Which says murder most foul.

Intro to a new beginning...

I remember to some degree why our father had decide to place upon our heads such eccentric names (Alex and Ajax). It had something to do with my mom! I don't have many memories of her, dad had spoken with me about her sudden disappearance as being the result of their broken affinity. However as a child I question whether there was another rational explanation. The more I had thought of the matter the more elaborate and perplexing the story dad had told got. Recently I have come to terms with the fact that as it was a story viewed with a bias perspective some key element may have been absent. Still, something that struck the curiosity inside like lightning, was her job. On several occasions I recall asking permission to find what mum did when she wasn't at home. The consistent response was always "I WILL TELL YOU WHEN YOU GET OLDER!" Dad had a colossal hope for the both of us; Ajax and me.

(Alex's perception of the bother)Ajax- I used to believe he was a bad guy although he real isn't. Nevertheless I cannot forget the experience of meeting the shy, timid boy that grew to be the husky, brutish man that stood in front of me. He and I have a rather intricate tale but still I will never be distressed about the emotional pain he has inflicted on me as he disowns the fact that I am in any way, shape or form, related to him. I just long for the day that he may stop to hear my side of the story. Although sometimes it stings that I have been so unjustly accused. Nevertheless I earnestly wait for the day that he is willing to accept me as a valued member of his life.

The ring of the phone at the end of the corridor made as light tingle appear, which soon tunnelled through my back. For most this sensation is what may be referred to as 'shivering'; for me however it was just my body trying to adjust to the daily routine of waking at the dawn of day and preparing breakfast. It was sensation that often disappeared after the manifestation of the sole individual who refrained from judging me for my ragged cloths rather than the kind of person I am. He is my best friend from kinder garden (nursery), Nikkei; out of love we all named him Nicky. He always had a strange fetish for the name Artemis; it often offended his mother. She is a short ginger haired individual with glasses that are too big for her. Despite her cruel introduction to newbie's, she often tends to warm up to everyone. Her instincts are rasher sharp. To be completely honest her tendency of showing compassion for my situation often pisses me off. I guess somewhere along the line she blames herself for not protecting me after dads death.

Coming back into animation , I returned to the eerie room with the phone as silent as a murder scene . It then proceeded to erupt like a distended dormant volcano until the intensity of the ringing got to those that were downstairs . Whist straining myself to arrive at the lavishly embellished kitchen , I went passed the usual sites : a painting that dad made for the both of us , a normal downward spiralling staircase (decorated with a aquamarine turquoise colour carpet) and the solemn bay window looking back to a garden that we had no possession over. Dad was accustomed to referring to the window as a door (made of the finest wood) to the past; it seemed to be constantly changing even in the same season. The painting on the other hand, was a masterpiece in its own right. At first it hung of the ceiling like a weird gateway to another galaxy but over the years it slowly migrated to a reachable distance. On the canvas was an art form often referred to as cubism. It displayed an image of a disarrayed tree that looked remarkably customary .

At the kitchen, I reached to cook the normal breakfast of roasted nuts , dried fruit and pancakes with a cup of coffee for step mom and a light yogurt, fruit smoothie for myself . Even though, they are barbaric with the insults, they still cared for my needs and nutrition. "Time for school !"

The school was any typical modern high school completed with the most nauseating individuals and is to this day filled to the brim with the latest form of mean girls. The topics that the students pick for masters were dependent on their prior academic success and their scholarship into the grammar school. Each individual had at least three or four things that they are fluent in, varying from their social skills, intelligence, ethnicity, appearance, athleticism, talent or simple their wealth in a truly materialistic way. The vast majority came from well heeled backgrounds often sprinkled in with the few exception. More often than not, the treatment of the individuals varied depending on topics such as race , culture and disability. It sickens me to believe that in this day and age some people are still so pessimistic about trivial matters that have otherwise been solved. What a revolting revelation! I guess some people are just unwilling to change; even for the greater good.