Invisible Boy

Chapter 1

Everyone has their secrets. Mine is just a bit more extreme than others.

I'm invisible.

"Where are the hell are you?!" The thug shouts while blindly thrashing his knife about in an act of desperation and horror.

I smirk before kicking his feet out from under him. The thief topples to the ground, limbs thrashing about appearing like a newborn deer.

"W-What the hell?!" The thug continues swinging his blade frantically in the darkened alley. Each movement is more hectic than the last. Blood trickles out of his bruised nose, courtesy of me, while his panicked eyes are attempting to take in their surroundings.

Cars are whizzing by on the streets, horns honk angrily at those that have probably been sitting for no more than a second, and the smell of back alley trash lingers in the air. The street light at the end of the alley flickers on as the sun is starting to set.

While I would happily continue messing with him, sirens are approaching. The girl he was trying to mug earlier has already run off. Judging by the lights and sounds, she called the cops too. There's no reason for me to stick around so, while the cops come running into the alley, I walk out without a care, unseen by all. Behind me the thug is shouting about, "an invisible force, an alien I'm telling you, an alien," that the cops obviously don't care about.

Alien? Absolutely not. I'm a totally normal teenage boy! Well, I guess that's not true since most teenagers may feel invisible but that doesn't mean that they actually are. I, on the other hand, am both, in the metaphorical and physical sense.

With a triumphant bounce in my step, I traverse the usual route I take home, only re-appearing behind a dumpster that smells of rotten eggs and fish just before stepping onto the bus. There's some elderly lady with far too many bags sitting at the front, an obviously drunk office worker in the back ready to hurl, and some girls likely heading to a club huddled together in the seats. I choose to sit across from the little old lady, pressing my forehead to the cool glass of the moving bus. The brown curls of my hair clings to the glass when the bus lurches forward.

I've never met anyone like me, someone who can disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye. I guess I'm not totally average, but no one would see me as anything special otherwise. In school, I'm a nobody. I'm no popular sportsman with every guy and gal pining after me, ready to rip their clothes off from a single sultry look. I'm not even one of the nerds that get shoved into a locker. I'm, for lack of a better word, invisible, and that's ok seeing as people leave me be, but sometimes I wish for something more.

Sometimes I want more. Sometimes I want to be the cool kid that stands out in the crowd. Sometimes I want to be Mr. Popular with a hundred and one different friends and always something (or someone) to do. Sometimes I want to be anyone other than me. But that's normal, isn't it? We all have times where we wish to be something we aren't; either for the excitement or the chance to feel something new, or because deep down we know we're much more than what we currently are, or maybe we just hope that's the case.

The bus comes to a halt. Sadly, the drunk follows me in getting off. I grimace when he sways from side to side like a weed in the wind. Then he stumbles forward and face plants on the ground. I'd help but he's already up, looking back at me with a slightly bruised nose then moving down the sidewalk to who-the-hell-knows where. I'm not interested in finding out. Besides, Mom's probably mad I'm out so late.

Mom doesn't get how I feel. She never has, always spouting about how I'm already special, that I'm already unique, that we all are, and wishing to be someone else is only going to hurt us in the long run. I get her point, really, I do, but sometimes it just sucks.