tell me what you think.

The Midnight Chronicles

Ch1 Gray Eyes

It was a cold, cryptic stare from those glazed eyes, those bloodshot glassy eyes. She stared into me like I was some kind of specimen with a big number on my forehead. Murmuring while she moved her pencil like an anchor across the paper. Occasionally she asked, “Why do you think you did this?” or “How did this make you feel?” I’ve always hated psychologists, and I’ve always thought they hated me. I get the same diagnosis every time… severe depression. They give me Zoloft, some kind of happy medicine is what I heard her say to my parents, I never take it though. At last the daily session was over. I donned my black trench coat, combed my hair through my fingers to put it slightly to the left, like I always do, and left the room. The receptionist was a warm woman, she looked at me through her piggy eyes blinked twice as she waved goodbye. I hated her. Always the same wave, always blinking her eyes. I went into the elevator, firmly pressed the button to go to the first floor as usual, the same bullsh*t everyday. I got out of the elevator, nurses were pushing carts by, one was stupid enough to have her purse hanging on the side of her arm, I quickly faked a trip in front of her, pick pocketing her wallet, I may have gotten her car keys… I didn’t check, which is always the worst mistake a thief can make. I abruptly excused myself and she nodded.
It was cool outside, fresh rain drops fell from the sky as the moving doors slid open, as they closed I heard the nurse screaming. I jumped down the seven concrete stairs to the parking lot, took a right and hooked around the psychiatric hospital, and climbed the stairs. I jumped off the retainer wall onto someone’s garage, then quickly lowered myself to there lawn. I walked out, as either the gardener or the lady of the house started to scream at me. I walked down a few streets and saw my house, the front door was open as usual. I walked in, the usual sh*tty smell of my house came to my nose within the first few steps. I ran up the stairs, silently skipping the 7th and 16th, those being the squeaky boards. As I got to the top I passed by 2 doors on the right, then quickly went into the door on the left. My room.
I had a kid sized bed, It was way to small for me, I had a few pieces of clothing, mostly dirty on the floor… then a bookshelf, there was nothing on it since we were to poor to afford anything. No one was home as usual so I ransacked the kitchen for what food we had. As soon as I heard the car pull in the driveway I quickly jumped down the basement stairs and went out the back door. I ducked into my neighbors shed, they had a few broken boards on the backside, they didn’t know about. I navigated through the maze of old bikes and surf boards, I even saw a rat or two as I arrived at the front door to the shed. I quickly opened the rusted handle and sprinted through their driveway. They had a pit bull, it hated me. I was always a very fast runner, and I was never really noticed by anyone. It made me the perfect person to disappear. Of course I had no religion, I never believed in God, which almost got me kicked out of kindergarten, our teacher was a freaking angel, the rest of the kids in there, FREAKING ANGELS. To bad I wasn’t.
I ran through the forgotten alleyways of the small city block below my house, and found a sewer grate, I quickly opened it and through myself inside. It wasn’t a real sewer, it was a hallway. A hallway to a thieves paradise, the perfect hideaway with the perfect people. My kind of people. Your average 14 year old doesn’t hang out with 20 year olds on a daily basis, I do. I walked in to find the place empty, found a half eaten sandwich, and pocketed it. I knew I would get sh*t for it later but I really didn’t care, I wouldn’t be there later. I jumped up on a few packages of mostly freeze dried noodles and Bounty. I lifted a small panel and climbed into a sad excuse for a tunnel. It reeked of hot metal, even a musty coal smell. I crawled through it and lifted up another panel bringing me to the side of a railroad track under the sidewalk where at least 200 people were waiting for a train, I waited for the train to come, then crawled to the other side of the train, waited for it to pass as I pulled myself up. I finally examined what I got from the nurse, no car keys, but the wallet did have a few credit cards at least 50$ in cash.
I ascended the stairs to leave the subway, a homeless guitar player was playing, I dropped a 20$ from the nurses wallet and tossed him the half eaten sandwich. When your like me you get to be like that, you need friends. It was still raining when I got out of the subway, I put a hood on from the sweatshirt I was wearing under my trench coat. A little boy pointed at me and his mom scolded him for pointing, he was talking about my eyes.
It is rare to be born with gray eyes. There cold eyes, devoid of all emotion. I enjoy having gray eyes, they make me unique… which could be possibly the only thing about me that is unique. I don’t know what the statistics are anymore, may be 1 in 10,000,000. But it doesn’t matter, strange things happen when you have gray eyes. You catch most things people miss. Things in the corner of your eye become reality, while for most people they just get a shiver down there spine and the hair on there back gets static. Some people’s eyes ‘turn’ gray, but that’s only if they see someone die. Not just any death, but a suicide. To be born with gray eyes involves a (fraternal or maternal, don’t know the word) suicide, but the baby living.

Ch2 A Grim Autobiography

I was orphaned when born, a single mother who killed herself a few hours before her water broke, lucky for me a neighbor heard the bullet shot. At 3, I was quickly taken in to a foster home where I had abusive ‘parents’. The father was a pedifile, and the mother only had to take one of her stilleto high heels off to make me do something, in other words I had a reason to go back to the sh*t-hole they call St. Mary’s Orphanage at the age of 5. At 7 I was taken to another foster home, strict catholic home… I lasted 2 days. My disgust with god was what set them off, the father tried to baptize me as I gave him a severe kick to the groin leaving him unable to have children, good thing he was a pastor or I bet he would of pressed charges. About 3 months later I was taken into the home I lived in now, with an absent father there was only a mother, she cared less about me, needed me for some kind of tax refund, in other words just the way I liked it. I went through several names for different parents, this one said, “Choose it, you good for nothing son of a bitch.” With that, I left the house and walked a long walk. Zaiine. Zaiine would be my name.
On my 9th birthday I was dropped off at a sort of modern sweatshop where I was worked till I vomited on the floor, my ‘mother’ took the money and flipped me a quarter, usually yelling some crude comment into my face as she spit in my hair. As you can tell, I wasn’t to fond of her and she wasn’t to fond of me. From then on I dodged her as much as possible, If she got of hold of me it was off to ‘work‘. By 13 I had grown strong from the select times I had gone to work, and eventually I had gotten so good at escaping, I never had to go to work again. I had another source of income, which you already know of by now. I grew up on the streets, I never had any parental figures in my life, in fact I never even got a birthday present till the day I met Melinda.