Tanner | Tate's Son

Chapter 1

*Tanner's POV*

I walk along the edge of this cracked, withered street.

Kicking along the gravel and dirt, a layer of shit forms on the edge of my worn out vans. I should probably dump them soon.

You might be wondering who I am.

My name is Tanner. I'm 16, and I live with my single "mother". I say "mother" because she's definitely not normal. All the other fuck-tards at my school have young, fresh looking mothers. Mine on the other hand, is an old hag who refuses to get a cane (even though she walks like someone who just got knifed in the ass) and still dies her hair honey blonde every month. I'm pretty sure she adopted me. But she insists she's my mother.

There's also something else. She, quite literally, was the first one to teach me how to murder. I don't know why she did. But I'm glad. I fucking love the sight of fresh blood. It's like porn to me.

I also ask her about my father. The only thing she tells me about him was his name. Tate. I guess that's why she named me Tanner. Even though I hate it.

Speaking of hate. I'm filled with quite a lot of it. I barely have any friends, which I think is a good thing considering I have the urge to kill everyone at my school. I asked my mom if I could once. But then she got really quiet and left the room. Crossed that of my list.

My mother also never tells me anything. Not my family, not my nationality, not anything.

I step on a puddle and watch it ripple as it reflects my dark blonde, shaggy hair back at me. I love my hair. Though, my mother says it hides my "beautiful blue babies." My eyes, on the other hand.

"Tanner!" My mothers load, crackly voice shouts in the distance. She's so old, that it sounds like she's pulling out every ounce of life in her body to yell that loud.

Can she let me go outside alone for 5 minutes? I don't always have the urge to kill someone like she thinks.

Okay, yes I do. But most of the time I just don't feel like getting my hands dirty.

Blood is hard to wash off, you know?

"Yeah?" My deep voice yells back.

"Come back inside... dinner is ready."

Terrific.

On my way back home I pass that huge house that my mother always avoids. And I mean, she really avoids it. She will never even turn down the street. I'm not sure why, however. Nobody lives in it. It just rots away.

I look in the empty windows and see my reflection stare back at me.

Except when I take another step, my shadow stays in one place, looking back at me.

What?

My reflection then disappears.

I shrug it off. It's probably just the cocaine I snorted earlier. Can't go to school without it.