Warfang [(Book One)]

Chapter One

Hi. I'm Nathan. My friends call me Nate. My brother calls me loser. But I guess he's right sometimes. And that was a crappy start of a tale, wasn't it. Well yeah, I'm Nathan. Nice to meet ya. I'm just a normal 17 year old kid. Well, sort of normal. Id be lying if I said otherwise. But yeah. Enough rambling. Born on July 18th I grew up with a brother, distant father, and a loving mother. And I miss them a lot. It's hard living on your own without a family. Trust me. I would know. I've been on my own for quite a while now. I traveled for a while. But funny to say, I finally settled on a small town in Maine. Cool huh? Yeah it's pretty boring. But the small town gives it simplicity. I shack up near the beach, it's beautiful out there. Anyway, I'm rambling. Let's get down to business.

I was born into a less than normal family. But then again, who isn't. Life was good until I lost my mom and brother in a break in. Some guy broke in the house when I was a kid. Dead of night. I was in my room of course, but I sleep under the covers usually. And given the fact I was so small, the burglars didn't see me. Not only that. I was too scared to move anyway. Between the shuffles and my mom and brother shouting at them. It's a lot for a kid to process. One second they were yelling, the next, the house was dead silent. So, being the ballsy little kid I was, I climbed out of bed, grabbed my red plastic bat (my dad used to coach me to play baseball. He was obsessed with it) and went downstairs to find out what happened.
Long story short, I ended up in a foster home in Lima Ohio. I lived there for a while. Tried being the best kid I could be. They said I was weird, but I was special. Of course I didn't know what they meant by that. After a while, around 13, things got bad there. My foster dad was an alcoholic. One night he came home hopped up on a little too much happy juice. My mom was in the kitchen making dessert for me and my foster sister Thalia. There was an altercation. I stepped in, taking all the hits he meant for her. It hurt, but I knew it was the right thing. But with all the shouting and the violence I went kind of crazy. My mind shut down and I was that scared little kid again. Hiding in his bedroom. Too scared to ward off the attackers. I lost my family once, and I didn't want to lose it again. I picked up my plastic bat and swung it into his gut. When he bent over to catch his breath I introduced his head to the counter. The counter doesn't like making friends apparently. Long story short, a therapist said I had some sort of adrenaline reaction. It's supposedly some form of PTSD. My foster dad, Frank, was in the hospital. And I was never treated the same. They put handicaps on me. Treated me like a baby. So one day, I just ran off. I lived on the streets for almost five years. It became pretty easy. I was holed up in an abandoned house outside of town (in Maine that is). Apparently the owners just up and left. Something about it being haunted. I thought it was beautiful. A large two story Victorian styled house with a pointed roof and attic window, with an obsidian paint coating to top it off. It was like living inside a geode. Dark on the outside, but the inside was bursting with color. Red carpets, multicolored tapestries, all violets, blues, greens, like a painters paradise.
But that's enough for now. June 27th, 2008. The house went off the market for good. What with the aftermath of the great recession ruining the real estate market. I enlisted in a local private high school and here I am. A somewhat normal 17 year old kid trying to figure out how to pass his final exams. What a fun tale right?