Wolverine : the apprentice

Flashbacks

Chapter one :2008/2009

I always knew I was different, I never fit in, I had no friends. I was the lone wolf, the ADHD,

ADD, dyslexic, OCD kid that you either thought was a joke, or you were scared to death of. After

the third grade, the joke was gone, things got a lot more serious...

In third grade, I was on the wood chip playground running away from a bunch of bullies; I

was way faster than they were, and WAY smaller. I was making good ground when one

particularly disliked by me punk jumped out from behind the slide and punched me in the face. (

Who punches an eight year old girl?! He grabbed a wood-chip and stabbed/drove it into my

forearm. I screamed in pain ( which none of the teachers paid attention to ) and fell to my knees.

With my damaged arm tucked away, I started to get dizzy and leaned sideways. I caught my self

with my arm and quickly snapped out of it. I looked up with vengeance and fire in my eyes. I

stood up and in one angry, disgusted look I shoved him out of the way and he fell on his butt. I bit

my lip and yanked the oversized splinter out of my skin. I walked a few paces and looked down at

my arm. The rest of the playground that had gather around to watched me get pulverized gasped.

My wound disappeared. The teachers would hear nothing of it. I instantly was elected everyone's

favorite punching bag. That year I learned that being nearly invincible doesn't mean stuff doesn't

hurt, it just simply means nothing can kill you.

Chapter two :2010/2011

Two years later, after fourth grade I moved. I no longer lived in Covington, Georgia, I was in

Oconee, Georgia, home of education and snobby rich kids. I was still bullied, but these kids were

weaker, they used words. I had convinced myself that this would be a new start, no one would

know my secret, I was however incorrect. I had actually been doing well, averaging two or three

fights a week, half way through the year things took a turn for the worst. I was still the 4'7 kid who

weighed 60lbs. I was called Shorts and Feather.( their are a few other, much worse names that I

don't feel comfortable repeating.) One day on the playground some kid thought it would be very

humorous to grab the chains on my swing while I was at the climax of my range of motion. I was

propelled up and out. I skidded across concrete and I stood up to go kill this kid. I knew I made a

mistake the second I turned around. My shirt was ripped up and my arms and legs were saturated

in blood.( As was the pavement) But of course, I immediately began to heal until the wounds

disappeared.

"Crap." I said with a roll of the eyes and annoyance in my voice.

"H-h-how?!" the kids began to stammer at different times.

I ran. I didn't know what else to do, I sprinted to the darkest, most deserted corner of the

playground and cried. I had been sitting there for about five minutes when I heard a voice.