There are...words.
These words fit together to mean something, I know it. But I can't find the alignment.
I can watch and I can study other words. Because maybe if I see how they fit then I can find my answer somewhere inside them...maybe.
This is...hard. I don't think in fully formed sentences, of course not. It's easier when it's something eating or sleeping or thirst. You just say, "I want to eat" or "I want to drink." But then things get slowly difficult with emotions. I is want. "I want..." etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, that part is easy. But the "etcetera" is the problem. For there is always more etcetera than there is want. And want is the only thing that's noticed.
I Want to do this.
I Need this vindication.
I Want redemption and/or salvation.
I have but no choice in the matter.
There's no point in prolonging the process is there? Well, of course you can't answer me, can you? No, you cannot.
Very well, then I suppose I'll start...

Chapter the First
Darien Dear

Darien Burgman is a complicated man. Loved? Yes. Admired? Yes. Adored? Yes. He is our leader. He is our father. He is our brother. He is our friend. He is feared? Yes. Confidence is always a good characteristic in a person. I believe that, too. But that doesn't mean that there aren't people out there who have such massive amounts of it it's exuberant. Not conceited...but exuberant. There are people like that(who are exuberant), and there are people who are...not. They are assailable.

My arrival was a sort of unattested disturbance. My family and I were much like something foreign falling into water without creating any ripples. We did not disturb Quarington, one of those anonymous towns that are in midst of That Place, this far from The City and down the road from Somewhere. It was far from city life, too busy to be the country, and not quite good enough to be suburban. It was a town, let's say. Quarington was pretty much quarantined in itself. There was life, a heart, and blood with what looked to be people thriving in it's veins. Quaint, almost.

School happened and home happened. I'm sure, as did sporting events and dining out. Weather happened and life happened. But nothing, I assure you, nothing could ever amount to when we happened.

Christian always tells me that when they don't understand you, there's something there that they don't want to know. It made sense hearing it the first time, but after thinking a short while you come to wonder, who would want to know? Christian chuckled and slapped my back when I asked him, then he told me I'll do just fine here. And I wanted to do fine here. I just didn't know exactly what "fine" meant. But I didn't care too much. After all, how bad could it be?

A moment of pause here for my innocence, a burden that I would soon find unnecessary.

My growing acquaintance with Christian pulled me ever closer to Darien. This was much in the same way as the friend of a friend of a friend meeting that friend of a friend and close a small circle of acquaintanceship. Our own meeting was not planned. It was not graceful, it was not...sly as one would expect. I mean, looking back myself it's not even what I would have expected.

"You're in my seat." I was torn away from the cafeteria mania to look up at the boy who's apparent chair I was occupying. I apologized if only to appease him and avoid any conflict. This kid had hard grey-blue eyes of ice, a strong jaw and what I'm sure was a strong right hook. I was sixteen, I wasn't stupid. But it seemed any efforts on my part were made futile by his lack of countenance, because as I made to brush past him he caught my arm.

"No you're not, so don't fucking lie to me, ya understand?" His breath was cold despite the warm temperatures of the room.

"Fine. Next time I won't say sorry, then." I thought he was going to kill me. Or hit me in the very least. In smaller areas there seems to be a wide spread misconception that there's less crime and bad parts of town when the opposite is true. The smaller the confines of the city the closer together decency and corruption must live. So he was a bad kid, okay.

But he didn't hit me, he let me go. In the second it took for him to dismiss me there was a moment where he seemed to almost consider me. Then he let me go.

I passed out of his life for the next six months, and he stayed out of mine. Our second run-in was in a second floor boy's bathroom. It was the fifth time he had come to class since I last saw him.

"I gotta go, Christian. I can't take it anymore. I gotta get out..."

"You can shut that mouth, you friggin' pussy. You trying to get yourself killed talking like that?!" Christian answered the unidentified boy back harsh, but mildly frantic.

"I can't take it, I'm telling you...Christ! I Christ!" The boy whimpered and he pounded something against the wall. It was either a fist or his body.

"Hey, hey!" The pounding stopped as Christian took hold of him. His voice was now somewhat soothing but authoritative all the same. "Listen to me, all right? Calm down. It's okay. If you feel that way, it's not a problem."

"Yes it fucking is! What the fuck are you talking about, you moron?!" The boy pushed Christian off in a hysterical rage. Tears now ran from his wide frenzied eyes. "Do you have any idea what Burgman will do to me if he ever found out?! Huh?! Do you have any fucking clue what he would...he would...?!" As if coming to realize his own words hysteria overcame him again. "Christian, Christian you can't tell him! You won't, you wouldn't, I know you wouldn't but...Christian...Christian please!"

He was begging, half convinced and half terrified hanging on to Christian's coat collar(who was always seen wearing some type of coat or jacket). He was about a head shorter do to his collapsing knees and he looked up at him pleadingly. He was met by a calm stare.

"You won't tell! You won't tell?! You won't, would you? You wouldn't." Christian stopped him.

"Jacobs," he held his head still and looked down on him. He had an amused face with a small smile and spoke the words to him softly and almost cordially. "I told you, it's not a problem."

The boy called Jacobs stood up straight and his tears ceased as Christian reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked to be a Remington. Wordlessly, he fired into the boys chest. Said boy fell dead before hitting the ground.

Watching hidden from around the stall I stood there. Blood began to cover the already filthy green tiles as the boy called Jacobs-now a body-began losing the fluid like a deflating balloon. Christian concealed the now empty gun again in his jacket and made to leave the scene behind. He was met by me.

"Who's Burgman?"