"Ma'am," the FBI agents asks me as I sit in that cold, hard chair. Only thinking of my little Kyle all alone. "When was the last time you saw your husband?"
"December 23rd, 2001." I reply without any hesitation. It was almost the 8 year anniversary. But all I can think about now is my 12 year old son Kyle. I've only been gone for five hours and I already miss him…
"Ma'am," With his big brown eyes, and the way they glow yellow when he tries to control cryptids is just so comforting…
"Ma'am?" And his thick black hair, and that white spot in the front…
"Ma'am!" Of course, I finally hear them. "What? I-I'm sorry." I say gently, hoping I can leave this place soon so I can call Kyle.
"You can go now. Come back tomorrow. Same time, same place." The man's words are impatient, heartless. "Oh." Is all I can say as I rush out of the dark, cold room.
"Oh crap!" I say as I rush down the stairs, still struggling to get my pants on correctly. "No, no, no!" I ran to the kitchen, looking around frantically. "Uh… um…. Oh!" I grabbed an apple and bolted for the door. My blackish-white hair pulling back in the breeze as my brown eyes water from the force. But just as I open the door, I hear it.
The sound of the school bus driving away. So, as any other kid would, I ran. "I'm so dead! I'm so dead!" I keep repeating. "I'm so de-OW!"
Of course, I had to fall. "Stupid gravity." I mumble as I try to identify what I hit my head on.
"Of course," I mumble. "I had to get blood on the neighbors mailbox!" I wiped my head-blood off the mailbox and saw the name. "Oh crap…"
"I got to get out of here!" I try to run down the block, but only make it a couple houses down. The pain in my head is too much. Blood is streaming down my face, there's a giant bash in my left leg, and I'm late for school.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I yell at myself. Why does everything have to be so hard?! I collapse to the ground and lay there, my head in my arms.
After about an hour I would say, I heard a tiny voice.
"Are you alright chosen one?" the little voice asked. I looked up frantically to find a small little fairy with light red skin, and blood red hair-which was down to her shoulders-, wings, and dress. But the part that scared me, was that her fists, feet, and tips of her wings were flaming.
"W-what?" I reply weakly. What did she mean 'chosen one'?
"You are the chosen one Kyle Saturday."