A/N: Well okay, taking a break from FT and OH for a bit, and just decided that Michael needs a new introduction. This is actually inspired by the introduction to the comic book I drew for Michael (Man I need to get back to that one!). I'm seeing already some fundamental changes in how this story is told, and this is the start of that!

If you've read this before and have already commented on "Chapter two" please either review anonymously, or go ahead and send me a private message to let me know what you think. Any and all feedback is welcome!

Darwin

Prologue: Prelude to Trouble

MEEP MEEP MEEP MEEP!!!

The sound of the alarm clock cuts through any hope of coming to my dream’s conclusion. Even the premise of it slips before my hand slaps the snooze button. The small window on the far wall shows that dull gray glow of predawn outside, and highlights the tops of dark piles of clothes, a scatter of magazines, and my high-tops.

Another day in the school week. Merph.

“’M up,” I mutter. The slurred words are to no one really, kind of another way I ensure I’m awake. I still lay there, just a few moments more to gather my senses.

With another groan, I lever my body up and swing my legs out over the floor. I wince as the come in contact, forgetting that mom had gotten me some small area rugs to cover the tile on the floor. I shake my head minutely, chagrined at my anticipation of cold feet.

Running fingers through my sleep matted blonde curls, I push up and stumble over to my dresser. As my nails drag along my scalp, I realize they’re getting too long again. I peer at them confirming they are well longer than I’m comfortable having them. I’ll get them after my shower. I dig through the drawers pulling out underpants and a pair of the baggy jeans I’ve been wearing as a fashion statement lately. Another drawer holds one of my design riddled T-shirts, and from yet another, I pull out an oversized hooded sweatshirt. With my day’s clothes in hand I head for the bathroom.

I shower and dress in a bit of a fog; pulling on my clothes before combing through my hair. Once the tangles are gone, I ruffle it to get the wave to reappear and then open the medicine cabinet to find a pair of nail clippers. They are always in one of two states, either here in numbers, or scattered over the house. Today it looks as if Mom took the initiative to gather them all back up and stow them where they actually belong. Four pair lay in a tangled pile on the second shelf. I pick out one; cursing as the rest of them pretend they’re magnetized and follow it out, only to clatter into the basin of the sink.

I quickly clip all ten nails, sweep the clippings out of the sink, and deposit them in the waste basket tucked under the right edge. I draw in a breath and let it back out again. That done I started back for my room.

“Michael!” Mom’s voice echoes down the hall. She doesn’t wait for my response; she never does. As I gather my books back together for the day, she adds, “I have to leave now! Don’t miss the transport!”

“I won’t!” I bellow back. Every morning it’s the same thing. I know she does it because she cares, but I’m nearly sixteen, I think I can get myself through the day. I keep thinking that she still sees me as five.

“See you tonight!” She calls back, and then I hear the door slamming.

I make it to the front room, watching through the bay window as she pulls the car out of the parking area in front of the house and head out to the street. Dad’s already gone. He left well before five, heading up north to take care of some business that cropped up overnight. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Taking my time, I fix a quick bowl of cereal, sucking down spoonfuls as I prepare some sandwiches for my lunch. I pull out the insulated lunch bag from the cupboard under the center block and flop it onto the counter. I bag and then stow the sandwiches in the container, pack several bags of chips, a bottle of water, and a can of soda; and then take the whole bag and put it in my backpack atop the stack of schoolbooks.

I set my bag by the door and then move back to the couch. I sit down, flipping on the vid screen and surfing through the various channels as I wait for the appointed time. My eyes flick out the window once again as my ears pick out the sound of traffic out on the thoroughfare that fronts our beachfront property.

Nope, merely a truck.

I go back to surfing channels. I pause here and there on the “news” channels – and not liking their entertainment turn-of-phrase, I move on. Why can’t news just be news? Too much sugar-coating in the world these days. Guess the programming directors think that the human race has become too sensitive to see just how ugly life can be.

A grin stretches my mouth, only to fall off my face again when that familiar rumbling hum wafts to the house from the street. I pin that curling lane with my gaze, watching as the canary yellow of the transport passes by the gap between hills.

“There it is.” I rise from my seat, leisurely flipping off the Vid and stepping over to grab my books. I peer out once again as I shoulder it, seeing the transport slow – anticipating my being in the driveway. It is momentary, and then it speeds off again, headed for the next stop on its route.

I nod as it disappears, and then head out the door.

As I reach the street end of our thousand foot driveway, I start to turn left, head away from the high school. About fifty yards up the street towards my hideaway, I change my mind.

“I should probably see how things are going.” I glance over my shoulder, as if I could see New Fresno High School from here. It’s been about a week since I last checked the social happenings, and I’d really rather not make up more than I absolutely have to when my parents ask how school is going. They do get that occasional social calendar – sometimes they even read it, busy as they normally are.

With a shrug I do an about face and start walking to school. It’s a long enough trek that I should get there after the first bell, after everyone has gone to class. I’ve gotten good at this over the last month. Haven’t yet gotten caught for ditching; neither by the school, nor by mom and dad.

A part of me wonders just how long I can keep the ruse up.