My name is Seven. It's a weird name don't you think?
Why are people with number names are always chosen. Eleven from stranger things was chosen.
I mean I don't know about her, but my name has a meaning behind it, according to Celestial and her brother, Castiel.
Cool right?
I dont know what I've been chosen for.
I was told to keep it a secret.
But I'm no secret keeper.
But I can tell you this:
I think I have a theory on what the hell is going on.
I was supposed to be named Seth, which meant city of angels.
City of angels!
I am trapped in someplace I'm supposed to call home.
When I first realized where I was, I thought I was dead and going to heaven which explains all the angels and other crap I must explain later.
But Cas and Elle told me two things, one I can tell, one I can keep.
The tell... I was chosen.
For what? Thats a keep.
Don't you think its creepy to sleep in your own bedroom, then wake up in a whole different world.
I thought it was rude of angels to do that.
They're scarying me. I mean I am a full grown man I shouldn't be scared of angels WHEN I BELIEVE IN THEM.
I came home to my apartment where I live by myself. My parents kicked me out. I don't think my sister and brother remember who I was anymore. My brother is seven years younger than me, and my sister is ten yeas younger than me.
I was kicked out about two years ago today, February 26th, 2015. It wasn't that bad being kicked out. Staying there felt like a trap, prison, all about isolation unless its a holiday.
I broke a VERY strict family rule, and to be honest I meant to do it so I can finally be free. My siblings loved it there. They were living as if it's Christmas everyday. As if there is no tomorrow.
Just wait till they grow up they'll want to leave just like me. And by grow up I mean after twenty years old. Terra is still young, and Symon got a couple years left before their own purgatory. Purification. To become the perfect child. My parents were nuts.
I didn't believe their term of Perfection. I was supposed to drive my mom around the neighborhood just to shove it in their faces that their son is not being a teenage thug and actually does what his mom wants him to do.
That's not right.
That's not perfection.
On one night after the football game I WASNT supposed to go too since , you know, isolation and all just so no one does something to change me. To make me rebellious.
I came home drunk, with a pack of smoked cigarettes, and a black eye. Need I remind you I was eighteen. My parents refuse to believe that was me. I actually tried to kill them, but I was drunk. My parents were never drunk, they drink carefully. That's why they thought I wasn't being myself. They think everyone is supposed to be like them.
I mean I don't blame them. It wasn't like a transition, babysteps. It was a sudden full on sneaking out of the house, getting home drunk and miserable.
I keep wondering to this day what my parents were thinking about their own purgatory and how they were probably like, "let's make our children freaks just like us. "
Coming back at this..
I kinda wish I was named Seth...