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~M~

Business is business. I've been dealing the streets ever since I was a baby. Well, not really but you get the gist. I've paraded the streets looking for crime to solve to help others.

My dad was a cop. He fought for people's rights and died doing it. He died in a freak accident. Fucking Black Friday was a bitch to my family. Some assholes who wanted a 65 inch TV from Walmart charged my dad and trampled him to death. It was tragic. My mum was devastated, but me - I wanted revenge. I wanted to teach those dicks a lesson after they killed my father. You only get one dad. Now you can have many step fathers and that's exactly what I ended up having. My mom was so hurt over my dad's death that she started to sleep around with random guys to keep her mind off of the situation. That's one of the ways I got my two younger brothers.

The younger brother idea was spurred upon me when I was eleven. My dad died when I was nine and my mom started to get bigger around her stomach when I finally noticed that something was up. She told me that I was going to have a little brother or sister in a few months. I was confused, wondering how she could have a baby when my father was dead. She told me that God had helped her get a baby and that it was a miracle. Even though I was eleven, I knew that she was lying. Hell, when she had the baby, or should I say two, they were darker than me. I was as white as snow. The babies weren't my dad's. I had green eyes. My mom had green eyes. My dad had light brown eyes. The babies had bright blue.

My mother named them Collin Joshua Clifford and Mason Luca Clifford. I loved them. They were a beautiful shade of brown. Not light enough to be porcelain but not as dark to be specified as chocolate. After they were born, my mother paid less attention to me and more to the twins. Collin and Mason are now eight and annoying as hell. I'm nineteen and can move out whenever I would like and my mother would be fine with it. I'm a punk.

She doesn't want to deal with me anymore or pay any expenses on me. I'm an adult and can fend for myself. I'm a "bad influence on the twins" as she says. The boys don't need to see me coming home, smoking a cigarette on the front porch and listening to "trash music". It's total bullshit.

Everyone in town is like that, too. They're scared of me. I act tough. I steal but never get in trouble. I'm a skinny pale white boy with dyed hair and an eyebrow piercing, my mother is a single widow with two bi-racial children. Why would I be scary to anyone?

My mother still acts as if Mason and Collin are my full brothers and I know they aren't. Life would be much simpler if my dad was still alive and well and Collin and Mason were never born. We could have been a normal family without judgement, but life is shit. It just happens that way.

I walk the street past my house everyday debating on what to do. Do I leave and make my mother happy with my brothers or do I stay and be miserable? Do I stay at home and continue a life as poor old Michael whose father is dead and gone or do I make a difference?

I want to make a difference. That's why I moved into an abandoned warehouse and started my group of heroes.

To make a difference to the world.

To make a difference for my dad.


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⏰ Última actualización: Nov 29, 2015 ⏰

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