Hullo, I’m Alexander Hiyadae, but I like to go by Xander. Zia is my best friend, but we are really close. I wish we could be more than just friends, but I don’t have the guts. Anyways, my name is Greek for “defender of the people”, which makes absolutely don’t understand why. I don’t even interact with people, but hey, that’s my parents for ya. Here’s the story how my parents died, and how I started to live up to my namesake.
My parents were killed when an assassin, who I knew personally, came into our house with a silencer gun. He managed to shoot Mom and Dad in the chest before I rammed into him. Ever see a ram charging? Well, when I hit him harder than a ram could. He hit the ground like a pack of sand, shaking me to the core. He leveled the gun at my stomach, then seemed to change his mind. He turned the gun at Zia, said something unintelligible, and pulled the trigger. It hit her in the leg, the colour of her blood seeping through her white jeans angered me more than I thought at the time. I watched as she crumpled like a towel thrown on the ground, heard her moaning in pain, clutching her calf and staining her hands. Somehow, my hands found their way to the man’s neck, almost as if they had a mind of their own. He started choking, then tried to shoot me in the chest. He tried three times before he succeeded. The bullet punctured the thin layer of skin covering my shoulder, cut through my flesh before it tore its way out. I flew back from the force of it, hitting the wall and banging my head.
I must have been knocked out for a good minute because the next thing I knew, Zia was dragging me out of the burning building, her jeans already completely crimson. The house exploded, knocking us forwards and raining ash. I will admit, I screamed like a little girl (now that I think about it, so did Zia). As we flew backwards, I wrapped my arms around her and braced myself for the impact. When I got it, let’s just say it was not pleasant, but also didn’t turn out how I thought it would.

Okay, just so you know, I did not scream like a little girl; in fact, I didn’t scream at all, but I think you should hear my side of the story. First of all, you’re probably wondering how this all started in the first place. Well, I’ll tell you, but it’s only from my point of view.
My phone rang, vibrating on the bedside table. I picked it up and looked at the caller ID: Xandy
“Hey, Zia, can you bring the notes for Biology? I skipped class with some friends, so I didn’t get them.” He said, and in the background I heard papers rustling and his labradoodle Dorothy barking.
“Xandy”, I replied, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “It is three in the morning, you realize that, right?”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t sleep, and I know you always get up early, so I figured you would be up. You were up, weren’t you?” I heard the concern in his voice. He’s right: I always get up super early because I had a bad experience with sleeping past four in the morning. Ever since that day, I have gotten up at 3:59 every morning.
“Yeah, I was up. I’ll be there in ten, alright? Next time, I won’t answer my phone, and you’ll just have to pray you pass the exam.” I said, lacing caution in my voice and waving my finger in the air as if he could see me. I hung up and started getting up. Grabbing my faded white boot-cut jeans, camouflage crop-top, and black Nike sports jogging shoes, I threw my sleep clothes in my hamper. Then I threw my bedding on my bed, and brushed my hair into a silky sheet of chocolate brown trouble. My stuff was strewn around the room, so I hurried to find my camo bag. My computer was shoved into the mouth, as well as a dozen or so pencils and pens, cherry carmex, three hair ties, my comb, lotion, 10 notebooks, 13 earth-toned folders, two books about 20, 000 pages each, two erasers, and a couple other things. Running down the stairs, I fell and twisted my ankle. Grunting in pain, I slid the rest of the way down the banister, jumped down, and ran into the kitchen. Knowing Xander probably didn’t eat breakfast yet, I threw a meal fit for 20 people together. Before I left, I scribbled a note to my mom telling her where I would be. The keys for my bike lock were on the key hooks, so I grabbed them and left the house. What I didn’t know was that that would be the last time I ever saw my house, or my mom again.
My bike is not like any other bike. On the back of it was a trunk that contained everything I would ever need if I got stranded in the middle of nowhere. On the front was a navy blue basket and a cup holder was positioned on either side of my handles. When I first got the bike, it was electric pink, so I went to the store to get spray paint. I carry some extra paint everywhere I go in case I need to repaint or write a message somewhere. I shouldered my bag, dropped my lunch and breakfast into the basket, and took off. His house was by a forest, under a set of train tracks. I stayed at his house one time because my mom was drunk with her boyfriend, and I had nowhere else to go. I tried to call him, but my phone died. His mom questioned me, but let me stay. I thought of this as I rode over the bumpy and dangerous path, traveling on a wooden walkway, over a hundred thousand feet above a rocky shore. Any wrong move could send me spiraling to my death. The impact would probably shatter my bones. By the time I finished my thoughts, I was in front of Xandy’s house. Parking my bike, I raced up the stairs and pulled out my key chain. Mrs. Hiyadea gave me the key to the house in case I ever needed a place to stay. Opening the door, I got the shivers. The draft in their house was so great, it made the cold morning air seem warm. I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders and cautiously entered their domain. I pulled the door shut and felt my way across the wall to the staircase. The stairs continued on for what felt like eternity before I came across the second landing. Still feeling the wall, I counted the doorways to Xander’s room. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. There was a small shadow dancing across the frame, which I assumed was Xander’s.
“Xander” I whispered, easing the door open, cringing at the creaking it caused. He looked at me, his eyes were streaked with red lines and shadows played under his lower lids. His cheeks were sunken, the bones sticking out like a sore thumb. Basically, he looked exhausted.
“Did you bring the notes?” He demanded.
“Yes, I did. Have you slept at all?” He shook his head, the blond waves shimmering in the early light. “Well, good thing I brought breakfast!” I held up the paper sacks. Setting them down on his bed, I swung my bag off my shoulders and onto the floor. A hollow thump followed. Before my notes even broke the surface, Xander was already whipping them out of my hands and onto his desk.
“Thanks” he mumbled, barely even glancing up at me.
“Yup, any time. You really should eat before you copy these. Or I could copy them for you.” I added as an afterthought, shrugging.
“You’d do that for me?” he asked, looking up at me.
“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you, no matter what consequences came afterwards. But if I do this, you have to actually eat while I type. Luckily, I brought my computer!” I replied, trying to sound upbeat. He looked at me skeptically, but did as I asked. I immediately got to work.
Brrrrinnnnnngggggg! Brrrrinnnnnngggggg! I jolted up, slamming the chair back against the floor. I immediately regretted the action and picked up the chair, gently sliding it to the desk. Xander wasn’t in the room, so I assumed he answered the door. Sliding down the banister, I realized my inner tuition was warning me about something. Suddenly, time froze; I stopped sliding, my watch stopped working, even the birds stopped in mid-flight. My watch lit up like the Fourth of July. This only happens when there is another subject in the room, so the newcomer must have had powers, just like Xander and I. Then, after a few holographic taps on my watch, time continued as if nothing had happened. I reached the landing and saw a very peculiar sight: the newcomer was standing in the living room with Mrs. And Mr. Hiyadea laying on the floor in a growing puddle of what looked like thin mud. Then I realized it was blood. I screamed, right as Xander rammed the man in the stomach. The impact shook the floor, and the I heard the wind being knocked out of the man. In the man’s hand was a silvery gun, clearly a silencer, as I had not heard a single shot sounded. The gun pointed at Xander’s chest, but swerved towards me. The trigger was pulled, and the bullet rang out, hitting me in the leg. I cried out in fear, crumbling to the cold tile floor. Crimson-purple blood seeped down the faded white jeans, and a searing pain shot through my body, immobilizing my limbs. I watched through spotted lens as the man fired four more shots. One of the bullets must have met their mark cause the next thing I know, Xander’s against the wall and the man’s stumbling towards me. In the dim light I could barely make out a necklace of red surrounding his beefy throat. His face was purple, and he walked like a drunkard. I tried to crawl away, but he caught my wrist and yanked me upwards, earning a scream of pain.
“Go tell your little boy toy to work out at the gym a little more when he regains conscience. Until then, you’re coming with me, girly.” The man huffed, his breath hot and putrid against my skin. When he talked, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard, cats screeching, and coarse sandpaper all in one. I squirmed in his grasp, clenching my teeth to avoid crying out in pain. He slapped me, the impact sending me flying to the ground at least four feet from where I started. He laughed even more horridly then his voice. Honestly, I didn’t think that was possible, but it happened. Then he turned around and limped his way to our stove.
“The easiest way” he called, “to set a fire is to light a match and throw it into an oven. Then turn the oven on and let nature be nature.” As he said this, he lit a match and threw it into the oven, turned it on, faced me and smiled. His teeth were an ugly shade of yellow, with spots of black.
“Go visit hell, you ugly dog!” I screamed, attempting to throw my knife at him. It struck him in the stomach, causing him to grunt and yank out the knife. He started towards me, and once again I scooted back. He got to me, knelt down, and pressed a meaty, sweaty hand on my chest.
“Don’t ever call me a dog,” he stated, his words beginning to slur. He held the handle of my amethyst dagger in his hand and brought it down, piercing my left forearm. I screamed as he carved Xander’s name into my skin, my eyes welling up with tears as he moved to my other arm and began carving my name. I screamed again, but this time he went flying back. The heat of the fire had gotten closer, so I summoned all my mental strength, pulling my stuff from Xander’s room. I hauled myself to Xander, grabbed his arm, and began trying to pull him to safety. His weight was almost more than I could take, so I collapsed on the hot concrete steps, still crying my eyes out. I felt someone pick me up and wrap strong yet scrawny arms around my waist before the house exploded. The last thing I remember was saying “I’m so sorry” and hitting something hard.