• Chapter 1: Pieces of empty wrappers.

    Pieces of empty wrappers flew by, skipping on the bumps of gale as the cars sped through the intersection. The smell of burning rubber, pizza and cigarettes cursed the air into a giant bundle of city-scent, which was like a cheap paint sprayed on a new car. Every store seemed to be the same, side by side selling things that will eventually kill you in excess. The city of San Reyes brimmed over with instant gratification in which they called life. I've heard over a hundred times that a fast life is a good life and if you disagree, than you have no life. I guess I'm not alive. I consider video games, comics and cartoons a good life, but I'll never grow up. At least thats what my family says. Which is what brings me into the city in the first place.

    If you were raised in a suburban neighborhood and you have a bright mind, you quickly realize that the only reason the grass would be greener, is because it's knee deep in cow s**t. To have the "perfect life" of a wife and kids in a big house, would mean you would be kissing someone's a** for the rest of your life. Me, I'm not like that... it's not for me. Though I wouldn't exactly say that the city is for me either. But it's the same no matter where I end up. You get this feeling that nothing is real. Everything you do ends up in vain because every question goes unanswered. You're constantly played with by the upper-personnel, who run circles around you by giving vague answers. And you take them and consider them solid. Nothing in the world is solid. Because what may feel solid underneath, will always have cow s**t, just waiting to break.

    I've never looked at myself as a person, but rather as a mind with a vessel. Most people are vessels that carry a mind, but anyone who thinks like me can tell the difference, the few that there are. There are always questions constantly coming up in my head that I can't answer, nor do I want to. But yet when asked by regular people, there always seems to be an 'reasonable' explanation. All the answers are quickly filled in by religious, monetary, or emotional contradictions that people let run their lives. But there's no proof of those answers. There's no proof you're here. There's no proof that I wrote this, or if you're just imagining the words on a page. There's no proof I'm here. Why am I here...?

    And as the ding of the crosswalk rang, the light changed to the little walking man and a school of downtown veterans swam across the crosswalk in a stir. I walked at my own pace letting the rush push by me, looking at me like I'm some kind of zombie. Yet they are the ones who are mindlessly walking across the street, governed by the walking man. When they cross, they cross because they are told to. When I cross, I cross for my own safety. Once I reach the curb I walk a block down, past the rundown shops and alleys full of garbage and junkies. I always seem to arrive at "The House of M" a newly renovated comic store which is my home away from home. It's a homely little shop full of nerd memorabilia, comics and more nerd stuff. I always prefer to keep to myself, because I know that if anyone talks to me, I'll be stuck in a conversation of "who's better". And obviously Magneto is always the winner... at least in my books. Magneto can control the magnetic fields on earth. He can intercept any psychic thoughts, electric current activity and he can gravitate. And his thoughts on mutants being a superior race is very easy to connect with. It's survival of the fittest.

    But I digress.

    As I walk in, I see a couple of people too engulfed in their books to look up and the current shopkeep at the counter. The store has 8 employees but I can only name one. Imran is really the only person I talk to in the store. An Indian guy who's very flamboyant and reads a lot of Yaoi, but is very tall and husky. We connect on many different levels because we really get into the characters of a book and our extensive knowledge of life is quite unique. He's a clerk who usually gives me a free comic or two whenever I buy one and suggests most of the comics I read. I never really thought of him as gay, though. I don't like to care about another person's sexuality, or even as a sexual being. It just never became a curious factor of life. You have sex, you get a baby, unless you use condom, unless it breaks. Simple and easy.

    "Hey, back for some more reads?" Imran ripped himself away from his dirty Manga as I walked in.
    "Yeah. I finished number's 152 to 175 of the Uncanny X-Men. I need some more to tide my over for the weekend" I walked up to the counter to see him smiling at me, devilishly.
    "Did I not tell you? Mystique and Destiny are totally gay for eachother!" He planted his head in the palm of his hands and wrested on the counter, his face 4 inches from mine.Okay, so maybe he is a little gay...
    "I guess... I don't know. I was in it more for the story. I'd hate to have Destiny's power. How boring life would be." I moved a bit back and pretended like that didn't happen and then began browsing around the little store.
    "I know what you mean! To know the future would be horrible! It would leave out all the spontaneity in life!" Imran's eyes followed me through out.
    I picked up a couple copies of "The New Mutants" comic, which was my pleasure. The series of teenage mutants that weren't turtles intrigued me. I guess in my own way, I could connect because when I was that age, I was an outcast as well. I think thats what turned me to comics... or the other way around. The comics might have been what made me an outcast.
    "Some more 'NM'? You really love this, don't you?" He rang it in and slipped it in the bag looking at each cover.
    "Yeah, it's got a great set of characters." I grabbed the bag and gave him the 11.95$ that it came up to.
    "Here. Issues 176 to 180 of the Uncanny X-men. Read it and text me later. You won't be disappointed!" He grabbed my hand and slapped the comics in them and gave me a little wink.
    I walked out of the store and leafed through them and then I figured out why he winked. My favorite character of all time was now in the Uncanny X-men; Shadowcat. Kittie Pryde was my favorite because she has the ability to walk through walls, which is the only ability I've ever actually wanted. Having the ability to go almost anywhere would save a lot of time. I prefer this over teleportation, because teleportation would be impossible without creating a blackhole. The only way you could transfer from one spot to another in the same timeframe would be to create a rift in the time-space continuum and either stop time or slow it down to mere fractions of a nanosecond. But moving at a regular speed would create a rip in space, creating a blackhole.

    Again, I digress.

    As the dings of the bell from the door of The House of M rang I started to move, Zombified like the rest of the downtown crowd, reading my comic. I came to another crosswalk and to my surprise I had gotten a text message. It read:

    "Hey, this guy just came in and bought almost the exact same comics as you! I think he likes you!"

    I scoffed at the message, but still regarded it. At least it was still in proper English, rather than the texts that I get from other people who claim to be literate. It's just a waste of time. What I didn't notice was that as I was crossing the street, the light had turned green half way through. A car came barreling down like I wasn't there. I froze in fear and didn't know what to do as the two giant eyes of the car blinded me in the middle of day. My face quickly lost blood and became cold and all I could think was 'I wish I could walk through walls right now.'

    Luckily, the car came to a stop. It was a black sedan with tinted windows and worn tires. A man stepped out of the car, wearing a plain black suit and tie. He walked towards me and then stopped and picked up a comic.
    "You dropped this. Watch out next time, okay Adam?" And then got back in his car and drove around me slowly, smiling and then sped off. Cars were honking from behind, waiting for me to cross, but I was still in shock.

    Did he just say my name?
    How does he know my name?
    The questions came back, by the millions as I staggered off of the crosswalk and became Zombie once more. I got home and just laid in my bed and waited for the morning to come. I tried my best to forget.