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CHAPTER ONE
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-BROKEN CLOCKS AND BEDS FROM IKEA
BIRDS chirped in unison around the apple trees, and the emerging sun - ablaze, similar to lukewarm honey, glowed gently, kindred to a candlestick regaining its resilience from the passing wind.
The birds whistles, it's distinct tune of laughter : a sing-song cacophony of mismatched rhythm that resulted, fascinatingly, in a united choir of symphony pleasing to the ears. They hung from the jagged branches of the towering trees, unaware of the wind teetering in its prissy stupor, gently brushing the scattered leaves inches by inches.
A breath of fresh air it was, the smell of damp earth in the early morning dew and the bustling murmurs of the city starting to wake. Rustling, tossing-
Everything was ruined, when the alarm clock initiated its heinous assault. A noise that causes panic in the hearts of those who hear it. It continues to blare its siren loudly, disrupting the peace of the early morning - in an erratic, repeating fashion.
A surge of wind whipped everything in the little bedroom aside, cluttering the objects against the other side of the wall in a rancid succession - the coffee table upturned, clothes flew around as though there was a 5 grade tornado, pencils and rulers pinning the walls like mere throw darts - followed almost instantly by a loud deafening bang.
Blinking at the ceiling, you felt your fist balling and your arm outstretched with what you would assume as fume, or smoke emanating from your fist as a result from the explosive aftermath. Slowly, you unclench your fist, vision blurring like glassy camera lens, head spinning from the leftover sleep in your eyes.
When you cock your head to look in the direction of your punch, you were surprised to see that the poor clock had been lodged into the ground.
Broken and smashed in a pool of cogs and bolts.
The seams of your forehead crease. You might have to buy another one, that is, if your local store receptionist would restrain from demanding a reason why you barge into his shop daily for a brand new unsmashed clock to withhold.
At this point, he is prompted to to stash them inside a high tech vault, hidden far away from the depths of earth , every time he'd as much as notice the familiar molecular matter of your existence, waddling in front of his shop.
Though, you mused at the very thought he would bring himself to clutch the clocks against his chest mama-bear mode, with a predatory snarl as though they were his children.
You squint to take a second look.
"Ah..."
• • •
YOU hoard from the bed, more like crawled, four legged cockroach fashion, since it's not necessarily a bed is it when it's legitimately a garish, economically, low-cost almost five bucks mattress bought from Olive Garden slapped to the ground of your room in impotence. Angularly tilted to the side like a misplaced Xbox console, your shabby mattress - if you were to admit proudly- is like no other mattresses you found from the scraps of Walmart.
Similarly of the Harry Potter to the Mazarin Stone ( p.s not a Harry Potter fan here, never read it), the soulmate of the soul, the prophecy of the chosen hero.
This was better.
A polka dot loving abominated mess, a coalescence of Hello Kitty and Ben Ten combined to the max, with whatever variations of it's genetic rip off counterpart could add ,much as so provide , to the full extent.
Fortunately, you plucked it out from the nearest IKEA warehouse (dumpster diving could be a synonym) and not only you forgot it's leg existed but you wasted a tad more money on a toad painting you couldn't help but feel enlightened with its presence known.
Footsteps padded the cold marbled floor, you glance to the mirror, eying the pajama pants that pooled around your knee, shirt tucked in the most obscured fashion that even David Bowie could be proud - and your hair?
You might want to thank Bowie again for the style.
You sigh, scratching your head - or the warbled mess on your head that could no longer grow but stay passed your chin you called your patch of hair.
Pixie style.
You wanted to be a hero when you were a kid. You worked to the point you could obliterate anything with a single blow, and even if that didn't seem impressive enough for a 19-year-old, you don't know what is.
The problem was, even if you were able to carve a planet hole crater into the crust of the earth, lodge a universal middle finger to the galactic cosmos, destroy someone's balls by accident - what fun would there be when, above all else that could be taken from you, you couldn't feel anything?
Your emotional development is nothing but agnate to a cold, crass, tasteless pop tart. You felt empty and the pigments of every colorful burst of sentiment held within your core are diluted amidst the vacant seams of dread.
Not in an emo, "I hate everyone I want to kill myself and everything - FUCK YOU"way, it's more like when you saw a really funny picture on the internet and tried explaining it to your friend, and instead of an animated response from such picture, all you get is a plain, "heh, that's funny"response, then cue the stoned face of a person who didn't get it all.
You were a rock, a mere shell, and inside is a hollow space.
When you were still a rookie, when a monster appeared, the sudden burst of adrenaline always excited you, and the outcome didn't matter as long as you enjoyed it.
Now, it feels like a chore. Again and again, you mop. Again and again, you sweep. And again, you bleed - not physically, but mentally. You'd finish the showdown with a splattered burst of explosion, feeling disappointed with a single punch.
And that lead you to Jasper, an equally boring, devoid barren land with nothing but probably dead bodies of old people strewn across the dry rocks of Nevada.
That last one was personal.
"Time to start my usual morning routine i guess."
• • •
"Wait!-"
The decrepit bus sped away to the far distance, wheels creaks in agony as ur drags itself across the road.You had your arms outstretched, pleading as though to call out for the vehicle, pointed fingers accounted to nothing as it continues to fade away, disappearing lastly by the minute traffic light.
That was the last of it. That fucking bus.
Growing aware that your outburst had attracted attention from the surrounding people, to your chagrin, your arms retract and your shoulders sag. The bus stop clearly hates you, and as you stood there, the noise begins to clear off, and not before long you realize - people were already setting off to work.
It was almost time to work, and yet you're the one who's at the starting line. Damn that clock.
Japan was no different from Jasper, unless if monsters were suddenly plunged upon it -then, yes it could be similar. By that "could" equals to " zero to no thanks", however if imagination serves you right, considering the endless void of enternal doom that could suspiciously hide aliens in any nook or cranny it could provide, you wouldn't wanna take chances, do you?
Not even a bet.
You turn around and slump yourself on the bus bench, drumming the railings in thought.
I mean look at those mountains. Surely an alien wouldn't mind living there? So cozy, you could basically tear it apart and build a hundred grand villa from scratch. Even if you were capable of obliterating aliens or monsters for that matter , you felt too oppressed by the animosity everyone had instilled in you.
Join the hero association!
Join the monster association!
Join this, join that.
It would've been more better if - your achievements had been acknowledged at all.
How foolish of you to think that doing another set would resulted you this late. On the other hand, there was still that mess from the explosion; you didn't realize how much time you've taken until you notice that the streets were busier than usual. No, you were mistaken, not busy, just - empty
You stood up and decided that sulking like a little wuss wouldn't do, so you opted for another choice. Too lost in thought for your own dismay, a little boy bumps into you.
The blue baby bottle from the side of his pouch fell on the ground with a clack. Both mother and son, you as well, stare at the cylinder as it painstakingly rolls to bump your feet.
You grin, a little careless, hunching over to grab the bottle. "Ah, sor-" She ignores your effort to explain, snatches the bottle and walks off, heels clicking the pavement in a rancid fashions. The little boy turns back though, his round sparkling eyes shone pity, and he waves goodbye with a small smile.
The wind high fives your outstretched hand, deserted of your earlier kindness. It droops down to your side. You smile at the boy, but he disappears within the flock of people. Again, the crowd was beginning to disperse. It was getting desolate. You sigh, a crease on your forehead, your eyes lay pinned on the ground in dejection.
"Man, this sucks."
• • •
Maybe, if I could jump over the houses...
A sudden glint had made you stop, tilting your head in reflex you spun around as a knife was pointed at your eye.
"Money, now." The man leers, brandishing his knife, too skillfully you noticed for a homeless person to posses.. "If ya hadn't known lil' princess, there's only you and me here." He jerks his head, reminding you about the unfortunate situation. You were also surprised, looking left to right. How did they all leave so fast? What...
"if ya' wanna live, better make it quick." His voice lowered an octave.
Confusion mottled you. You tilt your head to the side, squinting your eyes at the man.
"Can you stop blocking the way?"
"W-"
"I just missed the bus, " you continued, irritated. "And look, nobody likes physics class okay?"
The man glared as you looked to the sky, face scrunched in deep thought, careful to word your thoughts without coming out as careless.
"This is my first day so I don't want to leave a bad impression on the teachers and my... peers, if that's the word."
You shift your weight to the other leg. "I hope you can understand, we can do this later, alright?" You droned, looking around your shoulder, turning back to face him once you realized you were alone. Stupid, you are alone.He doesn't look like a monster. Harmless, he can wait,
The old man was too stunned to speak. Do what later? He shakes his head. "Ma'am I don't think you understand the situati-"
"Come to think of it, I think I forgot to buy notebooks again." You swung your bag to your best, zipping it open. "Shoo, i need to think." You gestured him to go away as you took out your binder. "I'm gonna have to waste my lunch money again. That's just great Right- where did my wallet go?"
The man clenched his teeth, grip tightening around the handle of the knife.
"Hey!" He sneered, but you were still rummaging through your bag to find your wallet.
He tried to get your attention. "I used to be in the special forces you know!"
Like that was something impressive . "I tried cpr on a cadevar once."
His ears tinged with red, his grip tightens around the knife, chest bubbling with fury. "How...How does that relate to anything?"
A box fell out of your bag, you retract your hands in both surprise and triump. "Candies. Sweet."
Your ignorance had only aggravated him further.
"I'll show you what I'm capable of, brat!"
On his toes he darted towards you at immense speed, l knife ready to hack away at anything that was your flesh. Eyes trained on the ingredients of your 2 months spoiled milk you recently discovered, you extended your hand and simply flicked his forehead as he neared. His eyes widen for a fraction.. A gust of wind exploded out from the contact. A force of god, a tornado, tsunami - heck, even Zeus couldn't compete with the amount of strength that flick mustered. It propelled him into someone's car with a comatose induced dent like a crater on the side of the road.
The alarm went off and it started blaring loudly. Even the clouds above parted from the blow.
"Found it!" You said triumphantly waving your wallet in the air, that is you realized your opponent was missing. "Huh?"
You glance to the groaning man whose eyes are spinning in circles, then glanced at your watch, a frown etching your face.
"oh shit."
Two minutes late isn't that bad, right?