Life of a Grimm

Questioning Life

 I stand up. This boy seems wondrous to me. No one has ever been able to see me, and out of my years of working as a Grimm, I had never encountered such a thing. 

 The boy smiles at me, obviously happy about . . . something.

"Tell me. Can you see me from your right eye?" I ask.

He closes his left eye, squints at me with his right, and shakes his head. "Nah. It's so strange to--"

Oh no. 

 I jump in the way as a school bus comes around the corner, knocking the boy out of the way. For a slight minute I feel. . . Well, as if I was hit by a school bus. The bus turns another corner, but doesn't stop. The pain fades, but I'm still dizzy. I stand and watch as the boy just stands there, his mouth wide open. "Close your mouth. You'll catch flies." I say, chuckling to myself.

 "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?!" he screams. People turn to look in his general direction. 

"Calm down, Walker." 

His face goes blank as he realizes I had called him by his last name, then it turns into fear, and then it wipes itself of any emotion. He walks over to me, gets on the sidewalk, and sits exactly where I had been. "Who are you, really? . . . Are you some sort of stalker?"

 "No, I'm a pedophile." I shoot calmly.

 He gives me a glare of disapproval, decides I had been joking, and remains calm. "Just . . . Don't call me by my last name, okay?"

 "Sure thing, Michael."

 He laughs. "Do you know everyone's name?"

 I shrug. "Practically."

 A thought comes to my head. I don't hear Michael's last question, but instead the gears in my mind start to churn. 

 I glance up at the rooftop of an abandoned building, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing . . . But wait. The barrel of a gun. The Deathray of Angels. 

The Deathray of Angels is a double-barreled gun that would be fatal if put in the wrong hands. It's blast is powerful enough to kill a Grimm, and I sure as hell know to stay away from anyone with that in their grasp.

 I yank Michael off the sidewalk by his shirt, half-dragging, half-running with him, shouting for him to run. I only barely hear his angry protests over the roar of an exploding mailbox to my right. When he watches the chunks of metal hit the street, he runs faster. A few people scream, scattering away from the mailbox as they look at a half-blind kid running from an invisible force. Cars and trucks stop on the road, a chunk of metal hitting ones' windshield.

 I curse under my breath as another explosion happens right in front of me, blowing the car on the road to bits. Whatever kind of assassin they hired, it was not a stealthy one. "COME ON, YOU'RE KILLING THEM!!" I yell over my shoulder, dodging the flying metal and flaming skeleton of the car. As we're about to pass an alley, I grab Michael by the arm and throw a bright red ball of fire to the concrete beneath us.

 We teleport to a large room with black walls, a sofa, bed, TV,  table, and matching red chairs. There's a fish tank behind the couch filled with plain old water, but sadly, no fish. They had died last winter when I tried to feed them. Not that I overfed them . . . I'm just not the type of person to be trying to keep any organism alive. Which is why I'm questioning why I dragged Michael with me, when, I could've just run. I guess something in my mind was telling me, 'This kid is special. There's just something about him. Keep him around, you'll see.' Little do I know, I'll be telling him this later on in our journey together.

 He has a bewildered look on his face. "Where are we?"

 I sit on the red sofa, turn on the TV with the remote, and say in one word; "Hell."