Hey guys, I'm writing again. While you may remember me from the Super Smash Bros archives, I've decided to take a break and try something new: writing a story like this. Hope you guys enjoy it! For anyone who is confused about the protagonist, please refer to the episode "Middle Man."
When I was growing up, I had always wanted to do something big, something that would make people remember me for years. Since I lived in a small town in Indiana, that meant everyone knew everyone. I had planned to move to a bigger city when I was old enough.
I always enjoyed school. Like every other kid, my friends grew up with me. I got things pretty easily: math, English, and science. I'll admit, I was quite a nerd back in elementary school. My friends always came to me for help, and it was always great, giving them the answers in a beat. I was king of the world.
Unfortunately, life at home was an entirely different story. Everyone was wary of my father. When I was nine, my mom finally left and never came back. She wouldn't even return for me; she left immediately, saving her own skin before mine. My teachers and friends noticed the strange bruises I always came to school with; they never asked, but they suspected. But of course, they couldn't, or rather, wouldn't, get themselves involved. After all, when your father's the sheriff of the town, that's to be expected.
Being abused has a strange effect on people. They try to help you, but when they find out just how much they couldn't help, they withdraw; either out of pity or fear, I don't know. By the time I got into junior high, the only "friends" I had were the few classmates that asked me what the homework was.
As I was about to go into senior high, I started... experimenting. There were a few guys, the shady ones mom and dad always told me to avoid at school, who beckoned me over one spring afternoon. They handed me a joint and told me to "smoke it." The taste was horrible and my nose burned. And yet, it felt tranquil at the same time. For once in many years, I felt at peace.
Around that time, I also started getting into brawls. I don't remember exactly why I got into them, but the charges racked up like flies on a piece of rotting meat. But by the time I was in college, my dad pulled some strings and erased all my charges from my juvenile record. That let me go to college. I guess deep down, past all the beatings, he still loved me. After I graduated from senior high, I cut myself off from crack and shit like that. I applied to Ernstrom College, and my father, well, he nodded approvingly. "Christopher Salters, you are growing up. You're going to be a fine man, son."
Who knew that college would ever change my life around, for the worse, yet ultimately, for the better?