Chapter One

Introduction

1996…the year I died.

It was the year that my innocence was taken from me from the man that took me from the streets, who fed me and clothed me and only asked of one thing…me.

It hurts to think of this, it hurts no matter what I do or say, it'll always be there, the same sickening feeling of being left behind.

It's a long story, for me to write here, it's a long story on how I needed up here in this hospital bed looking outside at the children, at the spring flowers.

But my therapist says I should write what happened, she says it might help my nightmares; she also believes I'm a raving lunatic and should be doped.

My head hurts, it's from the lights gleaming at me, like spotlights, I wish they'd go away and leave me in the dark.

Rei comes and visits, but everyday his visits are shorter and he only comes every so often, that's because he has a life to live and me to leave behind.

The others come, in their own time of course.

It year 2007, I'll be 20 in two weeks.

It's the year I'll explain myself, it's the year I'll be discharged and ready to live again, it's the year I'll see the world and wonder why I'm still here.

But, I have to start from the beginning, yes the beginning, the start the 'once upon a time'.

I was put in the hospital June 12th 2003, why?

Because I almost killed someone…I almost stabbed someone, it was Tyson, it was during the reunion, I was sixteen and I took a freshly broken wine bottle and almost killed him.

A few weeks after that I feel into a 'deep depression' and become an insomniac, my nights were filled with running or swimming or cutting.

I cannot say I deserved coming here, it was a joint decision made by the Bladebreakers and the Blitzkrieg Boyz.

And I'm still sitting here at St Jude's Hospital, ironic name, St Jude the saint of lost causes.

My file is as big at the bible, it has everything about me, everything, even my second names in it which no ones.

My file is cream with my name printed in Red, "Kai Hiwatari no.666"

Mocking number, just my luck to get the devils number.

My therapist, Kathy, she believes I suffer from chronic amnesia, one day I'll be fine the next I wont know a thing where I am or anything…and then there was the time I forgot how to speak.

She thinks I'm 'making progresses', she'll sit opposite my bed, writing in that silly notebook of hers, nodding at me as if I'm right.

She'll sit with her one leg over the other, making her skimpy skirt ride up her thigh, her high heels dangle from her feet, her long chocolate hair will fall into her face and she'll wipe it away yet it still falls, man she annoys me.

Mr Dickinson visits regularly, he makes appointments to come and visit, I'll usually be in the garden sitting wishing I could just fly away like a bird.

He'll sit next to me and tell me everything, all the hot gossip, who's doing what and where, and I'll sit; my eyes closed listening to every word.

He leaves and wishes me good health; whether it's mental or physical I don't know.

Kathy says everything that's happened to me is mental, like I'm some psychopath I don't know, she says that I should mediate more often, she watches me when I do meditate, I do it in the garden at the patio, its my time there, no other patient is allowed there.

The patio is covered in marble, it looks over at the garden, and I listen and sit on the nest of cushions and meditate, why? Because I've done it for so long.

I love the garden, some of the other patients will never go in it because their afraid, like Old Jim, he suffers from severe amnesia, what he remembers is from when he woke up from a coma ten years ago, and the only reason why he was in a coma was because a tree fell on him and now he's stuck in a wheelchair.

Old Jim is fifty, he says I'm a grasshopper and shouldn't be in this place, I told Old Jim that he shouldn't either, but he just laughs, like I'm some kind of comedian.

They had to move me once, from the second floor, because I nearly killed myself, I wanted to fly away, and jumped out the window and straight onto several rose bushes, that's why I'm down here on the first floor, away from the other maniacs.

But I'm moving off the topic.

The beginning is hard for me to explain, it's like a block in my head trying to make me forget what happened those years ago.

My earliest memory is of Voltaire, I don't remember my parents…I don't even know their names.

Kathy says I should try and explore my past, try and remember, try and see there face, but I never will, I'll never know.

But I think, before you read any further, you should know who I am or who I once was…

…I was once a champion blader…

…I was once a guy with dreams of being free…

…I was once someone who had friends…

…I was once a person…

…with feelings that stung like a bee…

…now I am me…I am who I have become…

…I am Kai Hiwatari…

…a stranger to myself…

888

Hope you liked it, I know I do, this is something that I thought of and might become something new, um lets see, the poem was by----

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