Gone

Chapter 1

"ALEXANDRA MCKELL!" A voice thundered. I looked up. And went right back to examining my scarlet nails.

"ALEXANDRA! DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?!" The voice screamed. Very annoyingly, might I add.

"Yes, Mrs. Ron. I heard you loud and clear. How can I not, WHEN YOU ARE SPEAKING AT THIS VOLUME?" I answered the irate red-faced ugly bat of a woman infront of me with the tone they use for crazy people to tell them to calm down. She practically swelled with anger, her face blotchy and her arms akimbo.

"PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE! NOW!" She shrieked, jabbing a crooked finger in my direction.

"Jeez. Calm it. Or you'll get BP. You know, if you haven't already..." I muttered and picked up my bag. I breezed out the door, hearing my classmates' loud sniggers and comments of appreciation. I slammed the door shut behind me and strolled down the empty hallways. Yes, me. Alexandra McKell, Alex for short. I'm the typical troublemaker. You can tell with the naturally red hair and quick cat-like green eyes. I also have tanned skin from doing various odd jobs in the heat of the sweltering afternoon. You see, my parents and everyone I have ever known are either dead or have disappeared. I have no one. So I simply crash my way through life. Who cares about others? I cared about my parents and look where it ended me up in. Love is for the weak, I tell you.

"School, these days...." I mutter as I head towards the principal's office. I was in high school. More like purgatory. Me being sent to the principal's office was so common, if I earned a cent each time that happened, I would be a millionaire by then. Money. That was another issue. I earned enough to feed myself and have the daily necessities by working in Starbucks. If I wanted a luxury, I did odd-end jobs to cover it. The only reason I was even in school, is because I wanted to survive later in life. I had nobody. But that didn't mean I wasn't anybody. I was Alex, the typical troublemaker in school, who has nobody, steals, cheats and does graffiti. Who cares?

"Hey, John," I greeted the principal, John Smith, casually. We had seen each other so much, we were on first-name basis.

"Hello, Alex. What did you do?" He asked me, not even looking up from his papers as I entered his office without bothering to knock.

"Didn't pay attention in class. The norm," I replied off-handedly.

"You should at least try..." he began half-heartedly. We both knew it wasn't going to work. Usually, I would patiently sit through his nonsense but today I wanted to do more graffiti.

"Look, John. I need to do something. Could we pretend that you finished preaching me already? And let me off early since there's only five more minutes of school hours left?" I asked him curtly. I wasn't one to beat around the bush. He stared at me for a moment, sighed and nodded his head resignedly. "Sure, Alex. Just....take care, hm?"

"Sure thing!" I chirped sarcastically. He rolled his eyes as I left the stuffy room. I sauntered past the school gates, my long strides cocky. Once I made it to my 'home', I dropped my bag to the ground and looked around.

Basically, my 'home' was an abandoned little cottage near the cemetery where my parents were buried. I was the only one at their funeral. The living room consisted of two windows, a coffee table, one small couch and a small bookcase. My few books were there. The kitchen was bare except for some cupboards and a microwave. The only other room served as a bedroom, with a medium-sized bed, a cabinet, a wardrobe and a small bathroom. I had no prized possessions and everything in the house was either bought with hard-earned money, stolen, found or cheated out of. Either way, it was mine. Even though the paint was peeling, the wood chipped and the air stagnant, it was the nearest thing I had to a home.

I quickly opened the cabinet and took out the bag of arsenal graffiti paint. I changed into my 'painting' outfit which basically was a black jacket, a black tank top, a pair of black skinny jeans and a pair of black slim stylish heeled boots. With my experience, I didn't get paint on my hands and didn't make a sound even with my high-heeled boots. It was these skills that were helpful when I worked under the cover of the night, vandalising property. Yes, I vandalised under the name of 'The Shadow'. I only did it to people who wronged me or others. Of course, I was never caught and nobody knew who 'The Shadow' was.

"Let's do this!" I cheered. That day, I was planning on an exquisite piece on my dear English teacher, Mrs. Ron's house. Why, you ask? No, not because of her sending me to the principal's office. It was because she had pocketed the wallet of a mere twelve-year old when she knew who it was. Even adults do crime.

I slung the bag with the paints over one shoulder, checked the zip of my right boot and went out the door into the evening.

Time to get my paint on...