

Another group, far larger in number, was in the neutral zone. They weren't sure whether they believed what had happened or not. Not that I blamed them. The only real "evidence" was that recording of Klay's.

Then there were the last two groups. Both of them believed I was Ghost. I wasn't sure if it was because of the recording or my screen name, or if they'd talked to some Creatures or a combination of all three. Either way, they were convinced that I was once the Creature called Ghost. But the difference between them was that while one group of players was halfway between "respectful-distance-keeping-I-won't-space-invade" and "holy-cow-you're-Ghost-you-have-to-tell-me-all-about-it" the other group was terrified of me. There seemed to be an equal number of these of players everywhere I went.

It was getting frustrating. Why was it such a big deal to everyone? So I was freaking Ghost, that was in the past! I wasn't Ghost anymore! He was dead. Gone. So why did it matter so much to them?

When I asked Sarah she just shrugged and said, "Because we never knew Creatures could die? I dunno, Kaz. Maybe it's because of that. Or maybe it's because they know what you can do. And what you did."

That answer hadn't made me feel any better.

And I was starting to get angry. At first, I'd been able to ignore them all but that had only lasted for about ten minutes. After that, my temper started rising. So I was a freak, so I was genetically mutated, so I had been Chaor's blood-covered pawn, so what!? I wanted them to stop staring and whispering and leave me alone. I was trying to forget it all. Why couldn't they get that?

"Eeeeaaassssy, Kaz." Peyton patted me on the back as I hunched my shoulders against the whispers of some other players walking past, "Down boy, down."

"You're so hilarious." I muttered darkly, scowling at the table top between my tightly clenched fists.

"Maybe you should just port home." Sarah offered but I shook my head,

"No way. I'm not running away from them, they're just stupid." I felt eyes on me and glared over my shoulder. A couple of younger players squealed and fled the Port Court. I faced my friends again, "Besides, I like hanging out with you guys. It's those morons back there," I jerked my thumb in the direction the players had run off, "That manage to piss me off."

"What about Perim?" Tom asked nonchalantly. A cold finger of dread dragged itself down my spine and I turned my gaze on him. He raised one shoulder and then dropped it, chewing on the end of the straw that was poking out of his milkshake.

"I'm not going back to Perim." I said.

"Oh come on Kaz," Tom slammed his nearly empty cup down on the table top. Peyton and Sarah glanced at one another but did nothing. Tom kept talking, his eyes on me, "Look, we'll just port to Kiru City and you can help out Bodal in the Arsenal with me. No harm done. I've already talked to Maxxor and you're pretty much under his protection; he won't let anything happen to you." When I still said nothing, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Just…give it a shot, Kaz. Please?"

"Stop giving me puppy eyes." I grumbled, "You look so pathetic." He stuck out his lower lip and made a huge pout face, "Stuff it, you. Fine, alright, as long as you freaking shut up about it already."

"Victory!" Tom cried, making a "v" out of his fingers and jabbing them in the air.

"And your victory means you can buy the tickets for the movie tomorrow." I responded, "Also the popcorn. And the candy. Oh, and the sodas."

Tom scowled at me, "You are a cruel, cold-hearted piece of work."

I laughed, "I know."


Song: "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" by Relient K

Again, my language. I made it up. Do not steal it or you'll regret it. Anyway, for anyone who cares, this is the whole song (yes, I did make it up):


"Upon my return, I'll set fire to the ice, watch the world burn, and cry in victory.

Rain can never put out the fire burning in my soul. And the earth can never stop the spread of power that I hold.

Upon my return, I'll take what I want, grab stars in my hands, and cry in victory.

Drink deeply your spirits, my comrades-in-arms, for tomorrow we go to war again."


Or at least, that's a very literal translation. Some of the words have double meanings but this is pretty close to what it says. Let me tell you, making up a language is not easy.

Meh, that's all I got. Next chapter…KAZ GOES TO PERIM! Or does he…?