Broken Hearts and Broken Homes, chapter 1
My heart skipped a beat as the music on my iPod changed suddenly. The soothing voice of Billie Joe Armstrong and the rest of the Green Day crew 'Wake me Up When September Ends' faded away and changed to the upbeat 'A little Less Conversation' By Elvis Presley. This woke me up from a dream I was having. A very good one in fact, a decent change from all the horrific nightmares that inflicted on my sleep.
It seemed like my iPod ran constantly through the night, and mostly through the day. Music was one of the only things that soothed me and my fears. And playing my beloved Chico, my guitar.
I was on the run. I've been on the run my whole life. Because of a certain someone who has been stalking me. I had to escape from that hell. He's still after me to this day.
I came all the way from Germany. And now I've landed in California. Everyone seemed so wierd, ignorant, stupid. They stared at my dark hair, pale skin, and electric blue eyes. My cargo pants, black tank top, DC shoes and wristbands didn't seem acceptable to anyone. I was just some punk walkin the lonely California streets at night.
The reason I was running away was that this one person, Mike. Ever since I left him, he's wanted to take my life. And so I ran, I ran away from the hills and hell of Germany and the soon to take over again communism. And he was on my trail. He wanted my blood. His exact words.
I was a successful editor for a magazine in Germany, so I had plenty of money to keep running. But I had to leave that life behind to get away.
I walked into a Super 8 motel and bought a room for the night. No way he could find me here. I was in the suburbs of the lower end Oakland California. Dumping my stuff; my huge waterproof Adidas duffel and guitar case; by the door of my room, I collapsed on the bed. I fell asleep immediately, not even bothering to turn on some music. Maybe I could stay in Oakland for a while before I had to run away again.
*The next morning*
I decided I could just roam around the town, do a bit of shopping and get used to the California lifestyle. From what I could tell, I could become a totally different person here. Dye my hair, get some tattoos, change my style. He couldn't possibly find me here. Maybe I could even get a job.
I stood in line at a local Starbucks(duh they have those in Germany so I know what the hell it is) and waited to get a latte. Sure was busy at 6 in the morning. Jet lag was killing me. I came from New York to here. I could only stay in New York for a few days since Mike found out where I was.
Five more minutes in line, the one man who was seven people in front of me was having a sample spree and couldn't pick which damn mocha frappicinco he wanted to get. A familiar voice behind me muttered, "What in the living hell is taking this ass so long?" Slowly I turned around, to see someone I didn't expect. My heart skipped a beat for what seemed like the millionth time in my life........
It seemed like my iPod ran constantly through the night, and mostly through the day. Music was one of the only things that soothed me and my fears. And playing my beloved Chico, my guitar.
I was on the run. I've been on the run my whole life. Because of a certain someone who has been stalking me. I had to escape from that hell. He's still after me to this day.
I came all the way from Germany. And now I've landed in California. Everyone seemed so wierd, ignorant, stupid. They stared at my dark hair, pale skin, and electric blue eyes. My cargo pants, black tank top, DC shoes and wristbands didn't seem acceptable to anyone. I was just some punk walkin the lonely California streets at night.
The reason I was running away was that this one person, Mike. Ever since I left him, he's wanted to take my life. And so I ran, I ran away from the hills and hell of Germany and the soon to take over again communism. And he was on my trail. He wanted my blood. His exact words.
I was a successful editor for a magazine in Germany, so I had plenty of money to keep running. But I had to leave that life behind to get away.
I walked into a Super 8 motel and bought a room for the night. No way he could find me here. I was in the suburbs of the lower end Oakland California. Dumping my stuff; my huge waterproof Adidas duffel and guitar case; by the door of my room, I collapsed on the bed. I fell asleep immediately, not even bothering to turn on some music. Maybe I could stay in Oakland for a while before I had to run away again.
*The next morning*
I decided I could just roam around the town, do a bit of shopping and get used to the California lifestyle. From what I could tell, I could become a totally different person here. Dye my hair, get some tattoos, change my style. He couldn't possibly find me here. Maybe I could even get a job.
I stood in line at a local Starbucks(duh they have those in Germany so I know what the hell it is) and waited to get a latte. Sure was busy at 6 in the morning. Jet lag was killing me. I came from New York to here. I could only stay in New York for a few days since Mike found out where I was.
Five more minutes in line, the one man who was seven people in front of me was having a sample spree and couldn't pick which damn mocha frappicinco he wanted to get. A familiar voice behind me muttered, "What in the living hell is taking this ass so long?" Slowly I turned around, to see someone I didn't expect. My heart skipped a beat for what seemed like the millionth time in my life........
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