Monster

Chapter One: Panic at the Coffee Shop

November 2, 1962 (4 days after the Russian Missile Crisis)

  

    Alfred sighed and set down his newspaper. He glared down at the black and white print through his glasses. He had reread this paper about a million times since it was published two days ago. With a groan, his attention returned to the title of the article he was reading. It read "Russian Missile Crisis solved." Alfred had snorted when he first read the title. The way he saw it, Russia and America would always have problems.

  

   It wasn't the fact that they had "solved" the problem that bugged Alfred. That was not why he was sitting by the edge of a busy street in New York, New York rereading the article a hundred times. No, he wanted to know how they solved it. The article told a bit about the problem but nothing about how it was solved. 

  

   Alfred tore his gaze away from the newspaper. He didn't understand why he found this so important. Maybe it was because the "Event."

  

   Ever since the "Event" with his family Alfred had become very interested in politics.  He also joined the American military and fought in every war he could, finding ways to slip in and out of the military without raising suspicion. In his mind, he thought he owed at least that much to Arthur and Elizabeth. They had come to this country to find peace, but because of Alfred, they found death. 

   As Alfred's thoughts drifted from politics to war to family, he couldn't help but have a relay of memories. The memories started happy. Working in the fields with Arthur, reading with Elizabeth, both of them smiling. Then the memories turned dark. The fire and their deaths, villagers screaming to burn the witches. Then the memories stopped at one certain moment; waking up and seeing his parents charred bodies. Alfred cursed himself.

   The so called monster looked at his watch and sighed. It was time for work. Alfred currently worked at a local coffee shop.

   

   Despite his immortality, he found no reason in going to school or getting a good job. If he got a good job and stayed in one place for too long, people would get suspicious. Someone would be bound to notice and bam! it's the "Event" all over again. So Alfred was always on the move, skipping from military base to military base to local McDonalds and other easy employment area's.

 

    That's also why Alfred tried not to make friends. He was a likable guy and would love to have relationships with people, he just didn't want to repeat the "event."

  

   Alfred stood up, straightening his aviators jacket and snatching up his newspaper.  He began walking to the coffee shop, which was only two streets away, when something strange happened. Everyone and everything froze.

  

   "Alfred F Jones? Or do you still go by Alfred Kirkland?" A British accented voice asked from behind.

   Alfred spun around, his blue eyes narrowed. Alfred's face portrayed a mix of confusion, anger, terror, pain and disbelief. Behind the immortal American there was a man seated in a white and gray wheelchair. He had brown hair and blue eyes. The man's face displayed concern and a tad bit of sympathy. What caught Alfred's attention the most was the man's finger placement.

  He was pressing his index and middle finger against his temple and then he closed his eyes slightly. As the man's expression became more concentrated and sad, Alfred got the feeling someone was rummaging through his memories. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?