The Definition of Insanity.

Chapter One: Settling.

There are three things that I keep locked in a vault in the back of my mind: my brother leaving, my mother crying, and the catastrophic event that caused those things to happen. I don't know the combination to the vault in the back of my mind.

Frightening, I know.

What's even more frightening is that I've discovered that other things have that combination memorized backwards and forwards, and those things are just waiting for the right time to put it to use.

I took a deep breath...the way too familiar breath that I take after something bad happens to me.

Bad things are always happening to me.

I looked at the pile of debris that used to be my house. I gave up trying to piece my house back together in my mind like a puzzle. It was impossible.

I wish that I could say that I frantically searched through the debris to find all my personal belongings; all the things that I hoped and prayed weren't destroyed.

Unfortunately, all those things are kept in the trunk of my car, in a hidden compartment underneath the crappy car-floor carpeting. The reason I say 'unfortunately' instead of 'fortunately' is because I hadn't lived in my house long enough to get attached to it. I've never lived anywhere long enough to get attached to it.

Mom was probably freaking out, though she always does an exceptional job at hiding it. But every time something like this happens, Mom takes it as a sign and tells me to start packing the car. Packing, meaning I just place our two suitcases in the trunk of our Honda CRV, the only thing that Mom and I have ever gotten attached to.  However, she won't be able to tell me to pack the car this time, because our suitcases were destroyed by a devastating tornado after we've lived in Oklahoma for two weeks.

       I sighed, and I took in the warm color of the Oklahoma sky, shining like it hadn't just betrayed us. It wouldn't be the first time.

       I heard the engine of our car, and I turned around to see Mom, standing the strongest she has ever stood. She walked over to me with her arms crossed as she took in the surroundings that I had just soaked in moments before.

       "That didn't last long." I broke the ice.

       "Two weeks. Gotta be one hell of a record." She said, shaking her head.

       "Where to next?" I asked. My mother's lips pursed in hesitation.

       "Chicago."

       "Chicago? Are you sure?" I asked, only slightly angry, raising an eyebrow at her.

       "We have family there," She added, "It'll be nice to see some familiar faces."

Familiar faces...? Not to me.

       "But Chicago?" I asked her one more time, my voice growing louder, "Third most populated city in the country and most recently named 'Murder Capital of the United States'?"

       She nodded. I didn't ask again.

So we move and move and move again like gypsies, like it's in our nature, like it's in our blood. We leave behind acquaintances. We abandon everything but each other. Its standard, unspoken procedure.

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When we reached the city, it was about 1:00 am. The skyline gave me shivers. The bright lights radiating from the tall buildings made up for the lack of stars in the sky. Colors of red, green, orange, and white blended together as they reflected of the lake.