Fallen

+ Prologue

I can hear my roommate upstairs packing the last of his things but I ignore him. Instead, I sit on the couch with my arms crossed over my chest, sulking.

The wet, curly hair on top of my head is only a constant reminder of what a horrible day I'm having. I had to walk home in the rain and, on top of that, I was fired from my job. I mean, it's not like I really need it, but still. Just the thought of touching my inheritance money makes me feel...gross. Maybe it's because I know that the only reason I have all of that money is due to all of the tragedies that have happened in my life.

The most recent of said tragedies being the death of my adoptive parents. They were killed in a car accident when I was in college. I was sitting in class when I got a call.

"Hello, Noah Smith? I am an officer from the local police department. I'm, uh, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, sir, but your parents have been in a terrible car accident... We did everything in our power to save them, but they died on scene. I'm very sorry," the officer says.

"What?" I ask in shock.

"I'm so sorry. We are currently looking for the person that was in the other vehicle. Unfortunately, they fled the scene, but we're doing everything we can to find them..."

The officer keeps talking, but I'm not listening. I shove my things into my bookbag and quickly start to leave. The teacher scolds me for interrupting the class, but I ignore him. The other students look at me as if I am crazy when they see my tear streaked face. I ignore all of them.

After that, I fell into some sort of depressive state and ended up dropping out. I was only nineteen at the time.

And I wouldn't have adoptive parents if Tragedy Number One hadn't happened. I was seven years old when my biological parents were murdered in front of me. I shiver as I think about the day it happened.

I lay in the dark, under the bed where my mum told me to hide. I clutch my brown teddy bear close to my chest. All I can hear is my parents fighting and arguing with a man.

"Where's the boy?!" keeps yelling the man. He is tall and wears dark clothes. On his back is a pair of huge, black wings.

"We'll never tell you!" screams my mum.

My parents stand defensively in front of the bed. I watch their feet as they fight around the bedroom. I shake and cry in fear. I clamp my hand over my mouth to make sure I don't make any noise. They keep yelling phrases in a different language at each other.

I watch in horror as my dad falls to the ground, minutes later, his brown, lifeless eyes wide open. I expect him to get up and start fighting again, but he doesn't. He just lays there, not moving, not breathing, not doing anything. I notice that a pool of blood has started to form around him.

After a couple more minutes of fighting, I hear my mum yell another phrase as loud as she can. The evil man drops dead. My mum falls to her knees, right at the edge of the bed. She screams in pain as she removes a silver dagger that stabs her thigh. She falls on her side before reaching a bloody hand toward me. I finally let myself cry out loud as I hold it tightly, ignoring the feeling of her blood on my fingers.

She smiles sadly. "I love you, Danny," silent tears fall down her cheeks.

"I love you too, mommy!" I cry.

She whispers another phrase before everything goes black.

That's where my fear for the dark originated. That is also the only memory I have of my parents. All of the seven years before that night are just blank. The doctors say that it is because I have repressed all of the memories of them in order to protect myself. I don't think that is the case.

I sigh.

That day really affected me. So much so that I moved away and changed my name, Daniel James Howell, to Noah Smith. I had become known as the Howell Boy, the boy with the tragic life, the boy everyone pitied. I couldn't stand it so I changed my name to one so common that it could easily be forgotten.

The sound of my roommate walking down the stairs snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Alright, Noah, I'm leaving now," announces Nathan. He pulls a large suitcase behind him.

"Well, hope you have a safe flight. Stay safe, man," I say, bored and still annoyed. I had no idea he was leaving until earlier this week when I caught him moving boxes out of his room. It was almost like he wasn't planning to tell me at all.

"Thanks, man." Nathan struggles with his luggage and the stairs. He doesn't even notice my bad mood. I get up and walk him out.

"America, here I come!" he yells once he finally makes it out of the door. He gets into the waiting taxi without even looking back. The taxi quickly zooms off into the night.

"Goodbye to you too," I say to the empty street in front of me and roll my eyes.

I slam the door. I don't know what I was expecting; we weren't really that close of friends. We were only roommates for about four months.

I sigh once again and stomp all the way to my room. I lost my job and I lost my roommate all in one day. Just great.

Why do bad things always happen to me?

I must be cursed or something. I'll just blame everything on a curse. I must be cursed. That's the only thing that can explain all of the tragic events that have happened in my life.

I'm cursed.

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