Okay, this is my first real fiction attempt, so, R and R please, and if you have some critical to say, whether with my grammar or a recommendation, please be friendly. Thanks! :)

The annoying drone of an alarm clock managed to wake me up. With a quick motion, I slammed my fist down towards it, only to miss and hit the edge of my nightstand.

"Piss…" I groaned. I forced myself out of bed and shut off the alarm, not missing this time. I dragged my fatigued body to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. The warm water acted like a key, unlocking the function of my sore muscles. I washed the entirety of my body, and made sure to wash my developed, but sore right shoulder, which was the price I paid in my last scuffle. The bruise was quarter-sized, and purple. I paid it no heed, and continued my shower. I finished washing my darker-than-black hair, and stepped out. I reached for the comb as I dried myself off, and I began to comb my semi-long hair. My hair reached my collar, and the front was able to be combed up quite a ways. I dried my face and rubbed my eyes, and opened them long enough to see the tribute to the time I once stood up for a good guy. My scar.

It started at the top left of my nose, and ran down a diagonal path to the corner of my lip. It was ugly, and it made me ugly. Of course, I don't give a crap, 'cause I'm a terrible person anyway.

I haven't told you my name. Then again, I don't care, but I'll tell you anyway. My name is Abe. Abe Rivers. You can make fun of me for my name later, but right now, I have things to do.

Downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, was my mother. Her brown hair was a mess, and she was wearing a bathrobe. The smell of bacon and coffee was lingering in the air, and I took a seat next to her.

"Good morning, dear." She mumbled. "There's bacon on the counter."

I grabbed a few pieces of said bacon, and I poured a glass of milk from the jug on the counter. I munched angrily, and slurped down the milk.

"Easy son, you've got a half an hour." My mom warned, actually looking up from her steaming coffee mug.

"Sorry. I gotta make it before the goons get there." I mumbled.

She sighed. "Do you have a weapon?"

It was my turn to sigh. "I got my fists, and the penknife that granddad got me."

She slurped her coffee. "Just be careful, son."

I grunted a response at her, and ran out the door. I could drive to school if I wanted, but I felt like walking, since I had time. My blazer blew in the wind, and the striped tie danced like a drunk buffoon. My light-blue shirt was untucked, and I wasn't wearing a belt. The uniform for Cygnus Sky High School made me look like a dick, but it wasn't so bad. At least the girls were slightly attractive.

"Hey Rambo, why so glum?" A cocky, high-pitched voice rang out.

I turned to see the regular, every-day sight of Rachel, perched on the top of a fence. She was a regular goof-ball, and one of my only friends. She hopped off the fence with her unnatural agility. Makes sense, she has been doing gymnastics for over a decade.

"Hey. My shoulder hurts, and I'm tired." I said with a chuckle.

She began to walk with me, her brown plaid skirt rustling gently. Her blue tie flipped slightly across her modest chest, and she donned a cute grin.

"You're unusually cheery this morning." I said, kicking a stone down the path.

"I just slept well. How's your mom?"

I looked up, and she had a genuinely worried face. Understandable, as my dad was a horrible, abusive person. That's a story for a different day, though, and why would I tell you?

"She's pretty good, actually. On new meds."

"Okay, that's good. Tell her if she needs help with anything, I'd bee happy to assist."

"Sure." I said, not paying much attention. I looked up, and sure enough, school was in sight. The building wasn't much to look at, but it had nothing short of a good teaching program. I'm not much for school, but I have a few subjects that I like.

We stopped, and she went on ahead. I still had ten minutes, and I was gonna take my time. My mild interest in the sky was cut short when I heard blows landing, and cries in the distance. I turned, and sure enough, about ten meters away, there were a group of guys surrounding something. One of the boys moved quickly enough for me to see they were attacking a girl!

"Bastards…" I whispered. I didn't want to get involved, but I threw that idea away. If it was some chump, then I wouldn't care. But one thing that I learned from my mother is that women are usually more vulnerable, and these boys are gonna regret.

I cracked my knuckles loudly. "Let's go.