She sprinted down the pathway, her breath ragged and harsh against the early morning.

Her bare feet smacking and slapping on the crumbling concrete.

She bid her body to move faster, her movements almost graceful as she twisted and clawed the air with her arms tearing through the streets.

Hey thighs rubbing and scraping, her teeth clenched tightly to the point of injury.

She sprayed herself sideways as she turned a corner, dragging the dusty concrete with her as she slammed to the side. The house she hit rattled slightly, the windows echoing the impact.

She spat on the ground and continued running, tripping and scraping up the ancient stairs and thrusting herself into the damp door of the old Academy.

She loped into the last building she'd ever grace in her human life.


Peter perused his screen quietly.

No-one's online? Bah! Can't be! It's holidays, everyones awake, all teens go nocturnal. Servers down for maintenance on World of Warcraft and it's 11am in America, so none of them are on. I'm bored of youtube, and I'm almost out of bandwidth anyway. What else… up to date on all my manga, Naruto, Bleach and One Piece…

Could it be that the wonders of the internet had finally failed him?

Of course not! It's just a bit dead at the moment.

Then it hit him. Social networking sites. He hadn't read the daily updates yet.

Slamming his hands to the keyboard and letting a small "Woot!" escape his lips, Peter hit the hotkey for his homepage.

"Ad, ad, ad, ad, skanky picture of female, skanky picture of male, button that up Grant! Spam, virus, virus, oh my Jesus there really is nothing!"

Peter strolled to the window and placed his palms on the chipped and crumbling windowsill. He stared down the hill and noticed a moving van pulling into the driveway of a small brick bungalow. They were pulling out the hugest TV…

"Peter!"

His admiration interrupted.

"Get the FUCK off the computer! Stop talking to yourself! Go to FUCKING bed! I have work in the morning to pay for the bandwidth YOU suck! It is 6 in the FUCKING morning on a FUCKING Tuesday! Get off that damn machine or I'll be hurling it out the window!"

"Yes mother dearest." Peter sighed at the wall. He was granted no answer.

"Love you mooma." He tried again.

After a long period of silence his mothers voice cooed through the wall,

"Love you too darling, please go to sleep."

He couldn't blame her for that, it was her trying out her "tough parenting", she'd always been so soft and kind. Peters mother, Beatrice, was a bohemian style potter. On the weekends. After his father left she'd gone and gotten herself a "real job" working in an office and wearing a suit, and seemed to always come home tired. Peter felt for her, but selfishly enjoyed the fancy gadgets she was able to buy him.

Peter stood up and flexed his fingers high above his shoulders, hearing satisfying cracks down his spine. He wandered over to the window and peeled the curtain back with his weak sunlight crept in and licked his unwashed bed sheets. Sighing deeply and realising he wouldn't be able to go to town today either, he collapsed onto his grubby bed and delved his mind into sleep.