The Project

Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not hate Signe, Marzia or Amy. They're great people, this is just how my book goes. There won't be a (Y/N) in this story like some of my others. I'm taking a different approach. Also, this is how negative Sean would react. Not the Sean we all know and love. 

Although, Sean can't be positive all the time, it's not possible. I don't expect him to either. I know you guys don't like to see him sad or angry, but if he were to stay positive ALL the time, it would eventually get to him and completely destroy him from the inside out. 

Staying positive to avoid problems in the real world is NOT how one should solve things. It eventually becomes worse, adding onto the stress/depression. I believe that everyone should take a break every once in a while and if you're ever in a situation to where one is needed, acknowledge it and take that break. If the situation persists, seek a friend and/or family member to help you. On a better note;

Yes there will be an Anti, ladies. Calm your tits. Just because he doesn't show up right away doesn't mean he won't be in this book. You'll all be able to drink in the Anti in over twenty chapters. What is it with you guys and your fixation with him? 

Just kidding, you know I love you guys. Anyway, you can thank PsychoGenius. She sparked my creativity with this one. I loved her books Privacy, Experiments and Fugitives. You should check them out, they're really good.

 If you have any problems with this book, state your opinion. Free country ladies and gentlemen. This book is slow paced, so if you have a problem with that, it is completely okay with me. You all have different opinions that which make you unique!  By the time you read this I will have already finished the book, (or I really want to know your opinion and publish it before I'm finished.. stupid me.) publishing at random. It depends on how impatient I am with wanting to know your feedback.. Thank you for reading guys, enjoy the book~

I picked up the pen and stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. I'm suppose to write my feelings on a goddamned sheet of white paper. Have a positive outlook on things they said, things will get better soon they said. Where am I? 

In a stark white room with no windows and one door, a small bed and a desk with a rickety chair. How the fuck am I suppose to be positive when my skin hasn't seen the sun in thirteen years? 

Sure, they feed me. Put clothes on my back and fucking bathe me. Like I'm a goddamn baby. I'm tempted to shove this pen so far up their asses- Just.. never mind. I might as well write what I'm thinking about.

Dear.. piece of paper,

It all started on November 15th, oh what a normal day it was. I was only twelve at the time, down by the river behind my house with my fishing pole. My parents trusted me with a lot of things, including being by myself. Oh.. how I wish I would have stayed home.. me and my parents would have gotten crushed together. 

Now I know what you might be thinking, "Oh how negative of you, Jack!" Well fuck off, I don't give a shite. I've had enough of being positive. Do you know how long I've been in this room? 

God.. I'm arguing with a sheet of paper now. See, dear paper, this is why human interaction is needed. So you don't go goddamn insane. Anyway- I was about to reel in a small catch when I heard a big explosion- not far from our house- go off. I was too scared to go back inside.. what a selfish prick I was being. If only I would have known.. 

I could see my parents, my two sisters and brothers through the sliding door, beckoning me back inside. I didn't budge. Not one bit. Not until I saw the huge boulder being hurtled through the sky, straight toward our house. 

Now keep in mind, I had short legs back then. I was running, as fast as I could, shaking my small arms in the air trying to warn them.. It was no use. The boulder smacked straight through the roof and into the living room, crushing my parents, brothers and sisters. Their mangled limbs were gripping the carpet for dear life, still twitching even though they were dead. 

I could see the crimson red liquid oozing out into the blue carpet, staining it. I hadn't really paid any attention to my surroundings as I fell to my knees in a sobbing heap. Two men dressed in black uniforms took me by the arms as I struggled against them. 

I was shoved into the back of a black van and my eyes were shielded with a blindfold. The first thing I noticed when they were carrying me was the infinity sign on their uniforms. I found it odd and for a boy my age, I was very observant. The next thing I remember was the blindfold being taken off and me being led to this goddamn room. So there you have it. My whole life story. 

Have you fallen asleep yet, dear paper? I suppose not, seeing as I'm writing on you. It must be painful.. Anyway, I should go. It's.. time to eat. I have no way of judging time here, so I have no way of knowing whether it's morning, noon or night.

I set down the pen and got up from my slightly rusted chair, stretching my limbs. A food tray was slid into the opening under the door after three sharp knocks sounded against the metal. They always do that.. I don't know why. I grabbed up the tray and walked over to my bed, sitting down and grabbing the plastic spoon set in the groove of the plastic tray. 

I suppose they didn't want anyone trying to kill themselves with a knife or fork.. so they took the safe route with a spoon. I cut into my processed meatloaf and took a bite, grimacing at the taste. It definitely wasn't fresh, like always. Oh how I love my processed corn, meatloaf and peas.

 After I finished my awful meal, I slid the tray back under the door. I casually waited by the door, leaning against the wall and waiting for my water bottle to roll out. As if on cue, a bottle of water rolls from under the door and I halt it with my foot, grabbing it.

I twist the lid and take a small sip of the room temp water. It's funny how the only thing that tastes good around here is the thing that doesn't taste like anything. You know what I miss? Coffee. Sweet, hot coffee.

 My mouth watered at the thought and I plonked onto my small bed, staring at the white ceiling.  I haven't made a sound in eleven years, not even a word. I stopped trying after the second year mark.

I don't even remember what I sound like anymore. I don't smile, I don't laugh. Hell, I don't even blink sometimes. I've been conditioned to stay silent.

Although, there's a therapist that always arrives on my birthday.. or.. they say he arrives on my birthday, I have no way of knowing. Not even a calendar. He asks me a lot of annoying questions, boy, what I would give to wipe that fake smile off his fake face. 

I'm not sure how long I can take the silence anymore. I know I may seem content in this hellhole on the outside, but on the inside.. I'm begging to be set free for the first time in thirteen years. I need to feel the sun on my skin instead of this cool room, even for a moment. 

I swear.. I'm losing my sanity as the hours tick by. If they need me so badly, why haven't they done anything? I need to get out of here soon.. I can't take this much longer.