Good evening to all, friends and enemies alike. The following is a random beginning, a story of immesurable proportions that you shall only see the beginning of. Read before you judge, and judge before you leave, because judgement makes the world go 'round.
All who've known a crazy person know that to say 'no' is not an option. They also know that crazy people don't stop at 'crazy'. They go beyond all expectation, they even go beyond the expectation of expectation itself. The zaniest of them are locked up, but a good deal of them go under the radar, and cause mischief for all who know what they are looking for.
Me, I wasn't sure what I was looking for until I found her; she was my drug, my opium, my sweet sweet relief from the pain of the broken. She came to me in yellow, for what other color would contrast so gayly with her remarkable hair? She came barefoot with a small black kitten in her arms, unheedful of the traffic around her, unruffled by the moped speeding towards her.
I've always believed myself to be a gentleman, a hero, and a doer of good deeds. But faced with a small girl in danger, a kitten in her arms and an angry irishman on her heels, I honestly wanted to keep walking. I wanted to go home and forget all about this crazy incident, make some oolong and relax in front of a nice National Geographic. Two seconds later I was rushing into the middle of the street, telling myself that rushing into the middle of five o'clock traffic was normal, even sane; a swerve here, a honk there and I was through. I finally looked at the girl in yellow and decided she was much older than I'd thought. Of course I'd thought she was a young girl, with her strange outfit and her long, flowing, purple streaked hair. In actuality she was almost my age- her late teens at least. Her kitten was oddly calm, even purring. The girl was staring straight at it, her mouth moving over and over again in the same pattern. Skye. It would be days before I would figure the correct spelling, the 'e' on the end eluding my prior knowledge.
She shifted slightly: her left arm moved up, deflecting my arm from grabbing hers- her right foot moving forward into a kick that I, her prospective hero, would've never expected. My training kicked in and I grabbed her foot, twisting it with a flick of my wrist. I stopped myself before I broke her knee with my other hand, and used the forward momentum to scoop her up by the waist and run the other way. The angry Irishman swore as he got cut off by another livid car and it's driver, mere feet from me and the girl. I kept running when I got to the other side, ducking behind Joe's Bar and Grill, stopping only when I hit a chain link fence. I dropped the girl and lifted up the spot I'd gone under countless times before, gesturing for her to go first.
"Why are you helping me?" She asked, her deep blue eyes momentarily softening. I thought about that for a moment: why was I helping her?
"Because I'm a sucker for kittens." My answer didn't seem to please her and her eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she ducked under the fence, getting mud on her elbows as she did so. On the other side she adjusted her hold on Skye, revealing a large silver locket against her merigold dress. She gave me a worried glance before saying: "I can walk on my own, thank you."
I nodded before instinctively walking towards my secret place, my home away from home. Little did I know she'd never leave, she'd stay there enchanting the wild ferns. How was I supposed to know that I'd become completely and utterly dependant on her, to the point where I'd rather watch her stare out into the sky than be petted by my rich, loving step mother? That I'd spend the days whittling away while she stayed fair, her purple streaks growing darker and darker, her teeth longer and her mind sharper? That before I knew it, I was old and weak while she was young and lithe.
Her cat would prowl and gave off a sickening mew before she swooped in and stole the life of anyone, of anything. She wasn't evil, I kept telling myself; she just needed life to live. Before I'd even realised it, I was that life.
All who've known a crazy person know that to say 'no' is not an option. They also know that crazy people don't stop at 'crazy'. They go beyond all expectation, they even go beyond the expectation of expectation itself. The zaniest of them are locked up, but a good deal of them go under the radar, and cause mischief for all who know what they are looking for.
Me, I wasn't sure what I was looking for until I found her; she was my drug, my opium, my sweet sweet relief from the pain of the broken. She came to me in yellow, for what other color would contrast so gayly with her remarkable hair? She came barefoot with a small black kitten in her arms, unheedful of the traffic around her, unruffled by the moped speeding towards her.
I've always believed myself to be a gentleman, a hero, and a doer of good deeds. But faced with a small girl in danger, a kitten in her arms and an angry irishman on her heels, I honestly wanted to keep walking. I wanted to go home and forget all about this crazy incident, make some oolong and relax in front of a nice National Geographic. Two seconds later I was rushing into the middle of the street, telling myself that rushing into the middle of five o'clock traffic was normal, even sane; a swerve here, a honk there and I was through. I finally looked at the girl in yellow and decided she was much older than I'd thought. Of course I'd thought she was a young girl, with her strange outfit and her long, flowing, purple streaked hair. In actuality she was almost my age- her late teens at least. Her kitten was oddly calm, even purring. The girl was staring straight at it, her mouth moving over and over again in the same pattern. Skye. It would be days before I would figure the correct spelling, the 'e' on the end eluding my prior knowledge.
She shifted slightly: her left arm moved up, deflecting my arm from grabbing hers- her right foot moving forward into a kick that I, her prospective hero, would've never expected. My training kicked in and I grabbed her foot, twisting it with a flick of my wrist. I stopped myself before I broke her knee with my other hand, and used the forward momentum to scoop her up by the waist and run the other way. The angry Irishman swore as he got cut off by another livid car and it's driver, mere feet from me and the girl. I kept running when I got to the other side, ducking behind Joe's Bar and Grill, stopping only when I hit a chain link fence. I dropped the girl and lifted up the spot I'd gone under countless times before, gesturing for her to go first.
"Why are you helping me?" She asked, her deep blue eyes momentarily softening. I thought about that for a moment: why was I helping her?
"Because I'm a sucker for kittens." My answer didn't seem to please her and her eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she ducked under the fence, getting mud on her elbows as she did so. On the other side she adjusted her hold on Skye, revealing a large silver locket against her merigold dress. She gave me a worried glance before saying: "I can walk on my own, thank you."
I nodded before instinctively walking towards my secret place, my home away from home. Little did I know she'd never leave, she'd stay there enchanting the wild ferns. How was I supposed to know that I'd become completely and utterly dependant on her, to the point where I'd rather watch her stare out into the sky than be petted by my rich, loving step mother? That I'd spend the days whittling away while she stayed fair, her purple streaks growing darker and darker, her teeth longer and her mind sharper? That before I knew it, I was old and weak while she was young and lithe.
Her cat would prowl and gave off a sickening mew before she swooped in and stole the life of anyone, of anything. She wasn't evil, I kept telling myself; she just needed life to live. Before I'd even realised it, I was that life.
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