CHAPTER 1
As I walked down the slippery, icy, snow-covered sidewalk, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I mean, would you not feel the same if you were suddenly thrown into a position where you had to fend for yourself and constantly look over your shoulder for danger? Welcome to my world. The world of a fighter, but not just any fighter; A wanted fighter.
Born into a family who spent their wealth on useless and unneeded items, I have learned a few tips and tricks when it comes to saving and managing; budgeting basically. I hated how much they would spend on useless items and clothing which they had enough of. Constantly asking for wardrobe extensions, complaining that it was too small when in reality they just had too much. It sickens me to no end, yet I sometimes wonder why I didn’t turn out just the same as my mother and aunts. After all, they were raised in a life full of privileges and an abundant supply of money and toys, yet they never really appealed to me. I think it’s because I grew up with a bit of sense in me. (Thank god for that too.)
Half of the stuff they often bought would be left untouched; destroyed by moths and dust.
Wasting money for pleasure that was limited and short-lived was their specialty. Never would they wear the same clothing for more than two seasons. After that time was up, they would throw them out to a charity and brag about it during formals, galas, balls, and banquets.
That gradually lead to our destruction and therefore eviction from the mansion to a small two-story house in suburban Alagoruan, Michigan. I know it sounds dramatic but so was my mother. I’m just not so sure what went down with my father as he wasn’t really present in my life.
It has been a long journey to stand where I am now and it wasn’t easy. I still have many traumatic and struggle filled memories that I try not to think of.
Glancing behind me, I made sure no one was following me then turn towards the direction of my apartment.
As a street fighter, I have a lot of opponents that want me off the record. Completely. With my stone-cold body rotting in an alley where only unwanted rats and garbage lay. And even though my identity is unknown, I don’t want to take any chances.
Particularly because the route I used today to return home from the gym is eerily calm and dull.
As soon as I get into my apartment, I walk towards my bedroom, grab a fresh change of clothes and then round over to my bathroom. Turning the shower on to room-temperature I stip my clothes and get in. I am absolutely exhausted from the intense workout at the gym; the warm water runs down over my hair and back relaxing my sore muscles. After about twenty minutes of scrubbing, lathering, and conditioning, I step out with a soft towel cloaking my naked body and grab a t-shirt to encase my curly copper-colored hair.
Lotioning up, brushing my hair then applying some oil to the scalp, and taking care of my dental hygiene, I grab my black-rimmed glasses and leave my hair out to air dry as I walk over to the kitchen to grab my double shot espresso from the fridge. I trudge over to the couch and pull out my laptop to record the day I had, the tasks I completed, and what is left over to do. I also write a mini journal then log out.
Just as I do so, I hear the shattering of glass towards my right, and then almost immediately feel a sharp pain in my right shoulder. Using my sofa and a pillow as a shield for cover, I scrambled up as quickly and carefully as possible to make a run for the emergency exit I had installed in my bedroom closet.
