The Ishtar Chronicles: Book 1: The Start of the End of The Beginning

Last train from Phoenix to wherever the Hell she's From, Now Departing.

Mainly: P A U L L A Z A R

Hi, so let's start off here. For those of you who didn't know me. I'm Paul Lazar. Dorky name right? Yeah you're probably picturing me in some geeky red glasses and a Hawaiian Shirt, but no I'm 18 and repeating a senior-year at One of Phoenix, Arizona's high schools. Also I'm what people call an

I N D I G O

I live in a strange world. Weird monsters, strange entities. Ghosts...like ghosts? Paranormal? That's not even the most supernatural part. Backstory, right? So let's get on with it then. I heard pounding in my ear like the bass drums of a heavy metal band. I look down at the rifle in my hands. I run through desert scrub and a sky lit by fire and stars. I trip and see a woman standing above a large gun in her hand. I scream as her hand reaches down for me. My own my phone blaring in ear.
"Shit, I'm late."
I undid the covers of an almost cover-less futon. One sheet, and almost nothing underneath. In my very bare bedroom save for a bed a few band posters, a bean-bag, a bed, and of course nothing but conspiracy research, takes up a very large portion of the wall, but aside from that spotless. Oh great so this is how we're doing it. Right, I grabbed my jacket of a bare hook in the wall, and keys for my adoptive dad's old Willy's. I grabbed my smoothie shop uniform off the dresser, barely folded. I work at smoothie place to pay off my private school's debts, which adoptive parents are very unhappy about and which they establish consistently. I mean two hundred a month. I don't need that, but like it's a good school. I know military, but buck up the cash? I opened the door onto the shag carpet, and wood-paneled half-stair/half-hallway. We're poor. You get it?
I got down the stairs, "You're late Paul."
My foster father stared up at me, his army uniform on. He worked at a nearby military base. Did recon, intelligence-gathering, I didn't know what for. I didn't even know what military base. Out of every military base in Phoenix, I didn't know which one he worked at. We didn't even live on the reservation. We lived in Buckeye.
"I got it," I said, I didn't."
I ran past and plucked the extra keys out of key bowl. My foster father though a check at me, "don't forget to for your school.
"I got it."
Before we continue, may I just say my adoptive father never established who my actual parent's were. He never even established that I was adopted. I found that out myself, and it was hard to figure out. He said that I lived with him and that was enough. I didn't think so, but every lead I turned up about my parents lead no one, but I was coming close. So I also decided to go wisely around my adoptive father's back, but I digress. They had an adoption certificate, but the name listed on it sounded fake, like it was made for the certificate itself, and I never turned up anything from it. Which sucked.
But anyways, my parent's didn't care as long as I didn't question their parenting. I started the Jeep and headed out of the driveway toward Phoenix. My adoptive parent's lived just outside of the city. Why we never moved any closer I couldn't tell. The funny thing about Phoenix is people said there was always something supernatural going on with the mountains, especially when you went further into the desert. Strange things and lights and going on in the desert. I didn't care, didn't concern me. I had enough going on finding out who my parents were. I just turned up the radio to listen to fall out boy. I pulled off into the main city heading to the school that made my life a living ****.

Mainly: Paul Lazar

I pulled the Jeep into the parking lot of my school.
"Yeah dad," I said. "I'll return the Jeep in one piece...yeah talk to you later."
I hung up the phone. Parents am I right? I put my earbuds in and walked towards the school, I looked around where is everybod—
I checked my watch...*#$@ I was late. 9:30. I took off in a sprint, and ran to home room. I dodged other straggling students in the hallway who were also late. I slammed into the the classroom as a newscaster made a bad pun to the class. My teacher, Mrs. Baldwin paused the newscast, "Mr. Lazar nice of you to join us."
A girl sitting at the side of the door closed it, she stared at me. Her face made a expression that said simply, alright what's your deal?
I didn't have time to deal with it, "lie fast."
The girl snickered, the rest of the class face-palmed. Ms. Baldwin looked unamused, "If you're going to lie," Mrs. Baldwin. "You night want lie quicker than that, Mr. Lazar. Take your seat."
She ushered to a corner seat in the back, I had struggled to keep for the last semester and a half. I jotted back there and sat. The news continued, fricking biased newscast. The girl in the corner looked at me funny. I sighed.