Hello all, this is my first posting on this site after a long time reading. This is a story that will take some time to unfold and no sex happens until later in his life fyi. This current version is a test of some of this site's features that I will rerelease most likely when I go back over it. You are welcome to read it and post any major issues you see as I welcome criticism.
Enjoy
Chapter 1
Becoming a Tree
I knew this feeling. I'd had it before just not in such a massive...quantity. This city was supposed to be a vacation. Just go looking for girls and relax. Yet here I am on my hand and knees in some alley. My right arm was getting tired from holding myself up, and my left arm was busy around my stomach keeping my insides inside. I was bleeding out. Took awhile to find the words and then it was too late. I had started to put pressure on it, but the cut started at my left and ended up halfway up my right side. It was getting hard to hear things now, but I could still see. She wouldn't let my vision fade until I was truly done.
The guy that did this was still mid-monologue and sounded like he would be wrapping up soon. I felt his footsteps and the cold, slick steel of his scythe at my neck. He pulled at my hair to get my on my knees. The change in position left my light headed and my left arm went slack. My legs felt warm as blood rushed over it. He turned my head so I could see the girl. He was going to kill her and it was my fault. He was going to torture her for information and then end her. Because she knew me. Good job Mykris, you are a fucking failure. Then he ran the scythe across my neck turning me into a pez dispenser. She looked like she was screaming. I looked like I was dying. Hell of a 21st birthday.
This whole thing started a long time ago. You have to hear it from the beginning to really get it. My name is Mykris Hale. I grew up in suburbia. It was one of those places that wanted to hold onto nature but understood that people would pay for a few more plots of the American dream. Both of my parents had a really exciting early life that let them feel content with finally settling down. When I asked about their past they would only tell stories that were "age appropriate" aka things before Woodstock. Dad was approaching 50 and looked 40 with a sort of grizzled handsome I hoped to inherit. He had a 5 o' clock shadow everywhere that he didn't have his small beard. Being an outdoors type he kept in shape with a tall muscular frame. Mom was 3 years younger and looked like someone that would be right at home with Tinkerbelle and the lost boys. She had red hair and green eyes along with a really soft smile. When I say "red" I don't mean auburn, I mean like a fire. Streaks of blonde, dark red and the occasional orange were there. It always looked awesome to me as a kid, and I was really happy when those more exciting shades snuck into my blond hair.
They would often be away, but when they were around they would teach me the "ways of the world". Dad taught me fighting, survival, courtesy, and all the outside skills he knew. Mom taught me social skills, endurance, and all the home skills I could ever need. Because they weren't around a lot, they did this training to keep me from feeling abandoned or getting all messed up in the head. "No child of mine is growing up to be helpless or rude." Is what Dad would always say. The training was never really training though. It was more fishing trips and family outings. Whenever we were all together at the house, they would occasionally ask me questions as they walked by my room about what I would do in certain situations.
Looking back, it really covered a lot of ground to keep me open minded and kept me from being the outcast I would have been otherwise. Because of my hair and the fact that my parents weren't around all the time, some kids tried picking on me. The training kept me able to either talk or fight my way out of it without falling out of the social groups all kids love to be in. It also really let me know my parents were there for me, but sometimes I wished they could have been around for more than half a year at a time.
When they weren't around, I'd have the house to myself. This would have been awesome, but I was afraid of the dark, and a completely empty two-story house in complete darkness was the scariest fucking thing I'd ever even heard of as a kid. After sitting in my room with the lights on for a week, someone knocked at the door. I was about then that I remembered that school was a thing that was supposed to happen. Before I say anything else, please understand I was about 8 at the time. I thought swat was waiting outside with my picture on the America's most wanted list. I entered full panic mode and wrote a note to my parents saying I had to run away. I put my favorite toys in a backpack and jumped out the window. I would love to say that I masterfully rolled and ran away, but the truth is I was 15 off the ground, and I chose a window with concrete below it. I still rolled, but it was more out of agony then necessity.
This girl comes running out to my backyard and asks me if I'm okay. Why do people ask this question? It's the stupidest thing you could ask. 'No I'm rolling around on the ground for posterity's sake.' Anyway, she comes running to me and sits next to me while looking over my legs. I knew her as the girl next door. No connotations there; she was literally my next door neighbor and nothing more. She ran off and got her mom and to make an already short story shorter, I ended up staying with them for the nights.