" Look at the boy..."

"Weirdo..."

"Let's leave him..."

But the boy was not bothered by their sneers and comments. He was bothered by the woman crouching in front of him who was also sneering at him. She moved her lips and spoke in a Cruel voice that he had never heard before from his mother.

" I hate you,".

"I've always hated you" she continued.

" We all hate you, and that's why I left, and that's why I'm gonna leave again"

She stood up and walked away. this time the boy ran after her yelling and begging, He had been alone for too long.

. "No more" , he screamed " no more please".

Loneliness was his worst fear and yet his closest friend. loneliness had been with him for way too long. His mother stopped and turned. Her hair was flaming not in a metaphorical manner but literally burning and waving around like there was some invisible force that acted on it alone and were her iris's were meant to be there was nothing, her empty eyes radiated hatred, like he was some creature that Had just crawled out of a drain.

The boy noticed that the entire crowd had turned and was looking at him. Their hair were on flames, their eyes blank and Their lips turned up in an inhumane smile that seeped of malice, each murmured and walked towards him, but his eyes were on the woman who looked like his mother but was clearly not his mother.

"I've always hated you...we've always hated you".

The boy tried to walk back from the mob converging on him but he was surrounded, he fell on his knees and looked up at the horror walking towards him and just when it seemed like it was too late for the boy, he woke up. 

The boy was lying was lying on a the top of a bunk bed and sweating. It was just a dream, he was awake now and they couldn't hurt him. If only that were true. He looked down at his sweaty palms and fingered the burn hole in the sheet. It wasn't there when he had gone to sleep. He looked around the room there were two bunk beds at the edge of the room, All were dressed.

"Late for the first day of school ..again" He jumped down and rushed to the bathroom. 

He couldn't afford to mess up today he had been to twelve different foster homes and even more schools but this one special. This Quiet town was also special because It was were Rachel pierce, his mother was supposed to have grown up.

Eleven years had passed since that rainy day and the boy had become a "teen" that Turbulent stage between childhood and adolescence. He was taller, he was bigger and he was older but the important things never change. The boy still didn't smile.He quickly showered and freshened up and rushed downstairs.

The Floyd Home for orphaned children was a small home and hence had only ten residents including Mr and Mrs Floyd. Right now Mrs Floyd and four others were at the table having breakfast, Jason didn't know most of them since he had only arrived at the home the previous day. But he did know Charles "chuck" bullhorn, the overweight Native American. He had welcomed Jason the day before and was in the same room as him. The Native American had spent most of the night telling Jason about the comics he had read, about the homes he had been to, about the quiet little town called Brentwood. He had been here for three years and liked it here. Jason hadn't really contributed much to the conversation And when Chuck finally gave him a chance to respond it was usually just to affirm or negate what he had previously said.

Chuck finally drifted off lulled to sleep by the sound of his own voice, but before he finally dozed off he said something

"Brentwood's a really nice place. I'm sure you'll like it here. Actually I hope you'll like it here" 

Jason hadn't replied to that he had just laid there and quietly hoped that Brentwood would like him too.

Chuck saw him and waved, almost hitting the boy next to him in the face. Jason slid into the chair opposite him and started spreading peanut butter on his toast.

" Are you ready for your first day at school?" Chuck said despite his mouth being filled with scrambled eggs. 

"As ready as can be" Jason replied while waving away the onslaught coming out from his mouth. Chuck seemed to take the message as he downed his orange juice and continued.

" School's lots of fun, oh and I heard you paint, we have an arts room and their some canvases and stuff in them, well at least they were, I'm not sure since no one goes there. people think painting is all sissy stuff and all but I don't think so"

" You paint? ". The boy by Chuck's side asked.

" Not much, just on and off I prefer sketching though".

" Nice. I'm Timothy, you can just call me Tim" .

" Jason. I'm not sure there's a cool way to shorten my name".

" Nah. no bother, Jason's all Right, Though since your new and all I might suggest you leave early if you intend to finish registration in time for first period". He said while looking at his wrist like there was a watch there.

Jason picked up a sandwich. " I think I'm done here ".

"I'll follow you. I mean since I'm done here and you don't know the way. So I'll take you, that's if you want to and all"

"Fine by me, let's go ".

Brentwood was a small town in Idaho, it wasn't a big famous place like Los Angeles or Denver or even Seattle, but it was well to do. Back in the late 1800's Michael Brentwood and his family had settled down here and turned the place into a major wood shipping area. Two hundred years the small wood cutter village had turned into a suburban with its own downtown area. While the city had boomed doing the gold rush it hadn't stopped there.It wasn't New York, But for a place up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by reservations and National parks it was doing relatively well.

As Jason walked into the Brentwood High school he couldn't help the feeling of ordinariness seeping out from the school. He didn't know what to expect but he had expected something different like a feeling that the building knew him.

Brentwood had been his mother's town and she had probably schooled here but like all things concerning his mother he had no idea. He didn't know what her parents name was, what she did, or even what her name was anymore. On some dark nights he wondered whether he actually had a mother or whether it was all just wishful thinking. But then he remembered her bright red hair, his bright red hair. The colour of flames And he was sure his head couldn't have made it all up. He walked through his registration in a daze, he had been through so many registrations that they all seemed the same and most of the time they were.

As Jason walked to his science class he secretly missed Chuck's company, the fat Native American may have been a chatterbox but at least he was familiar. Everyone here was strange and worst of all, they were staring. The excess eye contact was very unnerving to Jason, his throat got all dry and his palms got all sweaty. Like at all schools the students had divided themselves into pigeon holes the athletic jocks sat at the back, close to each other, they were all dressed alike, jeans and blazers As Jason surveyed the class he locked eyes with a black kid with a crew cut. He also wore a blazer but his was blue and had an "E" engraved on the chest. Jason made a mental note to ask Chuck what the E stood for. The black kid stared back, he sat off from the rest of the jocks and he had a scowl carved into his face, like someone who wasn't used to smiling. Jason noticed he was the only black person in the class

The black kid kept on staring and frowned. Jason was about to think about that when the teacher cleared his throat.

"Your the new student right?".

"Yeah". the teacher faced the class and pointed at Jason at dramatically,

"This is our new student" most of the class snickered the teacher seemed to be enjoying himself, he faced Jason "I assume you have a name?".

"Yes"

"And would you be willing to share it with the rest of the class. You see we're dying of curiosity". Jason looked at the class they seemed more indifferent than curious.

"I'm Jason, Jason Pierce"

"Okay Jason take a seat, I'm about to start my class and I absolutely detest interruptions".

Jason walked to a free chair at the back of the class, sat down and pretended to pay attention.

Author's note: I'm very sorry for any typos, I'm an amateur after all. 

A comic artist is desperately needed.

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