On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and advent...
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Date: March 23rd (9 Days before the Apocalypse)
The wind bashed against my skin as I walked down an alleyway, the small space creating a wind tunnel as the moon stared down at me. I had forgotten my coat, even though it was supposedly bone-chilling, I didn't bother to go back home and get it, I didn't even feel it. I was walking back to my apartment, taking turns and shortcuts through alleyways to get there faster, though the chill wasn't the thing that bothered me, it was how dark it was. I had grown to hate the dark, as it sobered me of reality and how awful this life is. Silence was impossible to achieve with the sounds of car engines and people talking. It was dark out, but that doesn't mean the city stopped, if anything, that meant it had gotten louder.
I was about a block away from my apartment when I hear a crowd of people talking quickly about someone's death. 'I guess Klaus is getting a new buddy to visit him' the thought wasn't encouraging to the remembrance of his existence was him constantly having dead people surrounding him, but it was all we were told to remember. The others weren't even given names, Grace had to do it.
But as I continued to get closer to the people talking about the death, I heard that bastard's name. "What do you mean he died? The Reginald Hargreeves just ups and kicks the bucket?!" Hearing the group, I stop, the old shit is finally dead, I guess I'll have to stop by that filthy house to not get the shit chewed out of me by the other people that lived there. That fucking haunted building.
I quickly walked passed the group, ignoring their stares as I grew the courage in deciding to go back to what the others had called home. I stepped into my apartment and looked around the room, it wasn't barren, but it had touches of my past that lay strewn about it. My old mask sat on the bookshelf, having collected dust from me not touching it after all these years. Books of all kinds were littered about within the shelf, no organization to its mess, the book Vanya wrote sitting atop another, much older, book. I held a slight feeling of disgust at the sight of it, remembering how my friend had described our fucked up lives, yes I agreed with her, but I didn't want the public to know our lives.
Another few trinkets lay around the room, hung on the wall was a stitching Grace had made us, each with our own individual design under the picture of our mask. An old toy airplane stood on the shelf behind my couch, as well as a poem boom I hadn't opened in months. I then looked to the corner of the room to find my favorite gift. A tiny snow globe, with a beach laying inside. I picked it up, wiping the dust off my favorite gift, I placed it in my suitcase that I pulled from under my bed, tired from my long day at work. Beginning to think about my past, my hands start to shake, I quickly clench my fists, trying to force the tremors down. My tattoos stretched as my knuckles began to turn white, I was getting hot, and quickly. I ran to my bathroom, immediately turning on the tub and got in it without even stripping myself of my clothes, I needed to breathe. No matter how much I hated the man that helped raise me, he knew how to make sure I didn't fucking die.
