《To See, You Must Believe》


 Prologue: My Life In A Nutshell

    In a nutshell, my life is shit.


    This all started from high school, of course, the perfect time for life to turn a corner, saying in an exaggerated voice, ¡°It¡¯s not you, it¡¯s me.¡±


    Right after that, it labels you an ex never to be mentioned again.


    One that, if mentioned, will cause a horrible cringe-fest for all in the immediate vicinity.


    Wondering why I specifically use this as an example?


    Well, as stated, the perfect time for life to turn a corner on you is high school.


    This was my first year, and as all freshmen, I still had the mindset of a 12-year-old who believes everything will go in my favor.


    But of course, that wasn¡¯t true. Why else would I be saying this?


    That was my first confession, and my last¡­


    <hr>


    I was waiting anxiously for the past 5 minutes.


    In the back of the school, where there wasn¡¯t much space between the green chain-link fence and the school itself, was me, Frederick Garrison.


    These 5 minutes have felt like hell.


    The only thing I could do was constantly switch my gaze from the light-peach colored school building, and the relatively new fence.


    To be honest, these five minutes were much longer than they should have been, almost like time had slowed down by some unknown force.


    All just to torment me and my ignorant mind.


    Soon enough, though, a girl came through one of the only two openings to the back of the school.


    This girl was b-e-a-utiful, and way out of my league, not that I knew that during my time as an ignorant 14-year-old.


    She walked up to me, dropping a white envelope on the ground at the half-point between the two of us.


    ¡°So, it was you who put this in my locker?¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah.¡± Not taking the obvious hints, I waited as she followed up with another question.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Now, this letter, as you may have assumed by the envelope, only had the bare minimum.


    The only words written on it were ¡®meet me at the back of the school at 2:30 pm.¡¯


    Not only that, but it was in very, and I mean very bad handwriting, mind you.


    ¡°Clarisse, I love you! P-please go out with me!¡±


    Complete silence.


    To me, this was the best possible answer.


    With my head bent, following my horribly executed bow, I couldn¡¯t see what was going on.


    I figured out soon enough, when she started laughing.


    ¡°Pfft, you? Go out with me? Ha, HAHAHAHAHA!!¡±


    Gasping for breath-in a very sexy way-in between sentences, she continued.


    ¡°A¡­ Are¡­. Are you serious! Th-that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s just too funny!¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I must¡¯ve had a very bad disease.


    That diseases name was idiocy.


    ¡®Cause, you see, the only thought that went through my mind when hearing that was ¡®Maybe the Japanese approach wasn¡¯t good enough?¡¯


    Just like that, she walked away, having to take a few breaths every step from how absolutely hilarious my confession was to her.


    <hr>


    Did you think it would end there? Nope. You were wrong.


    Now, it¡¯s time for the real problem.


    This girl, Clarisse Thomson, spread this to her friends.


    Then her friends spread it to their friends.


    Then her friends¡¯ friends spread it to their friends.


    So on, and so forth.


    Take note, this was a small school, with only two-hundred and fifty odd students.


    By the next day, everyone new how poor Frederick Garrison confessed to Clarisse Thomson and laughed at in the process.


    I became a laughing stock.


    However, it couldn¡¯t get any worse, right?


    Wrong.


    In my Sophomore year, this very same girl happened to be in the boys¡¯ bathroom, in the very same stall that I had entered by some improbable chance, crying.


    Crying like there was no tomorrow, like her whole family was killed, like she was about to be raped.


    That was the very thing that her boyfriend thought when he also happened to be entering the bathroom, while Clarisse looked at me with a shocked face.


    Just so you know, this was after school, so it wasn¡¯t known that Clarisse entered the boys¡¯ bathroom, or what had really happened.


    A side note, this isn¡¯t the misconception that ruined my life.


    Heh, conception.


    Ahem, anyways, we¡¯ll get to that later.


    I don''t mean conception by the way.


    In Junior year, there was an influx of students, though I was still labeled as a guy who tried to rape a girl he previously confessed to.


    The staff knew the truth, though.


    That was the only reason I hadn¡¯t been expelled.


    I am still rather ungrateful for the fact that they never cleared up the simple misunderstanding.


    Then, in Senior year, there I was, watching as a threesome unfolded before me with two male students and a teacher. A male teacher.


    Now, not only would I be thought to be a rapist, but someone who gave up on females completely and was desperate enough to get with an old male teacher.


    This was technically perfectly legal, as none of us were minors and we were also technically not his students anymore.


    However, being who I am, which is a perfectly straight male, I bolted it.


    Running like there was no tomorrow.


    In the end, it didn¡¯t even matter, as one way or another, a viscous white fluid slithered through the air, striking me in the back.


    It gave me a scar that would probably not leave me for the rest of my life.


    Luckily, I was wearing my jacket which was not well worn, so I left it behind and kept running.


    No one would know it was mine, since the jacket itself was only bought the day before, and, honestly, who would pay enough attention to me to find out it was mine?


    That assumption was wrong, since Clarisse Thomson apparently payed enough attention.


    Spreading something horrible once again, I could only curse Thomson in my heart.


    ¡®It¡¯ll all get better soon enough,¡¯ I thought.


    ¡®I¡¯m almost in College after all.¡¯


    Oh, how wrong I was.


    Guess who decided to come along and enroll with me to the same College?


    Clarisse.


    Thomson.


    Thankfully, she didn''t give me a problem this year.


    Something else did.


    Now that I really think about it, wasn¡¯t she the cause of all my problems save for my current one?


    She did help quite a lot with the ¡°development of my character,¡± after all.


    I mean as a homosexual, or maybe bisexual guy, who used to be someone that would try to rape a person he confessed to.


    Now, onto my College problems.


    Or should I say problem instead?


    There was ever only one problem.


    Somehow, somewhere I saw a girl alone.


    She was giving quite a deathly glare to the air directly in front of her, which also happened to be in my direction, so I decided to approach and see what was wrong.


    Turns out, that as soon as I was directly in front of her, then *poof*.


    Her clothes were gone, leaving the bare body of an unconscious woman in front of me.


    To be honest, it didn¡¯t startle me as much as I thought it would.


    I always believed that there was some sort of mysterious power out there that allowed for things to exist.


    Otherwise, nothing in existence would make sense.


    Don¡¯t go rambling on about science and math, cause that is only how we interpret the world.


    All we do is discover, anyways, it¡¯s not like we made these laws.


    So, what did make them?


    Either that, or I could just be a maniac who can¡¯t handle the reality of being a rapist.


    I went off on a tangent there.


    Anyways, just as you might expect from my luck so far, it just so happened that this was when security was walki-


    <hr>


    Hearing a buzz from my phone, I pick it up and check what it is.


    ¡°Seriously, another one of these?¡±


    Receiving a death threat for the umpteenth time, I turn back to my computer to continue writing out my wonderful life story that will most likely never see the light of day.


    I received those death threats for almost a year now, about the same time I left College.


    Also around the same time that girls¡¯ clothes magically disappeared.


    In other words, I became completely sensitized when seeing these things.


    ¡°Haaah, that completely ruined the mood. I might have to rewrite this anyways, it doesn¡¯t convey enough of the feeling from my horrible life story.¡±

 Chapter 1: Mr. Mittens!!

    PoV: Snipes.


    ¡®Are these guys serious?¡¯


    That thought goes through my mind as I begin to steady my breathing.


    ¡®Why the hell do they need a professional to take care of a single, worthless man? Even the worst of the newbies can take this guy out.¡¯


    Making sure I¡¯m at the right place, I stare ahead at the window that takes the place of a wall.


    Looking through the scope of my rifle, though it wouldn¡¯t be needed to see what was going on from this distance, there is a man in his early twenties. Rolling around in his room like a goddamn idiot.


    I decided that it would be better to wait-for obvious reasons-until this guy would stop moving.


    As I wait, my eyes trail off, and find themselves looking at his profile.


    The very top of the first page has a name in bold print, Frederick Garrison.


    Below that, there is a picture and a description:


    Gender: Apache attack helicopter (What the fuck?)


    Height - 5¡¯9/175 cm


    Weight ¨C 115 lbs./52 kg (Why the hell would I care?)


    Black hair.


    Blue eyes.


    Above average looks. (I can see that already.)


    Apparently, this man has a relatively high IQ.


    Honestly, I could care less about anything in the profile, other than the name and the picture.


    Bringing my focus back to my scope, ¡°Frederick¡± was sitting on a bed, typing something on a laptop.


    I once again steady my breathing, lifting the barrel of my rifle.


    Good, I didn¡¯t forget the silencer. It probably won¡¯t help when the glass shatters, but it¡¯s good enough.


    Since I couldn¡¯t be bothered to calibrate the scope, the crosshairs intersection would have to be somewhat above where I¡¯m aiming.


    Keeping that in mind, I take aim.


    A sound akin to a book hitting the ground enters my ears, as I fire.Stolen story; please report.


    The recoil knocks the barrel back, but not enough to do anything other than moving the scope from my sight.


    Steadying my rifle again, a strange sight enters my eyes.


    ¡®He¡­ didn¡¯t die?¡¯


    ¡°Frederick¡± was laying down, with a shocked expression on his face.


    Staring at his computer, and then in my direction.


    ¡®Shit!¡¯


    Quickly disassembling my rifle, I make my escape.


    <hr>


    PoV: Frederick


    ¡®Rolling around really helps get rid of the feeling I get whenever I remember that pitiful jacket.¡¯


    Getting up, I walk over to my bed, sitting down in a rather comfortable position.


    I take my black HP laptop, and set it on my lap.


    ¡°Back to writing, I guess.¡±


    I stare at the blank word document for about a minute, before violently laying back, raising my laptop into the air.


    ¡°Ah, screw i-!¡±


    A sound exclusive to shattering glass enters my ears, as my laptop goes flying off to one side.


    ¡°What the hell?¡±


    Looking at where my laptop went, I could see it there, only with a slight difference.


    ¡®Why the hell is there a hole in my laptop?¡¯


    My gaze shifts to the side opposite of which my laptop went flying, and I could see a hole in my glass wall, with many jagged edges.


    Below that, shards of glass.


    Back to where my laptop was, I could see a hole in the wall.


    Deciding it might be best to check what exactly that was, I make my way out of the room.


    Finding myself in a very familiar hallway, I continue to walk in the general direction.


    Until I make it to the living room.


    Falling to my knees as I see what¡¯s on the couch, tears roll down my face.


    ¡°M-Mr. Mittens? Mr. Mittens!? MR. MITTENSSSSS!!!!!!!!¡±


    My orange and white tabby cat, with a perpetual smile on his face. As well as a hole in the side of his head.


    Even in death, you were the happiest thing I knew.


    I finally realized what was going on. The tears stop flowing. I stand up.


    ¡°What the fuck!?¡±


    Holy shit, the death threats were real!


    What am I going to do!?


    I have to call the police!


    I take my phone out of my pocket where I always keep it, and emergency dial 911.


    ¡°This is 911, what is your emergency?¡±


    ¡°Hello, yeah, someone just tried to shoot me! They killed my cat, too!¡±


    ¡°Sir, please calm down. What is your location?¡±


    Like they fucking need it! I know that they can just track the call!


    ¡°Just track the goddamn call!¡±


    I hang up as soon as I say that.


    Soon enough, police were sent to my location.


    I was questioned, of course.


    Then they left.


    That was all.


    ¡°Ahh, maybe I should just sleep. Yeah, then I¡¯ll wake up, and Mr. Mittens will be back with me. Licking my face to wake me up.¡±


    I go to sleep with orange and white on my mind, hoping this was all a dream.


    I find peace sleeping on the couch with Mr. Mittens'' corpse.


    <hr>


    Waking up, I feel orange and white fur rubbing against my face.


    I quickly shoot up from my position, yelling.


    ¡°Mr. Mittens! I knew it was a dream!¡±


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    Only to find my sister holding my dead cat and rubbing it against my face.


    The only thing I can do is fall to my knees crying, while my sister bursts out laughing in a melodious voice.


    ¡°What the fuck Jane!? It isn¡¯t funny! Mr. Mittens is dead!¡±


    ¡°So what? Just get a replacement.¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to replace my friend who was with me for 12 years!?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a cat.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not just a cat, Jane! He¡¯s Mr. Mittens!¡±


    Standing up, I snatch Mr. Mittens from Janes hands, and walk to the bathroom.


    <hr>


    I look in the mirror, a dry red substance on my face.


    ¡°Shit, my face is covered with blood.¡±


    I start to wash off my face, along with Mr. Mittens body.


    After washing off, I feel a vibration in my pocket.


    I take out my phone, only to find another death threat.


    Maybe¡­ It would be better to stay in the bathroom.


    Wait, can¡¯t I just tell that girl to clear up this misunderstanding?


    Yeah, I¡¯ll do that.


    Another vibration signaling a notification comes from my phone.


    ¡°How about I do it tomorrow? That sounds fine.¡±