Prologue: Waking Up
“Where-Where am I,” I moan, placing my hand on my head. “Where-What is going on?”
Opening my eyes for only a second, I had to shut them when a bright light blind me.
Shielding myself and rolling away, I drop onto some bags of trash and rip them open. Now, cover in trash, I push myself up and look around.
“An alleyway? What am I doing in here?
Feeling weak, I lend against the wall for support. Taking a few deep breaths, I then try thinking back to what happen before. However, as I try thinking back, a weird pain creep into my head. At first, it was small, like an itch, but as it grows, eventually it become too much.
“Stop,” I scream, falling to the ground, my hands squeezing my head. “Stop! Stop! Please stop!”
Tears breaking through my close eyes, I was beyond thankful when the headache stop and I could see again. Despite the headache begin gone, I still feel sick. I feel like throwing up. My arms and legs feel like they’re on fire but also like they cover in ice.
Pushing through the pain, I crawl up the wall and move against it as I walk toward the exit.
“Almost there,” I say, everything becoming a little better. Breathing in and out for a bit, I push myself off the wall and very slowly wobble out. The second I step out of the alley, I look around to see where I was.
“I’m--I’m in a city. What am I--What am I doing in a city? What city is this?”
It begin nighttime, I couldn’t really see much. Surround by what looks like abandon buildings with words painted on them, empty streets, and more trash, I look around for any sign of help.
“Hello! Hello! Is--Is anyone---Is anyone here! Please help me. Please.”
The headache coming back without warning, I once more drop to my knees, my hands back on my head. Growling, I thought about bashing my head against the ground in the hope that I could kill myself. Luckily, before I could get off the ground, the pain once again just stop.
“Did you hear that,” someone says, coming around a corner. “It sounded like someone screaming!”
“Yeah,” someone else reply, “Come on, let’s go!”
Hearing some footsteps, I smile and yell.
“Over here! I’m over here! Right here! Please.”
Waving my hand in the air, I was glad to see two men run right toward me. A fat one with an orange beard the first to reach me, he knee down and help me sit upright.
“Hey Chris,” the fat one says, “It’s a kid.”
“Yeah Peter,” Chris says, kneeling down in front of me. “What’s a kid doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“Who care,” Chris says, pushing me aside and reaching into my pocket. “I’m starving! Let’s see if he had any money!”
“What the--,” I scream, pushing Chris away. “Get away from me!”
Shoving Chris to the ground, Peter himself then kick me in the head, knocking me to the ground.
“Come on,” Peter says, helping Chris back up. Once up, the two then try to rob me. While struggling to get away from them, Chris grab me by the shirt collar and punch me hard in the head. Falling back down to the ground, I couldn’t do anything when the two reach into my pockets.
“Got anything,” Peter asks, pulling out my jacket pockets.
“No,” Chris reply, tossing away some pieces of papers he found. “Just trash. More and more trash.”
“Trash,” I thought, looking at the papers as he toss. “I--I need those. I need them! Get away from me. Get away from me. Get away from me!”
Feeling something build in my hands, I pull back my arm. Getting Peter’s attention, I ram my hand into his chest. As I did, Peter all of a sudden jump into the air!
“What the hel-,” Chris says before I ram my hand into him. Screaming as he slide back into the alley where I woke up, I look in time to see Peter hit the ground.
Feeling more angry than relieve, I push myself up and walk to where Peter landed.
Moaning, groaning, and holding his head as I walk to him, I then stomp on his chest as hard as I could. Screaming and coughing now, I place my hands around his head.
“Nnnnooo,” he beg, looking me in the eyes as I somehow did the thing again. Firing from my hands, I turn away and walk to Chris.
“What the hell,” I scream, clutching my chest. “What did the kid hit me with? My chest! My chest!”
Lending my head back, I yell at the night sky. Lowering my head, I thought I saw Peter standing at the end of the alleyway. Waving my hand at him, I yell.
“Peter! Peter! Get over here! Help me up!”
“Help you up,” someone else repeats, the voice sounding nothing like a human. “Help you up? Help you up!”
Stomping his way toward me, each steps shaking the ground, the kid pick me up with what look like no effort at all.
“Help you,” he says, sounding like a growling dog. “Like I needed you to help me!”
Shaking me, I grab at his hand and try to pry myself free, but his grip was like iron. Out of options, I try punching the him.
Screaming when I hit him, I look at my hand. Seeing bright-red bumps all over the knuckles on my fist, I then look at the kid. His face didn’t even look bruise.
Pulling me down until I was face-to-face with him, he places his hand on my forehead.
“No,” I say, waving my hand. “No! No! Please! Don’t! I’m sorry! I’m sorry we tried to rob you! Please! Please don’t kill me!”
Staying quiet for awhile, his hand still on my forehead, the kid then spoke.
“Where am I,” he ask, pulling me closer. “Where am I?”
“San Francisco,” I reply, "We're--You're in San Francisco, California."
Staying quiet again for some time, the man look around for a bit, before turning back to face me.
"Thank you," he says, pulling back his arm. "And really sorry about this."