<---Owen's Bedroom--->
Owen staggered out of his bed, a rare surge of excitement propelling him forward. School. Yes, school was what made him feel this unfamiliar lightness, this tremor of anticipation. He had…
"Oi, no snitching," he grumbled to himself, catching the thought before it fully formed, a reflex born of habit. He practically flew out of his room, a soft "whoosh" the only sound as he made a beeline for the bathroom.
Click. He closed the door gently, then locked it with a satisfying snap before turning to the bathtub. An hour later, having subjected his overgrown hair to a valiant, if ultimately futile, attempt at taming it, he finally emerged. He'd managed to bathe and brush his teeth, though his wild hair still largely obscured his face.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the fogged mirror, a faint smile touching his lips. "Looking handsome, hehehe," he whispered, winking at his reflection. Then, as if responding to an unseen presence, he muttered, "Being this handsome is a curse, hahaha." (Well, nothing truly odd about someone talking to themselves and then responding, is there? Some might find it peculiar, but in Owen's world, it was just another coping mechanism.)
Owen got out of the bathroom as quickly as he'd entered, scurrying back to his room. He closed the door behind him and quickly pulled on his uniform. After finishing up, he slung his school bag over his shoulder and went downstairs, not bothering to check who might be nearby. His head bowed, he ran straight for the front door, desperate to escape.
"Agh!"
He didn't see the figure until it was too late. The moment he burst out, he crashed hard into someone, tumbling backward and landing with an ignominious thud on his backside.
"I'm sorry!" he blurted out instantly, scrambling up. Without a backward glance, he scurried out the door and sprinted down the street, as if pursued by demons.
<----The Man of the House--->
"This punk," Michael grumbled, dusting off his shirt where Owen had collided with him. He watched the boy's retreating form, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he chuckled. "That little punk is always running about. What does she even feed him?" He shook his head, pushing the thought aside as he stepped inside the house.
"I'm home!" he called out, his voice booming.
He hadn't even had the chance to close the door before someone crashed into him again. This time, it was a much more welcome collision.
"Daddy!" Lucy shrieked, wrapping her arms around his leg.
"Why, you little!" Michael laughed, placing his palms under her armpits and effortlessly lifting her high above his head. He gazed at his daughter, his eyes softening. "Didn't I tell you to call me Dad?" he teased, a wide smile on his face. "If you keep calling me 'Daddy,' I will disown you." He said it sarcastically, gazing adoringly at his little princess.
"Oh, if you disown me, then I will disown you, hump!" Lucy retorted, folding her arms and pouting, though a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes.
"Oh, please, oh great princess, don't disown me, hahaha," Michael chuckled, gently setting her down. He headed towards the dining room, which seamlessly merged with the kitchen – a single, spacious area for cooking and eating.
Lucy skipped after him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I won't… if you borrow me your phone!"
Michael stopped dead at the entrance to the dining room. He turned, looking at his daughter, then squatted down to her level, which wasn't very far down at all. He smiled widely, looking directly into her eyes. "No," he said, his voice firm, unwavering.
Then he continued moving, leaving Lucy momentarily stunned.
<----Owen's Commute---->
Well, that was bad luck, I thought, already a good distance from the house, my legs churning. My school was about 2.1 kilometers away, which wasn't considered far – not for me, anyway. I considered such a trek a daily workout, a really long workout. Classes started at 8:00 AM. I had just twelve minutes left, and I'd already covered about 1.2 kilometers.
<----School — Owen's POV--->
"Haaaaaa!" I sighed loudly, bursting into my classroom and heading straight for the first desk near the door.
Why the first desk near the door, you may wonder?
Because I don't want to die when a zombie apocalypse begins. I want to make a quick escape before the freaking zombies even notice! Hahahaha. I scratched the top of my head awkwardly. Well, at least I didn't speak out loud this time. I was already weird enough. Oh, by the way, I have a deskmate. She's really nice, though. You know… haa. My crush. And my best friend. Well, in my own view, anyway.
"DONG... DONG... DONG!"
The life science teacher entered the class, his textbooks thudding onto his desk. He scanned the room, his eyes suddenly locking onto me. A wide grin stretched across his face, from ear to ear. Weird, I muttered softly. He looked at me specifically, then grinned. Like he isn't ugly enough already, sigh.
"Ahem. Good morning, class…" he said, finally looking away from my bewildered face.
"Good morning, Mr. Thompson," the class responded, a mix of enthusiastic and half-hearted greetings.
His Adam's apple bobbed as if mocking me, his grin fading slightly as he glanced over the classroom. "Today, we learn about the fascinating world of genetics. Who can tell me what genes are?"
A few hands shot up, but I was still lost in thought, wondering if he always had that weirdly cheerful demeanor. Did he just come from a party? It was hard to focus when you were stuck trying to figure out why someone would choose to wear bright pink suspenders with a mismatched shirt.
"Come on, people! Chromosomes, cells, DNA—these are not just for textbooks!" he exclaimed, noticing the lack of enthusiasm. "Let's get interactive! Your thoughts!"
I rolled my eyes and looked down at my notebook, doodling absently while some students started to mumble answers. "Maybe he's just trying too hard," I whispered to my best friend, Mia, who sat next to me. She laughed softly, whispering back, "Yeah, but at least he makes biology entertaining. Just wait until he brings out those creepy crawlies."
"Ugh, please don't remind me," I replied, still doodling little monsters in the margins. I started feeling a bit uncomfortable, a prickle on the back of my neck. I looked behind me and saw her—hair hiding most of her face, revealing only one eye which stared at me for a while before looking away. Meh, I thought. I'll ignore that.
Mr. Thompson was now pacing around the classroom, animatedly explaining how traits are inherited, his voice rising and falling like a rollercoaster. I felt a mix of annoyance and appreciation that he cared enough to make the subject lively. But still, those suspenders. He paused, his gaze snapping to me, pulling me out of my thoughts. "And you, Owen! What do you think about genetic modifications?"
Caught off guard, I stammered, "I think… they could be useful?"
He beamed at me, clearly pleased with my hesitant response. "Exactly! It's all about balance, isn't it? The pros and cons. That's the heart of science!"
As he moved on, I couldn't help but feel a bit more engaged. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all—just a little eccentric. I glanced at Mia, who rolled her eyes dramatically, and we both cracked up silently. Mr. Thompson continued to prattle on, but our shared laughter was a comforting reminder that school wasn't all bad.
In a dark alleyway
"Bang!" A body crashed heavily into a pile of trash. Before the individual could even get up, a heavy kick landed squarely on his diaphragm, sending him into a violent coughing fit. He gasped, wheezing, unable to properly breathe.
"Look what we have here, boys," one of the figures chuckled. This was Tim, who grabbed the kid by the collar and hauled him up, pressing him roughly against the damp, stained wall, forcing him to stand on his toes. The boy looked at Tim with a ferocious glint in his eyes, despite his desperate wheezing.
"Oh, cute. He snapped. I truly wonder how you haven't broken down yet," Alex said, stepping closer, his voice cold and assessing.
The kid's heart raced, a frantic flutter in his chest, but he refused to show fear. He steadied himself against the wall, his eyes unwavering. "You think you're tough, Alex? Pushing me around won't make you any bigger," he retorted, a defiant smirk creeping onto his face. His emotions, however, were on "cloud nine"—it took every ounce of his remaining strength to prevent his body from shuddering.
Alex's friends, Tom and Tim, exchanged knowing smiles. Before the kid even realized what was happening, Tom landed a gut-wrenching punch to his stomach, followed by Tim shoving him back into the trash pile. The atmosphere shifted, thickening with unspoken threats. "Tough guy? Gonna fight back?" Alex taunted, leaning closer, his shadow falling over the crumpled boy.
The kid responded, his voice barely a whisper, defiant but breaking. "I don't f-fear y-y-y—" That's when it began. Alex and his friends laughed loudly, their voices echoing off the grimy walls of the alley.
His body shuddered uncontrollably. He couldn't even finish his own words before his heart was thumping loudly in his ears, an unbearable cacophony. His pupils quickly dilated to the extreme. The harsh alley light became blindingly bright, stinging his eyes, and his vision narrowed, becoming tunnel-like, with Alex's sneering face the only sole focus.
For a moment, there was silence. The laughter from Alex and his friends faded, replaced by curiosity, by the silent assessment of their prey's unraveling. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," Alex finally said, his voice surprisingly calm. "But save it for when it really counts." He paused, then added, a chilling smile playing on his lips, "You might think you're clever, but remember that you still ain't shit, even with Mia."
Alex and his friends turned and walked away, leaving the kid curled up in the trash, going through a full-blown panic attack. He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to hide himself deeper within the refuse. The kid… no, Owen… was a lot of things. He didn't let most of his emotions pull him down, but some moments were truly too much for him. He was a patient, desperately trying to cure himself of this… this…
"Oh yeah," Alex's voice drifted back from the end of the alley, accompanied by a final, mocking chuckle. "Your so-called light is quite dim. It may fade soon, hahaha."