Hello? Hello? I hope somebody is listening, because this cannot fall to deaf ears; it's far too important. But, before I begin, I suppose some sort of introduction is necessary. My name is Mathew Hart, and, as ridiculous and conspiracy-worthy it may sound, everything I tell you is completely true. Including this: I am a genetic experiment, a combination between animal and human. And we are not all that few and far-between.
Other than my fourteen-year-old self, there are many other supporting roles in this. My beloved half-sister, Lydia Fax. My best friend, Claude Pescatelli. My care takers over the years, Jack Danish, Luluko Takeshi. My first and only love, Mizu.
And, with any good story, there is always a good line-up of antagonists, the foremost being the man known only as Seven, who haunted my waking and otherwise hours. There were others, I am sure of it, the woman with the black hair, the faux-punk, and the faceless Director.
All have touched my life, good or bad.
All have twisted what might've been a normal adolescence into something worthy of a science-fiction novel.
All deserving a hearty "Thank-you" because of it.
But not yet.
I
When I was younger, I used to climb under the covers and create a fort for myself with my knees. I would climb in there with a flashlight and the bulky portable CD player Luluko had bought me for my 10th birthday. With the odd combination of yesterday's soft rock and today's hard rock blowing out the headphones, I felt safe. Like I was in my own little world within the world that was full of the unease and terror I knew too well. For a long time, it was the only way I could fall asleep. With the flashlight still on, I would let the voices of Paul McCartney and Gerard Way serenade me into restfulness.
It's safe to say I went through I a lot of batteries.
Other than my fourteen-year-old self, there are many other supporting roles in this. My beloved half-sister, Lydia Fax. My best friend, Claude Pescatelli. My care takers over the years, Jack Danish, Luluko Takeshi. My first and only love, Mizu.
And, with any good story, there is always a good line-up of antagonists, the foremost being the man known only as Seven, who haunted my waking and otherwise hours. There were others, I am sure of it, the woman with the black hair, the faux-punk, and the faceless Director.
All have touched my life, good or bad.
All have twisted what might've been a normal adolescence into something worthy of a science-fiction novel.
All deserving a hearty "Thank-you" because of it.
But not yet.
I
When I was younger, I used to climb under the covers and create a fort for myself with my knees. I would climb in there with a flashlight and the bulky portable CD player Luluko had bought me for my 10th birthday. With the odd combination of yesterday's soft rock and today's hard rock blowing out the headphones, I felt safe. Like I was in my own little world within the world that was full of the unease and terror I knew too well. For a long time, it was the only way I could fall asleep. With the flashlight still on, I would let the voices of Paul McCartney and Gerard Way serenade me into restfulness.
It's safe to say I went through I a lot of batteries.
