Blood Bound

Chapter 1: Mugged

The world is a horrible place.

It is no longer the happy, green little planet that dinosaurs were privileged to own for a brief amount of time. No amount of sugar can coat it anymore. Pollution paints our lakes, oceans and land a crude color and we, mankind, are to blame for that. If that isn't bad enough, the newspapers are littered with articles about war, random shootings, crimes, poverty and downright lousiness. Every day at 8 o'clock sharp, the news reporters have new material about any newfound horrors and broadcast it to the world and we eagerly take it in, consuming it entirely like a greedy child hungry for its piece of cake. We should be in shock but in reality, we're not. So much has been happening over the years, so much information about various horrible events is being broadcasted to us, that we slowly but surely are becoming uneffected by them.

Especially in my hometown of Anchorage, Alaska where news about another war starting in the middle east or another violent shooting happening in the Midwest has become part of the daily routine. With the highest crime rate in the country, who would still be surprised about another murder or a missing person here and there?

Media, casual conversations and even books only speed up the process of desensitization of violent acts. I have to admit that I too don't become as upset as I used to as a child whenever I hear something horrible has happened. Just like the changes in the weather, it has become a part of my daily life.

This has ruined the joy of watching horror movies, for example. When life around you is so violent, I no longer feel the excitement when a person is brutally impaled by a harpoon. The impact of it though, of that person's death really gets to me emotionally and I usually lie under the covers for hours, petrified of falling asleep and becoming another victim of the harpoon killer. I might as well be the cowardly lion and join Dorothy on the yellow brick road. . .

Violence in general, though, doesn't agitate me anymore. It happens all around and I know there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I know as I have seen those acts of violence happen to others and also to me.

I don't know if I had it coming. I mean, I know I'm not the prettiest one out there as I don't dress up in the latest fashion. I just don't know what would suit me and fashion in general confuses me, I mean, what's really up with crop tops? Even the girls here in Anchorage wear them in the middle of winter! Fashion is just too much of a bother which is why I stick to basic neutral colors and comfy clothes. No skinny jeans for me, I prefer ones that will not constrict my  blood circulation, thank you very much! I never wear any makeup because it would just give me pimples and I have always suffered from low self-esteem issues which is partly due to my quirks. I call my OCD tendencies quirks as a means of coping with them. At least that's what my shrink tells me. . .

Okay, let's face it. I'm a pretty clear target. Might as well draw a big red circle on my forehead.

I've had these quirks since I was small and they in turn were tiny to begin with. They didn't really bother me until one of my classmates laughed at the claps that I do whenever someone praises me. The teasing from the other kids kind of escalated as more of my quirks surfaced. They either found them highly amusing or very annoying.

You know how bullying starts? Usually it only takes one person to make it happen. It can start off small; one kid throwing wads of paper when the teacher isn't looking; whisperings and talking behind one's back. The girls in the class were really talented at that. I even learned some new adjectives and nouns thanks to them! But when that doesn't give the bully some satisfaction, if you're not miserable enough already, it can become physical. That was the boys' territory.

 I was ten when it reached the high point. It was shortly after P.E. I noticed that the girls had all showered pretty quickly and exited the locker room in such speed that it was as they still thought that we were doing a 100 metre race. I was left all alone and anxious. I knew something was up; the girls, Veronica Mathers in particular, had been eyeing me carefully throughout P.E. and talking quietly amongst themselves. I skipped the shower alltogether because I wanted to get the hell out of there and get back home, into my sanctuary. I was in the middle of putting my pants on when the boys entered the locker room.