My Name Is: Psychic

Chapter One: NUKE! Oh- wait nevermind...

Author's Note: These first few chapters will be boring, but important. It is rated R because I accidentaly clicked it, it is actually only PG-13, although chapters will have bloody violence. Thanks for reading and please give feedback in the comments!

One 

           The wet, gross dirt clumps kept on falling on me. The mud was soaking in through my thick, heavy clothes. There were twigs knotted into my short, dark hair. As I clawed against one side of the ditch, I put my leg up, pushing it into the mud so I could climb. I fell back, doing a reverse somersault into a giant flaming rock. I suddenly felt hot, and I ripped of my sweatshirt, leaving it to burn along with most of the soggy dirt on it.  

               Tugging on my right leg, I managed to lift it up to the top of the crater. Shoving my hand through the surface, I pulled myself up. Now I was screaming in pain, crawling to the nearest person. Not sure if they were alive or dead. I was crawling through mud, dirt, and sharp rocks with nothing but a pair of slacks on. No shirt, or shoes, or anything else. 

            The victim was a man. He had a ripped up grey T-shirt and shorts, and the other half of his leg was buried under a small rock, but at this point all of us were too weak to even lift that. Then I thought about him, or it. That evil thing wasn't even worthy of being called a man; or a human; but he was. Not the man that was a victim, no. Another man; a different man. 

    I closed my eyes and focused. I could sense him. We were outside, of course. Along with some dead trees that were either on fire or they had been cut in half. There was a little hut out at about a few yards from us. No one was in there, it had been blown to bits, just like a few body parts I saw lying around. 

         He was around the corner, but I would have bled out by the time I reached there. Just then, a mysterious man came up behind me. He had a goatee and long orange hair with white highlights; what a freak. "Give me your phone!" I shouted in his direction. Then he came fully into sight. "No!" he yelled back. I was getting mad. "Now!" I screamed. He kept shouting back no, and I was tired of it. I grabbed my gun out of my pocket and shot him. He didn't die, but he dropped his phone. I crawled towards it and eventually snatched it. 

I dialed 911 fast. "Hello, this is 911 what is your emergency?" the operator asked. 

"A bomb, big one; came down; lots dead; come fast." I said, stuttering with about every word I said. 

"Where are you?" they asked. 

"Middle of nowhere; somewhere around Jane Hill Park. You got to get here quick, my leg is paralyzed, and one of my feet got blown off, and I'm losing feel in one of my hands, I'm shaking!" 

"We'll be there ASAP, hold out as long as you can!" said the operator. Then so began one of the longest waits of my life. 

               I crawled to a rock and leaned up against it, sobbing. I was scared. I slowly felt my life fading away. I was starving, and very dehydrated. I crawled over to a creek and drank some water from there. It had mud and motor oil in it, but it tasted like heaven to me. Eventually the cops and paramedics got there, and I was dying. I was cold and shaking, my body temperature dropping to 77 degrees Fahrenheit. Now both of my legs were paralyzed, I was puking from starvation, and I was so dehydrated I didn't even know what to do. I couldn't speak nor make noises. I was in shock, and my life was going. 

                      Days later I found myself in a hospital room, and I felt perfectly fine. I was hooked up to many machines, and I had my foot again. I yawned and stretched, and then something odd happened. As I lifted my hand, a glass of water flew across the room and fell to the floor, breaking. I was hoping water hadn't gotten that detached to me. I never figured out what happened to the other guys, or where the bad man went. Although, wherever it was, I could still sense him vaguely, and it gave off spooky vibes that nobody would want to go near.  

                         I had a slight case of amnesia, but I quickly got my senses back. My name was Miles Rain. I had short, shaggy black hair and usually wore a T-shirt and jeans. I never wore a hoodie again, because I was very superstitious. I was 15, and had a girlfriend. Then again there is also that part where I was an orphan, because my parents died in a car crash when I was barely a week old. I went to a foster home, and got put up for adoption. Nobody wanted me because of my bad rep as a troublemaker. So I ran away, and that's when the bombing happened. What really sucked is that it was on my birthday. Yeah, my 15th birthday. 

                          Sometime that week my girlfriend ended up coming in, and we talked for a while, mostly about my past. I guess she thought I was a serial killer, or druggie or something and I was keeping it secret from her. No murders, or marijuana, just dead parents. Then she got all sympathetic, and trust me, it SUCKED! I hate when people think my life is a sob story and they have to feel bad for me, it's just plain annoying. I'm perfectly fine with being alone! She had long blonde hair and a nice voice. She had ocean-blue eyes and she was very sweet, kind, and not bossy; good enough. 

                                         About a month later, I was still recovering in the hospital, even though I felt perfectly okay. That is, for a while at least. Until I found out I was getting put up for adoption again. If I would've kept that gun, I would have literally shot myself. I found new parents in about an hour though, what luck! Sarcasm. It was an elderly couple who never had children. They were very sweet, and I acted respectful at all times, I'm not that bad. 

All was well until the 17th of January. That is when everything collapsed. Secrets were told, and tragedy struck. Literally.