Pain. Betrayal, worse than a broken heart. I was lying face-down in a damp alleyway after a rainstorm. I groaned and rolled over onto my back, only to feel something digging into it. Sitting up, I pulled it out. A knife. I stared at the thing in my right hand as my left searched the painful area in my chest, my heart. No pulse. How was I alive? I stood up, feeling my strength return. I was in an alley somewhere in a seedy part of New York City, where my friend had taken me, said he wanted to tell me something.
I remembered now, he'd walked around me a couple times, I waited patiently for him to tell me what he wanted to say. I carried a knife with me, tucked in my right boot, not many people checked a boot. People always thought I was going to star wars conventions or whatever, but I just liked to dress this way, like a Jedi, boots and a tunic. I digress, my friend, he'd told me one thing,
"You shouldn't have entered the adult world, kid. You should've stayed at home." Then everything had gone dark and painful.
Now I was here. Confused, a little lost, and feeling like more had happened than just an underage drink and a blow to the head. I looked back at the knife in my hand. It was a swiss army knife and leatherman, a utility knife with a red handle, one I'd never thought would be used to kill anyone, it was my knife. There was blood on the blade. My blood. It slowly dawned on me, and I staggered a little, reaching into my boot to find out that yes, the knife used to stab me in the back was my own.
"TRAITOR!" I screamed to the skyscrapers. I vowed, then and there, as I felt the wound close up far faster than it should have, that I would have my revenge on this guy. I'd kill him twice if thats what it took.
That was a week ago. Now, I was at his doorstep.