Wake up.

Eat.

School.

Home.

Eat.

Sleep.

I had been maintaining this pattern of life for as long as I can remember. Except for the random chance of me breaking the pattern for family affairs from time to time this steady way of life never changed, and I was quite content with that.

I was quite happy living with my boring lifestyle. I mean, what was I to expect from this one-horse town with a population of 100? When you know the name of every person you see, excitement isn't exactly and expectation. Every face holds a certain place in your mind. Everyone fit the perfect mesh this society had created. Everyone knew their place, everyone new what to do, where to be, how to act. But this is where I suffered most. My name and face stood out more then most people's here.

You see, my name is Matt and I'm 15 years old. Currently I am walking down the busiest road in town (occupied by at least 5 cars on a bad day) clicking on the buttons of my beloved PSP while the melodic sounds of Lost Prophets blasts in my ears. My left eye is hidden under my auburn bangs as my satchel is lightly hitting my thigh in time with my steps. I'm wearing my best stripped shirt, with my favourite black tie dangling down. I was wearing jean shorts with belts and buckles everywhere. I was quite aware of the stares I was receiving from, mostly from the old women sitting at the café, sipping their latte's while munching on scones, but I really didn't care.

Being stared at was something I had become accustomed too. You would think it was because of my strange attire, or the fact that I was making major multi-tasking history that people found me so fun to look at, but sadly it wasn't the case.

10 years ago, when I was 5, my parents were murdered while I was taken into another room by a man. I don't remember what he looked like. I was too little. It's not something I like to think about or know much about for that matter. I can't really remember my parents to well so it doesn't affect me greatly. I'm told that I look a lot like my mother and have my fathers hair, and I hope they're not implying I look like a girl.

Of course in a small town like this one, even after 10 years I am still stared at. I'm known as Matt, the boy who's parents were killed. I mean in a way I guess I can't blame them. Sure, at first it made me uncomfortable, but nothing ever happens here and major gossip like this doesn't come around too often. These women need something to make them feel young right?

My parents killer was never found, and since I had no living relatives I was placed in a foster care program. From their I was adopted by my 2 gay "fathers" David and Sebastian. Their beliefs are a little weird and they are fairly strange not to mention overly protective but I know they care for me.

Maybe, a little too much.

I've been given a curfew of 10 o'clock. To any other 15 year old teenager this would be a I-Hate-My-Parents-So-Much moment, but for a loner like me, being home at 10 hardly mattered for I was almost always there. Not only that, but I was forced to carry around the biggest cell phone known to man kind. Even this kind of injustice bothered a techno-geek such as myself. Did the size of this cellular device really enhance its calling ability? I highly doubted it. But no matter how much begging I did, and slipping of cell phone fliers in their newspapers (which I had made a past-time of), they never seemed to change their minds. Pity.

So considering my past life, living in a small town is the best thing that's ever happened to me. After having my parents killed, put in foster care, being adopted by David and Sebastian, and being a social outcast, a simple life is exactly what I want. I'm happy with my easy, laid-back life style. All I want to worry about is waking up, eating, going to school, coming home, and eating and sleeping again. I don't need anything more.

But as I walk down this main road, with the one car travelling down it, the old ladies gossiping madly to the right of me, and an actual tumbleweed blowing by me, I couldn't help but have this feeling in my gut.

Maybe I did want more. Maybe this horrible feeling I always felt was the need to have more, the need to experience more. Maybe I was craving something that was out of reach, something better then what I knew. Maybe I wanted to have a life, meet people, and do strange and exciting things.

Maybe, just once I wanted something really cool to happen in this lame place!

Ha.

In this town. Who was I kidding.

So? How does it sound so far? Please tell me of any spelling Errors you may find and feel free to tell me your ideas for the story!

Thanks for reading!

-Love Mari 3