Part 1 - Origin

I looked into the night, as a nearby alarm went off. It was Tuesday. Or was it Thursday already? I always messed up my days and dates. Not that it mattered now. I slowly walked towards the alarm and let out a sigh as my long black hair got caught in the wind and was blown behind me, revealing hair that started to spout quickly. Although it wasn't hair. It was fur. My fingernails hardened and elongated, my lower arms got covered in the same black fur as well as my back and triceps, all the way to my shoulders. I even grew a short tail out of my tailbone. I made a hoarse sound, more unintentional than anything before I charged at the robbers. They were soon put it place. But not like it mattered. My mind has brought suppressed memories back into the full front of my mind and I should take a break from this heroing. Not like I thought it mattered. It was what my superiors at the ACS told me. That I needed a break. But doing this heroing kept me in their good books as well as me distracted. Well, I call it heroing and I often hear them call me a hero but, thinking back I never really was one until these people took me in. Soon I sat in a room with a reporter across from me. I felt like I was watching a movie at the time. I apparently started to give half assed responses and after a while got to leave. I went to a store got myself a package of cigarettes. I got my lighter out and opened the package with one hand and threw the plastic wrapping and paper covering into a nearby trashcan as I lit my so-called coffin nail.

I managed to catch a breather. I got my headphones from my bag and turned them on. I started to listen to some 'Untz Untz' as most people would probably call it, myself included. I yawned as I went towards the part of town that looked like an utter shithole. I walked through, ignoring all the trash that laid around, the people smoking next to their kids and poorly patched up cars. I threw my ciggi on the ground and stepped on it to extinguish it. Not soon after I got out of that small part and unlocked the door to a skyscraper or at least that's what most people called them. It was only a six-story building. I never understood the name skyscraper. These buildings touched the fucking clouds. These were far off from that but skyscraper was still a better name than high-houses. I entered the elevator and tapped the panel to go to the 6th floor. If my mental space had been better, I would have used the stairs but I neither had the endurance after having smoked nor the motivation after all these memories...

These memories. The memories of 10 to 15 years ago. Memories of a suicidal and shut-in teenager. A male who prayed for death that would never come. At least I got my superpower from it, some may consider it a good thing. I noticed my daydreaming had distracted me for a while as I noticed that I was already on the top floor and the door had opened. I opened the outer door of the elevator, turned left and let the elevator door fall close behind me as I unlocked the door to my flat. I don't need much. Never really did. I basically watched myself take my jacket, a trenchcoat, off and hung it up. I took my military style boots off and went to my room. I changed, not even bothering to turn on any relaxing sounds on my tablet or brush my teeth. I just got into my pajamas and fell into bed, starting to relive my life and recap what happened since middle school. Thinking about the several times I almost died.

I rolled over, thinking I would have to call Dr. River, my psychiatrist, again and ask for an appointment. But for now, reliving everything could help.

I quickly entered the six-story building and hid behind the glass door. I was crying, tears running down my face as I put my schoolbag in front of me. I noticed my bottle wasn't in it. But I was not going to go out there again. Not while they were there. I caught myself and grabbed my bag. I slowly went to the elevator but decided for the stairs instead. It would give me extra time to think about how to hurt myself today in a way my mom wouldn't see. I slowly went up the stairs, the group of kids yelling outside was heard but when I was in the third story their voices were muted. I was young, probably around eleven or twelve. I had already debated self-harm, not like I had hit my arms and legs, maybe even, accidently fell over or down two or three stairs.

I soon reached the 6th story and unlocked the door. I entered and took of my shoes, yelling a hello into the flat. I started to fake my happiness and went to eat. Not like I ever paid attention to what I ate those 3 years. I just ate to not upset anyone directly. I mostly forced it down anyways. I then retreated to my room and fell onto my bed. I turned on a console and started to escape my misery until I had to go to bed, not like I would lay in bed until midnight unable to sleep.

The next day I attended classes but was soon pinned down after classes by the group of bullies. I never was the most popular guy nor the best looking. I always looked younger than the others and was shy and back holding. I had tried to befriend them when I got to the middle school but I just talked myself into this by trying exactly that. The biggest one that approached me first was Noah. He was a slim guy who mostly wore camouflage-patterned clothes or black. He had a few other guys with him. They yelled contradicting things at me just to get their message across. Not like it mattered. I saw one of my older friends jump in as well. He destroyed me with one sentence: "After this I think Chris will cry himself to sleep every night."

I was immediately taken back months to thoughts I had pushed out of my head.