The Con (Gorillaz Fan Fiction)

Kits Prologue- Unravelling Genesis

Three years ago...

Kitten Sylvestre Lanes POV

I walked to the corner of the cement sloped pavement, deliberately skipping the dirt-filled crevices on the sidewalk for fear of breaking my mothers back. I had a juvenile, delinquent, brain.

I looked around, my long hair down, devouring most of the view of my arms. My bangs ran across my forehead. When a wisp of air would flow by it, they would flip up revealing my scar infested forehead.

I brought my hands closer to my face and examined my fingers very closely. There were deep callouses indented on the tips of my them, skin so thick and torn, it looked as if I had ran them through a cheese grater. I flipped my palms over and found scabs layered underneath my nails.

I could barley feel them. If it was the cool air flowing through my fingers that made them numb, I could of made them stop hurting by concealing them in my warm pockets.

But I tried that, and it didn't seem to help.

Maybe I had played the guitar too much.

Behind me was my brother. He had shaggy brown hair, almost identical to mine, except shorter of course. He looked like he hadn't cut it in a millennium though. His face was nearly unrecognizable by all the cuts and bruises on his skin,as like mine.

The scars came from my parents. Mostly my father as he would drink as much alcohol as he could in one night, obviously getting drunk and start hitting us. I didn't really blame him. I mean, he is my father and he was drunk. Drunk people can't tell what they're doing, and they usually don't cause much harm.

My brother followed me, making sure I wouldn't make an ignorant mistake and hurt myself, like an older sibling should.

I don't recall why we were outside, all I knew was that I was far away from home. It was cold. Freezing cold. It hadn't been this cold in Brentwood for a while now. I thought it hadn't at least, I never really complained about the weather, and neither did my brother.

We lived in a tall house in Brentwood, a borough of England. We rented it actually, it was almost three storeys high. I wouldn't say it was big, we weren't rich or anything, but it was quite tall.

My brother, mother, father and I lived an average life. My dad kept me closeted in my room for most of the time, not that I actually cared, it was enjoyable in my room, and I liked the peace and quiet a lot. But today he said it was an exceptionally nice day to go outside. Peculiar, I thought, I knew it wasn't. When I pressed my nose to my small window pane, my breath would fog up the glass. When I looked up from behind it, I saw the sky, grey fluffy clouds all around, the blue-looking sky nowhere in sight.

I was reluctant to go out of the house, worried of both my parents. They enjoyed drugs I think, although its not completely clear of what I think anymore. Maybe they wanted me out to clean the house, maybe they had been worried about me, as I was with them, and all the muck around the flat would be swept up if the cleaned it. Dust would be nearly everywhere, breaking the barrier for my nostrils, the dirt would get stuck inside and would get me sick, and my parents wouldn't dare to get me sick again.

Although I don't recall me being sick before.

My parents once did take me to a depression clinic.

Not once, never mind. They took me about four times the trip to the depression clinic. Which was located only a block away from my house. I don't know why. Perhaps they were taking advantage out of the short walk they would give me if I went. I didn't need the exercise though, I was unusually skinny for my age. Maybe thy just wanted me out of the house. Because if I were them, I'd want me to get out of the house too.