Game Of Life(Raw)

Chapter 1- Awakening the devil

I'm crawling, my palm and knees scraping against the gravely asphalt, my hand stretching to reach for a phone that may be the only thing that can restore life to the one I want, I turn around....A burning car....a crying child....the dark smoke arising as black as night....the tears...the pain...the cries of the ambulance a few meters away and then it all goes blank.

My eyes pop open and I gasp for air, the sunlight playing about my face temporarily blinding me.

I adjust to a sitting position on the wooden frame of the bed and cup my face in my palms, trying to calm down my rapidly beating heart.

A headache hits me, getting me to look to the side of my bed at my workstation, calling it a desk makes it sound so academical, with a calendar right above it, the previous date slashed with only a red mark as compared to the many others that have both red and black slashes, completely ignoring the blinking light from the holopad Nexus made.

It's kinda like a 3D sculpting machine that you can project images or make customised ones although the only defect is that you'll have to draw it if you want more detail into it and since imagination can be as detailed as you want it would also make it more or less work.

Well that explains it, forgot to take it last night, I mentally curse as I get off the bed and walk to the bathroom door.

Walking in, I am greeted by a tired looking me wearing nothing but boxers in the mirror, deep bags under my eyelids exposing my poor sleeping pattern and my hair tossed around in every given direction, far messier that I normally have it.

The only thing that did surprise me was that my body still looked fit even though I haven't had a good workout in a long while.

"Still have the golden body," I mutter to myself as I prepare to take a shower but with this uneasy feeling that I had something to do or maybe somewhere to be.

I shrug it off undressing, and take a long cold bath to shock my dormant senses to life.

After the well appreciated bath, already in boxers, I realized the multitude of papers spread around my bed of drawings and plans that have been revised and cancelled thoroughly.

I examine some of them with a frown remembering all that time wasted yesterday to this morning on all these failed plans.

I place them back into the bed and make a note to clean up the room with rows of books with had tumbled over and papers scattered on the white marble slit floor to make it look like it was designed to look like papers with designs were on the floor.

I go to the bathroom to examine myself again. "At least the bags seemed to have filled," my hair is just plastered to my face still damp form the bath.

I exit my room, the blue door with a silver nod with different graffiti paintings all over it, 'Bryan' spelt in large white letters popping out with a black outline.

I walk down the corridor passing by the other bedrooms with plane beige coloured doors and a golden door nobs. On my right there is a flight of stairs that lead to the ground floor and strains ahead a slim wooden ladder leading up to the attic. I turn to the right ready to make my descent.

I run down the stairs in my black leather jacket, plane ash shirt, black sweats and blue and black New Balance sneekers as I approach the hall, holding nothing.

My eyes skim the wooden rails that decorate one side of the staircase, it's intricate design carved in it, as the other is non existent the steps attached to to the wall and the view of the front door on my left.

A gap between the door and the stairs serving as a path way to the last room in the house with a door leading to the basement umder the staircase I am presently descending still looking at my clothes to make sure they're not stained even though they're fresh from laundry.