Sketched

Chapter One

Chapter One

You know, everyone thinks they’re so different from everyone else. That they’re “special” or “better” than each other. They see it as something they should achieve, to idolize themselves. But they’ve no idea what it’s really like. They haven’t noticed someone different already lives among them. They all try to change their stories and make the world revolve around them, ignoring the person whose story is etched upon his skin.

It’s not uncommon for a guy my age to have tattoos. Most people don’t mind, seeing it as something you do when you’re young, passionate, and crazy, full of life. But I didn’t choose to have them. As a matter of fact, I don’t understand why I keep getting them. All I know is that if I don’t follow them, I’m not going to see another one appear on my skin.

They’re like a map. Sort of. Or guidelines. I can’t explain it really. Mostly I’m just trying to save my own skin. But these marks are a part of me that I can’t control and if I don’t watch myself, people see that something’s wrong with me.

I don’t remember who I was before I woke up nine years ago, wondering who the people telling me to get ready for my first day of middle school were. They were so excited taking pictures and crying, saying “their baby boy is growing up” and “Nathan is so special.” I didn’t understand a thing that happened that day, and it only got worse that first night when I got my first drawing. It burned my chest, right over my heart, and I cried in the searing pain. My “parents” didn’t hear me, and I didn’t really care. Still don’t. I never did figure out who they really were.

I mustered up the courage to check in the mirror what was wrong with me. All I saw was a black lining of a fire, massive and beautiful, and the biggest drawing I’ve ever gotten.

The next morning went the same, and I walked to the school I went to the day before. I honestly didn’t see the point because I already knew everything they were teaching. How, I have no clue. It wasn’t a long walk, but this time, a gray cloud was part of the scenery. I headed toward it, and saw that a building was burning and people were screaming and running. All but one.

There she was. She was small, had brown hair that hung down to her mid back, and eyes so brown they looked like chocolate. She was wearing a simple blue dress, and along her right arm were two lines. Two black lines that ended in interlocked hands. She started walking to the fire. I never ran so fast in my life than I did for that girl. I grabbed her hand and we walked into the building.

The weird thing was there were no buggers. A bugger is a law enforcer, but they’re called buggers because when they’re attempting an arrest on someone, they shut down most of their electronic appliances. I’m not sure how they aim it at direct targets, but it can be pretty scary. They say the police weren’t able to do that years ago, but the technology allows them now. Still, I couldn’t believe that they weren’t there yet. I suppose had they been, my future would be different than now, but the past is the past.

The flames hadn’t reached the bottom floor yet and the roof was spraying water down on the tiles. We walked hand-in-hand, observing the deteriorating building. She looked me over and said “Are you sketched? Do you have them too?”

I must have looked clueless, because she lifted her dress up a bit and just above her knee was a coiled rope. “The black stuff on your skin. It tells you what’s happening and what we have to do.”

I still didn’t know what to say. And honestly I was hung up on the fact a girl held my hand. Only the difference this time was the roof exploded above us, raining debris toward us. That was an image that would be forever jarred into my memory as I realized how little I knew about me and that I didn’t have a life to flash before my eyes.

I jumped out of the way, feeling the heat boiling my skin. When I looked back there was no way to the entrance of the building and I didn’t see the girl either. The only other way out was to go towards the fires or through a door behind a desk. I went to the door, opened it and saw stairs. I didn’t know what inside me made me go down there, but I guess I’m thankful.

As I went down the lights flickered. I got the feeling nothing good comes when the lights do that. At the bottom was an empty room, nothing there but the four walls and a barren floor. That’s when I screamed.

On the wall in bold black letters were “Welcome Nathan Traize,” and under it was “We’ve been watching.”

I heard deafening noises above me and was consumed by darkness.