Friendless

- CHAPTER 1 -

Cats are scientifically proven to be able to sense when you are feeling sad, or lonely, or happy. Cats can sense the mood of a room and automatically move away from the room to a place with a good feeling. That's probably why they sleep a lot and stay in the bed. That's where I feel the best too.

I pet Spooky, ruffling his fur and brushing it the wrong way so it sticks up. I know the dangers of rabies and ticks, but Spooky is a very clean and quite picky cat. His fur ripples as he moves, a glossy wave of muscle and fur. I give him some treats and let him go back to the alleys where he rules his cat world. I found Spooky when I was nine, and he was skinny and starving, so I bought him things with my allowance and taught him that you can eat rats if you are a cat as big as him. I taught him that some berries are poisonous and that if you need anything, you should climb the tree in my backyard and tap the second window on the right. He's become a lot more civilized for an alley cat and we've grown together. He started to let me touch him when I started feeding him by hand.

I walk back up the steps and silently close the front door behind me. The sound of SportsNet blares through the living room. My stepfather is really into that stuff. I always have an urge to tell him that all sorts of illnesses invade the body system of couch potatoes. Once, when I was seven, I went up to him and said, "You do that that you can become nearsighted from watching too much TV and that if you never exercise, you will become overweight and have problems supporting your own weight, right?"

Of course he didn't take that well and I got grounded. I tiptoe past the living room. "Did you wipe your shoes before coming in?!" screeches my stepmother. She has a high voice and I think that was caused when she screamed nonstop for almost half an hour when she saw me playing with Spooky. However, often a high pitched voice is due to the vocal cords being stretched too tightly by the failure to develop a thickening of the voice box with puberty, but I guess that wasn't the reason, as her voice was not screechy before.

"Yes," I say, before taking the stairs to my room three at a time. My room is painted a pale yellow. There are bookshelves lining the walls and a pale yellow bed tucked in a corner with a slanted wood desk facing out the window. I have a bulletin board of awards I've won and some colour pencil drawings of various animals. My step-parents have been nice enough to let me continue swimming on my swim team and continuing my art classes, but I constantly hear my stepfather, Harold, say to my stepmother, Stephanie, that the classes are too expensive. He doesn't even work. He sits around all day and once in a while drags in a couple grand from gambling. I hate him. Stephanie is nicer. She says that I need to maintain my social status and lets me take my classes.

I sit on my beanbag chair and pull out my sketchbook. I thin of something to draw. Then, something sends shivers down my back. I stiffen. I sit as still as stone. I try to move, but I can't. I try crying out, but I can't My brain tells me to relax. After a few minutes, I'm able to move again. I have these seizure things, where i feel impending doom for a few minutes, and then it gets better and I forget what happened. I call it the Spasm. On average a good day contains on or two of then, and on really bad days, up to ten per hour.

I can get it when I sleep, but I'm sure it's just sleep paralysis at night. I check my watch. The metal hands glint in the afternoon glow and show it's time to set the table. I skitter downstairs and grab forks, spoons, and knives from drawers as I skid along. There was obviously a danger of slipping and dying, or more just a sprained, ankle, at worse a concussion, but I couldn't care less sometimes.
I set the table and wrestle with the napkins for a while. I sit down at the dinner table a soon as Harold and Stephanie sit. Tonight , w

Hey guys! Whats going on! Hope you're enjoying the story so far. Sorry of I don't update these stories really quickly.  I know, this is really short. I'm also writing "Fatal Flaws" which is sort of a Percy Jackson fan fiction without the Persassy (sry) but check that out too!