Underneath This Skin - 1. Introduction

Pacing.

Somehow I always find myself pacing.

Don't ask me why, I barely understand it myself.

My mother said that it helps me think, but it doesn't really. I personally think it's just something to keep me from thinking. And believe me, I hate thinking.

To anyone in the hall, I must've looked like a crazed lunatic, pacing with a box full of my prized possessions in front of a run down apartment door. My only box of possessions in general. I liked to keep things simple.

Sighing inaudibly to myself, I shuffled forward to the door. The pleasantly paint-chipped door. As I opened it, I found the gentle smell of years of decay wafting through the door, assaulting my senses. I wrinkled my nose. This place was in need of major febreezing.

Of course, being the poor lowlife I am, I mentally scoffed at the idea of febreeze. That stuff costs four dollars!

I set my box on the stained carpets beside the door, and opened it, setting my sleeping bag gently on the carpet, like it was worth millions. Hell, it was to me anyway. It was lime green, with the name, "Caden Johnson" neatly printed on the left hand bottom corner. My name, of course. For some unknown reason, I had also dated it, "September 02, 2007." Why? I have no idea now. I think it was something to do about warrenty...

After I had finished, I pulled out my rusted wok, and brought it into the kitchen. The wok served as my pot, AND as my pan. It came in handy, generally. Filling it with water, I set it on the stove, before shuffling back to my box. I rummaged through the nonsensical items for a few moments, before pulling at the jar or cinnamon I had picked up a few months back. Why did I pick it up, you ask?

Hell, everything comes in handy one day.

I dumped some of the cinnamon into the wok, and set the stove on low. The stove itself looked like it could catch on fire any moment, and the odd noises from the heat igniting didn't help me feel better either. I eyed it warily.

I knew I'd be starting school the next day. Or well, somewhat starting it. I knew I was going to be absent a lot. Always was. I had to work to support myself. This apartment was heaven compared to the last few years I'd spent on the streets. But at least I'd settled in. I could actually go to school now.

It sucked, how I had to go in to the education district office the day before, so they could formally test my abilities. I wasn't stupid, but they didn't like the fact that I was mute, either. Why am I mute, you ask?

I don't want to talk about it. Insert less than symbol, followed by a three.

Cue pacing once more.

Anyway, they said I was at a grade twelve level. Which means miraculously, I ended up with people my same age. Actually, they were mostly all older than me, considering I have a late birthday... But that doesn't matter. What matters is I'm starting school tomorrow.

I've never been to school before in my life, and quite frankly, I'm terrified. I had written down my concerns to the education professional who had issued the test. She laughed at me.

What a cunt.

After she must have seen my confused face, she explained that I go to the office, which is usually located at the front of the school. The school secretary would already be expecting me. I had frowned at the time. That meant I couldn't skip.

Sighing to myself, I placed the rest of the items in their previously designated spots, before heading out the door. Time to head back to the green house. I started work in two hours. Yes, it took that long to walk. I was too cheap for buses. Some days I couldn't eat. But it didn't matter, at least I had shelter now.

Besides, getting paid the same as the illegal immigrants was lucky. Most people wouldn't even consider hiring a skinny, mal-nourished mute kid. Leaving my door unlocked (who would steal a blooding sleeping bag, old alarm clock and a rusty wok?), I made my way down the stair case. Of course the elevator was broken.

Back to another day of the norm.