Greg Matthews.
A nobody to many, even himself, not that he cares. Actually he prefers it. Greedy housewives, abusers, gang leaders, rapists, molesters, careless parents, they all have something in common and Greg sees them all the same.
He sees the...
Before the clock could sound its alarm at 7:00am, Gregory woke up exactly a minute before and slapped it off. He never needed an alarm, but always set it just incase. Having a back up plan was always something his parents stressed to him growing up.
Despite how early he got up every day, he could never manage to wake up before his parents. After years of trying, he eventually gave up, content with his internal alarm clock setting.
His father was the town sheriff, a job that used to be peaceful before the highway leading to Wattacon was built, leading around their small town of Wakefield.
The occasional town drunk or noise complaint was now replaced with rapes, hit and runs, and drug dens. The world wanted to forget about Wakefield, but Jack Matthews personally took it upon himself to clean up his home. It was a foolish and futile goal in Gregory's mind, but a noble one.
Greg's mother, the local preacher, was a well respected woman in town. Typical Wakefield bible thumpers was what Greg thought when the crime and trash rolled through their town. His mother also made a goal to clean up the small town left forgotten, though in different ways than her husband.
While Jack Matthews was out arresting the garbage, Brenda Matthews was "saving" them on what she called a spiritual level by giving them money and inviting them to her prayer service that she held every Sunday, but most didn't take her up on the offer even after taking the money.
Greg thought both of their goals were just as hopeless.
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It was Sunday, so Jack Matthews was probably getting ready to open their family's thrift store, a small dream that he and his wife had after moving to this quiet little town with their nine year old son eight years ago.
Since Brenda only worked on Sundays, she took over most of the time while Jack took the weekends. Greg also helped out for a few hours after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
Greg walked into the kitchen, grabbing some toast and a banana as he listened to his father yell at the television in the other room, which was a pretty common morning occurrence.
"Local woman found dead in her home..." the news reporter said with a fake show of sorrow that made Greg roll his eyes.
"Thirty-five year old Ashlynn Greene was found dead in her home from what appears to be a fatal mixture of diet pills, fatigue, and bulimia..."
"Damn it!" Jack yelled, slamming the table with his fist as he entered the kitchen. "Now we have no witness to put this attacker of hers away with!"
"He didn't leave any evidence behind?" Greg asked while munching on his toast.
"If he did, he covered his tracks well," his father grumbled. "I can't talk about this right now, I have to go run inventory at the store."
"Why?"
"Some stupid thug must have slipped in and stolen a blank bullet from one of our collector's bins, so now we have to sell the John Wayne collection separately at half the price," Jack sighed heavily. "We may need you to come in on Tuesdays too for a few weeks. Who knows, you may even get the chance to put those karate skills to the test."
"It's jujitsu, Dad, and speaking of which, I should go," Greg said with a subtle eye roll, which his father gave a nod at and rushed out the door himself.
"Our thoughts and prayers go out to Mrs. Greene's family," the news reporter finished at which Greg replied, "She didn't have a family."
With that, he shut the television off and followed his father out the door.
