In the Beginning
It never stopped raining...and I never stopped crying.
The world was a blur, passing by and floating like a ghost, never affecting me. Even if it did, it was not for a good cause. I was alone in this estranged dream, not knowing whether to cut it short or to prolong it to see the effects.
That dream was Woodstock, and it was scary. As I stood under the roof of my new dwelling and watched the raindrops pour down, beating on the concrete floor of the basketball court like an enraged beast, I thought of what awaited me in the future. Here I was, a helpless boy in his twelfth year of naivety, still fascinated by Captain Planet and such like heroes, and not knowing more than ten English phrases, I must face Life himself and prove myself worthy. But of what? My mind spoke of courage and dignity, yet my heart felt heavy with fear and resignation. It would be a tough fight between the two and no matter which one won, I would be a devastated creature. Such thoughts crept up and gave me the chills.
The car engine creaked, gave a few coughs and jerked forward. As the poor beast ascended the slope reluctantly, my Dad fought his momentum to stick his head out, attempting to convince me that things would be fine. It did not make a difference to me. I was the one in the trap, not him. His wave was unnatural and somewhat suppressed. I sighed in desolation at the thought of being cheated and betrayed by my own Dad. What an evil feeling that was.
“Spacing out or what?” an Indian boy that later on would turn out to be the notorious Karan Madhok endeavored to redeem my soul. I shot backward in surprise and almost fell. The dude stared at me for a few seconds, and gave an evil laugh, which was soon joined by those of my other classmates. “Let's go inside,” they spoke in a voice half inviting and half deceitful. “Hell with it,” I thought in Vietnamese and accepted their offer.
That was how everything began...