Mikey watched his house burn and kill everyone inside, but is there more than meets the eye?
The word hung over Mikey’s head like a veil of shame hiding all his aspects and personality.
Day in day out he tormented himself with the tragedy of the loss of the people who created him.
On top of that he never understood how people could say that being bullied would build character.
Michael James Way, born September 10th 1980, son and sole survivor of a ravenous fire that killed both Donna and Donald Way, older brother’s body never found.
“I watched my parents die, it’s hard to forget something like that.” He tugged anxiously at his black cotton Slayer t shirt and gnawed on his full bottom lip.
Carla Durnham sighed in obvious exasperation and turned to face the pale, scrawny boy sitting in the chair in front of her.
“Mikey,” she began softly,
“I know how hard it is for you but you need to let me help, understand?”
He swallowed painfully, his throat like sandpaper, and nodded, perspiration beginning to bead at his forehead.
“I’m going to have to prescribe you with fluxotine Mikey, I don’t see you improving on your own, I don’t want to do this because I really do like you, but it’s for the best and you and I both know that you can’t just go on with this weight, and since you won’t tell me what’s going on in that remarkable mind of yours it’s come to this.”
Although inevitable, it still caused a wave of hurt to wash over the misunderstood teen; Carla had said she’d do everything in her power to prevent his needing Prozac.
But like everyone else it seemed she had let him down. After the hurt began to fade in its place newfound anger bit at his vision and tainted his thoughts.
The teen furiously pushed himself off the plush chair he found himself in much too often and yanked up his black school bag.
“That drug’ll make me numb it won’t help me forget, I’ll be dead inside!” He seethed and stormed out of Durnham’s office holding an irrationally antagonised expression over all the pain and sorrow his deep hazel and green eyes never fully masked like the rest of his carefully constructed face and leaving a very upset therapist to write countless pages of notes on her favourite subject.
He marched all the way out of the clinic into the chilly air that greeted him with a freshness that managed to calm him down with wispy white hands wiping at his forehead and roaming his body.
His calloused fingers found a way through his tangled mousy hair, a nervous trait his older brother had displayed when he was around.
Sadly, Mikey was not alone in the bleak street of New Jersey.
LOL it's not exactly a rewrite because no one actually reviews my errors but it's being properly spaced and chapter-ed