Chapter 1: 2081

Hello! Hi! Hey! Hola!

My name is Hassan M. Lloyd.

That might be an odd mix of names for you, but it ain't for me. I come from a Christian dad (Lloyd, you see) and a Muslim mom. Unfortunately, my dad passed away, back when I was 11 (sadly, I freaking remember every detail of that day...). More on that later. But, thank god my mom's still alive. Alright...let me tell you an interesting fact. I can't physically speak. Most people treat me like a piece of kebab and I'm pretty much used to it. So if you are one of them and wish not to waste your valuable time reading a book about a "dumb" kid (GOD! How in the world can two words like that be connected?????!!!!), flip the cover shut and give it back to wherever you got it from or (if you are reading it online) close the tab immediately. But, to be honest, I hope you won't. OK, so I am 15 years old and I live in NYC. I am not good at math or science or anything academic and spend my time on delivering stuff to different places on my super-not cool bike that is crap and is an antique, rusted piece of metal. You see, ever since Dad died, me and my mom struggle to make ends meet. My mom works dual shifts and even I work at Joe's Express after school (where I doze off most of the time, due to sheer exhaustion). We live in a small house with just 2 super-cramped bedrooms; one for me and the other for my mom.

Now, my story begins on a usual Friday night, right in the middle of June 2081, when I had been on a midnight express package, far out, in Chinatown. I had been peddling like a maniac, so that I could reach back home fast, when a black frisbee came bounding out of nowhere, slicing the air like a ninja's sword, and then smacking my poor bike's back tire, sending both ME and my bike spinning through the air. There was a blinding flash of light and I felt dizzy with pain, and I glanced at my elbow, the place with the most impact, and saw scars oozing with blood. Imagine my surprise when I see a crazy looking girl, along with two other dudes, looking up concerned at me. They looked like a gang to me, with all of them sporting the same tattoos on their right arm. The girl began to ask me if I was OK, with a concerned expression on her face. I shook my head, nervously, and then fumbled for my cell-phone, opened Notes and wrote:

I'M NOT FINE (duh), and I DO NOT SPEAK.

"Uh, what?! OH!" she sighed, "My bad. What's your name?"

The name's H. What do you guys need? Money?

"No!" she exclaimed, frowning. "Are you all right? Why can't you speak?"

It's well.....hard to explain...

She looked at the others incredulously, and they just shrugged. She then turned away and muttered, "We're really sorry for damaging your bike and we'll m......." She suddenly snapped her head to a wail of sirens from her right and her expression turned from worried to frightened. She looked over at the others, yelled 'SCRAM!" and in a microsecond they were all gone, leaving me, a "dumb" and injured kid on the streets of Chinatown, with their hyped-up frisbee and the COPS.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts