The Life of Herobrine

Chapter 1: Herobrine's Childhood

  I remember my childhood. In fact, I remember it all to well. My father was one of the highest ranking gaurds in the town, and my mother was well known for her ability to make clothes. Many people didn't know that my father beat me for being a "horrible son", and even more people didn't know that my mom didn't really care for me too much, although she cared for me much more than my father did.

  I had two brothers, and one sister. Notch (Makus back then) was the oldest, and my parents taught him the ways of a scientist, a "smart person", or, as your world would call it, a hacker. Oh yeah. Forgot to mention one important detail. My parents (before we were even born) had come up with what type of people we would grow up to be. The first son would be a thinker. The second son would be a survivor. The third son would be a knight like my father. If a woman was thrown into their little plan, she would cook, clean, and do chores.

  Anyways, so, Notch was the thinker, Steve was the survivor, and I was the...fighter, right? Wrong. At least, not at first. I was the thief. I remember the very first time I stole something. It started out so small, so insignificent. It was a cookie. I know, I know, a cookie. But it soon progressed. A piece of bread from the bakery, a couple golden nuggets from my parents, a pickaxe from Notch....I just kept getting better and better, and stealing more and more. The time I had stolen the pickaxe from Notch I was about 8 years old.

   Then one day when I was nine, I got caught. I remember the day so clearly. Monday morning, 9:13 A.M.  The sky was blue, the grass was green....it was the middle of May. Oh, and if you're wondering, my birthday's in April. I went over to the bakery like normal, and snatched a couple pieces of bread. But this time, the baker and the butcher saw me grab them. So, about 10 seconds later, I have a very angry baker and a butcher holding this huge knife chasing after me. 

  I was running so fast, I felt like I was flying. But, those two angry people chasing me should have been in the Olympics, they were gaining on me faster than a wolf chasing a sheep.  Suddenly, BAM, I ran into (actually ran into) my dad. I fell flat on my back, looking up at him, bread tumbling from my hands. He looked down at me, then picked me up by the front of my shirt. He dragged me home, abandoning his post and everything. He gave me a beating I never forgot. I never stole again.

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