The Rebel

The Rebel <3>

Okie dokie so the song on the side comes into play later on in the chapter and the links I posted in the comments below are pictures of Bobby's house if you're curious. Also there is a link to the BIO CHARACTER page where you can look at the pictures of the new people I'm introducing along with their background stories. I didn't put pictures of the KH/FF Characters though b/c I feel y'all are more familiar with them (: Anyways, enjoy this chapter!

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The dark red color seeped from the walls. You watched from a few feet away as it dripped onto the ground staining the surrounding dirt. The bloodshot lines formed a large badly drawn rectangle with a star in the middle. It covered the entire front of your home. Your hands tightened into fists around the plastic bags of food you carried.

You were all too familiar with mark drawn onto your wall. It was the mark of shame, of disgrace, of destruction. How many times had you painted this same symbol on the wall of a house in hopes that gangs would raid the home until it was nothing but four walls? Too many to count. Maybe this was just karma coming for you after the years of hiding from it.

You could only assume it was painted on by Ivy. She was pissed at you and to get her revenge she doomed your house. You don't stay in a house that's been marked. Especially if you live with an eight year old girl.

After taking a deep breath you walked into the house in hopes to salvage what you could. The door was broken open and you stepped inside to see your belongings scattered around the room. Furniture was overturned, glass was broken, clothes were ripped. This was the exact reason why you kept your personal belongings on your back. The same couldn't be said about Madison's items. You looked into her suitcase, which was also her storage space, to notice her clothing articles were either stolen or destroyed.

You threw the suitcase aside in anger before taking a deep breath. Quickly you stood and examined the area. Even her few toys were gone. Fury continued to boil away in you as you sifted through the room gathering anything that could be saved. Finally, you stuffed everything you found plus the groceries in your bag and left the house without a single glance back. That was the last straw.

It was a long walk to the other side of the slums, but you finally arrived at the familiar car graveyard. Decrepit cars sat on top of each other and around the area in broken piles. Metal rusted off to the side with grass growing between the parts. Singer's Salvage Yard was the place old cars sat after they were long dead. The owner occasionally fixed a few cars, but not many people could afford them today. Besides, too many people were scared of the owner to come within spitting distance of the place.

You stomped up the dirt driveway to the front porch of the two story, rickety old house. It was made with love many years ago, but the years had rotted the house away. You lifted your fist and banged on the front door.

The wooden porch felt like it could cave in at any moment. There were no bars over the windows like most houses had in this area, but rather a salt line could be seen from the inside.

The door swung open and you were greeted with a shotgun in your face. You held your hands up half-heartedly. "Will you ever greet me without pointing a weapon at my face?"

"Will you ever show up at my door without a new injury?" The deep, rough voice barked back. Bobby lowered his gun and you gave him a forced smile.

Bobby Singer was in his mid-forties with dark blue eyes and sandy brown hair. The top of his head was covered in a dark blue baseball cap. Under the hat were sideburns that connected to his short beard and goatee. He wore a t-shirt with a plaid button up over that and a red vest on top of it all. His jeans had grease stains at the knees and his boots were worn. In general he looked like a grumpy old man, but you knew his rough exterior hid a warmhearted man. Not that he showed it often.