Demon Years

Interesting Beginnings

"What the fuck is this thing?"

"Maxine Angelus Tenebrarum Hunters! You watch your language!"

Max sighed at her foster mother's sharp tone as she stood in their tiny kitchen looking down at the ripped black hoodie. The style is bad enough,up until the fact it was covered in a few stitches and looked like it was taken from a homeless man. "Diana, I can't wear this to school. It's..." she paused to think real hard of a word that wouldn't get her grounded for life- "hideous. If anyone sees me in this, I'll be an outcast relegated to the loser corner of the cafeteria."

As always, she scoffed at her protest. "Oh shush. There's nothing wrong with that shirt. Mary Ann told me at the Goodwill store that it came in from one of those big mansions down in the Garden District."

Max ground her teeth. "I'd rather be a delinquent no one picks on."

She let out a deep sound of aggravation as she paused while flipping bacon. "No one's going to pick on you, Maximilian. The school has a strict no bullying policy."

Yeah, right.

Jeez. Why wouldn't she listen to her? It wasn't like she wasn't the one going into the hell hole everyday and having to traverse the brutality of high school land mines. Honestly, she was sick of it and there was nothing she could do.

She was a massive loser dork and no one at school ever let her forget that. Not the teachers, the principal and especially not the other students.

Why can't I flash forward and bypass this whole high school nightmare?

Because her foster mom wouldn't let her. Only hoodlums dropped out of school and she didn't work as hard as she did to raise up another piece of worthless scum- it was a harped on litany permanently carved into her brain. It ranked right up there with:

Be a good girl, Maxine. Graduate. Go to college. Get a good job. Marry. Have lots of grandbabies and never miss a holy day of obligation at church. Her foster mom had already road mapped her entire future.

But at the end of the day, she loved her foster mom and appreciated everything she did for her.

Sighing in useless angst, she looked down at the crap sweater she wanted desperately to burn at the steak. Okay fine. She'd do what she always did whenever her foster mom made her look like a flaming moron.

She'd own it.

I don't want to own this. I look like epically stupid.

Man-up, Max. You can take it. You've taken a lot worse.

Fuck it. Let them laugh. She couldn't stop that anyway. If it wasn't the shirt, they'd humiliate her over something else. Her shoes. Her haircut. Her looks,down to the point where if she even looked at a woman,they would call her a dyke. Didn't matter what she said or did, those who mocked would mock anything. Because at times, people just seemed to be wired wrong and they couldn't feel happy unless they were making other people suffer.

Her foster mom set a blue plate on the side of the rusted out stove. "Sit down, baby, and eat something. I was reading in a magazine that someone left at the club that kids score much higher on tests and do a lot better in school whenever they have breakfast." She smiled and held the package of bacon up for Max to see. "And look. It's not expired this time."

She chuckled at something that really wasn't funny.

Picking up the crispy bacon, she glanced around the tiny condo they called home. It was one of four that had been carved out of an old rundown house. Made up of three small rooms- the kitchen/living room, her mom's bedroom and the bathroom- it wasn't much, but it was theirs and her foster mom was proud of it so she tried to be proud too.