Rare DNA

Chapter One: Discoveries

"I am one of those who think... that humanity will draw more good than evil from new discoveries." - Marie Curie

-Alex-

At 9:30, he thought the blade of the knife his stomach was met with would pierce harshly and cleanly through his flesh. He thought he would be on the ground bleeding out any second. He thought that the man robbing him was simply a friendly homeless man he was helping get a full meal. He thought about how his mom would be upset about how he wasn't more careful (as messed up and foolish as the thought was, he still thought it). He thought that would be walking home, instead of running. He thought... so many things. So many in fact that he almost didn't realize that the blade ripped through his shirt, began to poke his skin, then cracked down the middle; the blade bounced off his skin and ricocheted back to the stabber. Before Alex could begin to run- thinking that he had been stabbed all the way to guts- the stabber forced the knife back to his stomach, and this time the knife fell to pieces. It crumbled quickly, and into many pieces, like an overly soft chocolate chip cookie.

The thief, failed in his robbery, stepped back confused (and maybe even terrified) from Alex. The fractions of the blade rested at both their feet; they weren't chunks of metal, they were more like shavings. Both Alex and the homeless man twisted around, both in opposite directions, and bolted away. Alex, still unaware he was not about to bleed out from a blade to the guts, held his stomach with his right hand in panic. Alex held his stomach in the fear that if he let go his insides would become outsides. The homeless man, in a near mirror-like fashion, did the same.

When he made it home, which was only three blocks away, he feared to look down. He was expecting to look down and see his blood soaking his grey cotton shirt. But what he saw instead freaked him out even more. When he looked to his stomach he saw the only thing that was actually stabbed through was his shirt. He saw only the tear in the shirt, nowhere else. Maybe the blade was just really dull, he contemplated, and it never made it past the shirt. That was impossible, however, because he felt the force of the blade. The more he thought about it the more he was confused, so he simply let it go.

He took his shirt and promptly placed it in the trash; the slice was too long, wide, and jagged to fix. When he tossed his shirt away he realized the trash can was full, so he tied up the trash and prepared to take it out to the outside trash can. It was the one the garbage man, or women, picked up and dumped into their massive metal hauler every Wednesday. He stopped then when he noticed how dark it looked outside; it seemed too dark outside. He decided, for a reason even unknown to him, to wait until the morning to do it.

"First I almost get stabbed and somehow block it, and it is nearly obsidian black outside," he thought to himself, "and all on my (17th) birthday too."

-Chris-

He removed his jacket and used it cover his face to protect him from the smoke of the flames that were engulfing his home. The flames began in the kitchen, and quickly spread. Without a second thought Chris bolted into his home; he was going to save his mother and father (who have not yet made it out of the house, despite it already being ten minutes since the flames came). When he entered he felt the heat press against him, and the sweat roll down his back. The flames were powerful and hot, and burned all the way to the ceiling.

He could see everything being reduced to ash. The couch was down to it's solid metal frame, the two recliners halfway burnt, the glass coffee table (shattered from the heat of the flames). He quickly glanced to the kitchen and saw what remained of it: nothing; it was just a big charcoaled mess. Even the birthday decorations for his 17th birthday, which his parents planned to clean up the next day. Parents... my parents! That's what I came back in here for, not to check out the integrity of the house!