The next Monday, I trudged into the Master's office, thermos of as much sugar, caffeine, and straight energy as I could pack into the thermos filling it up. The Master watched me, just staring as my bleary-eyed, messy-haired, backwards-clothed being downed the coffee and collapsed into a chair, where I then massaged my temples.

"What happened?" The Master asked after a moment, sounding more surprised than worried. Not that I expected him to worry overly much about me unless it directly affected him or my unpaid job as his minion.

"..." It takes me a moment to register his question, "Truth or Dare on a Saturday, and when I returned home on Sunday I walk in on a literal fucking brawl. Seriously. Sister and mother were fighting, brother and father were fighting, and my sister and other sister were yelling in each others' faces. I was up all fucking night because I had no fucking place to sleep, having just left after that disaster."

"... Where'd you get the thermos?" He asked after a moment.

My hazy vision latched onto his black-as-night eyes, knowing they were just really dark brown from that one time he decided to have me do a photoshoot of him late September, "Walmart."

"You had money to go to Walmart?" He asked, unsure, after a moment. I gave him a blank stare. He seemed to understand five-finger discounts after a moment and dropped it. The Master looked at his computer, keeping me in his sights as I trudge over to a couch he had stuffed in his office and collapse on it. I absently thought of the smallish tapestry I was making of and for him before sighing and shaking my head.

"Tell me when it ends," I groaned out, and fell asleep. I dreamt of fighting, and pain. It was a nightmare.

I flipped off the couch, blinking as warm arms wrap around me, and glance around to see a now-concerned looking nurse and some other people. Realizing whose arms I had landed in when I dived away from what, in my sleep-muddled mind, had been reaching hands, I quickly squirmed to the ground and spun to be able to see what the hell was going on. Oh, it was a meeting. Oops. Wrong time to become superman.

"Sorry," I yawned, "Didn't mean to interrupt your meeting-"

"You didn't. They were just leaving when you decided that throwing yourself at me was a good idea," The Master drawled, but he was giving me a curious stare.

"Nightmare?" The nurse asked, and I gave her a wary look before nodding.

"Yeah, you could say that," I said after a moment. Yes, because diving away from dreamt up hands of a dreamt up ... that had been planning to rip me to shreds was, indeed, what I would call a nightmare. My sleep-riddled mind could only recall how warm and safe the arms that wrapped around me felt, when I was running from the two people who truly had full control of my existence for another seven years. Fuck. I really needed that hug. Fuck, I was paranoid now. I just sat on the couch, head in my hands until they left awkwardly. I rubbed my face for a moment with a deep breath before sighing it out, "How long was I asleep?" I asked.

"A day or so. It's five in the morning the next day," The Master commented, and I glanced up to see his curious gaze still on me, "So, you're out walking the streets for... hours... after not sleeping for the entire weekend, and coming home to fighting."

I gave him a look, not changing my exhausted expression as I just wait for him to say what he wanted. A few minutes pass before I realize he was waiting for me to say something. I stood up and stretched.

"Yeah. I went on Saturday, stayed up till Monday."

"And then slept till Tuesday," He finished, nodding and he turned and started typing something up on his computer. It had nothing to do with our conversation, I don't think, but maybe it was for whatever those four people were crowded in here for?

"... Cool," I said after a moment, "And school starts in three hours."

"What was your nightmare about?" He asked after glaring at the screen for a moment and repeatedly hitting the backspace bar. He continued typing.

"Typical shit," I muttered with a yawn, "Family."

"They die?"

"No. No, it was a bunch of screaming and very bloody, but it was just about fighting," I muttered. The typing stopped, and he spun to look at me, who was digging through my backpack for my extra clothes and typical toiletries that'd let me freshen up.

"Your family fighting itself," The Master stated. I glanced up at him, unamused. He rolled his eyes and went back to typing up something on his computer. A Mac. Disgusting.

Going back to digging through my backpack, I stand up and leave the room, going into the gym's changing rooms, I freshen myself up using the showers. An hour later I dry myself off with my dirty clothes and come out of the changing rooms looking as monochrome and "professional" as I apparently always look. Looking in a mirror, I brush out my hair, glancing at the neon dyes I managed to get it in. It had been as brown as the Master's, once, but now the knee-long shitty hair was entirely neon, going through the neon rainbow, one color fading into the next and ending on red. I was glad that the rainbow wasn't tied directly to being gay for another few years yet. The Master, when he first saw my hair, had claimed that it was of high importance that I go to a blacklight concert, so that my hair glowed. I'm glad he seemed to have forgotten what he had first said, because I wasn't quite extroverted enough to want to go to what would probably be a rave, with how the Master liked to live his life.

When I wandered into the Master's office again around six thirty, he was in the middle of cartwheeling around the small space he called his office. He wasn't very happy when we collided, though he'd have collided with a wall anyway, and we both collapsed to the ground, him groaning and me just sighing heavily after taking a breath of pain. Getting up, I don't bother trying to help the Master up, and he glared at me even as I set my backpack down by the couch and sat in his chair. I am thrown into the couch when he gets up to sit down, and I just sit there for a long moment where I landed, before sitting up and turning towards the Master.

"So there's a snake living in the girl's changing rooms," I commented after a moment. The Master's gaze stayed on the ceiling, head resting against his chair.

"Susan? Yes, I was wondering when someone would find her."

I'm not surprised that he put the snake there. It was deadly, I knew, almost as big as me length-wise, though that wasn't saying much. I was only four foot seven as of yet. It could probably kill a middle school kid, though I'm not sure if it was venomous or just crushed its prey. I didn't care enough to ask. If the snake wasn't tamed enough and killed a girl, then my Master issue would be solved, and if the snake was tamed and didn't kill a girl then my school issue would be interesting at the very least.

I'm lost in thought, comfortably zoned out as I thought. I went back in time because I had nothing. I was homeless, friendless, there was no hint of any relationship bonds. I had a list of terrible exes, some just the dude being a dick and most just me being terrible. I had a small criminal record and a hell of a debt. The world was shit but my life was shittier. So, I decided to try and go back, to give myself a chance. To get through this bullshit I call schooling, find out my interests, maybe go about and have fun. Yet here I was, miserable and despite having good grades, I'd not really given myself anything. As soon as I reach high school I bet the friends the Master forced me upon would drop me like a hot potato, and they were shallow friendships at that. So. Eleven years old, almost twelve, in the very beginning of middle school, what did I want for my future? I took a moment to muse upon my options. Maybe I should just avoid this all and commit the genocide of my lineage, thus avoiding my existence in the first place. I tap out a beat on whatever desk I'm sitting at in some class. I don't even recognize the teacher. Don't even know if I'm in the right class, and I honestly don't care. I didn't know when I went from the Master's office to this classroom, either. The overhead com turns on with a crackle of static.

"Minion," Is all that's said before it goes off, and I stand up blankly, not having unpacked anything.

"You let yourself be called minion?" Andrea snapped, and I blink as I'm ripped out of my thoughts. I stared at her blankly for a moment, before coughing awkwardly. I was certainly in the wrong class. Andrea and I only shared gym class.

"He hates the nickname I use for him, so he called me everything under the book until he found a term for me that annoyed me," I explained. I slung my backpack onto my back, and Andrea gave me a confused look.

"What do you call him?" She asked snappishly. She was on the thicker side, and was the epitome of jolly ghetto sass. I liked her, she was certainly an extrovert I wouldn't mind hanging around.

"M-"

"Minion," A voice snapped out, and I glanced over to see the Master in person, looking annoyed. I stared at him blankly, "You're in the wrong class."

My lips twitched, "Am I? Interesting. What do you need?"

The Master's gaze flicked around the room, and he seemed to be in just as much thought as I had been, "Come with me." It didn't seem like he cared about public opinion, from what I knew of him, so I wondered what he could want and why he'd interrupt my telling of his nickname.

I slowed to a stop once I saw cops in the hallway, and the Master paused, looking at me, "Do I need to run?"

He scoffed, "If you want to feel what being tased is like. They're here because you didn't tell your parents when you went on your weekend escapade."

I kept my back straight even as I mentally slumped. Well, fuck me once fuck me twice, right? The Master led me towards them, and we go to his office. The police don't look too comfortable, and stare at me awkwardly. They look like they'd just gotten out of college, or something similar. I look around. The principal's office was pretty nice. It had windows showing the outer offices, but they were painted over. There was a nice desk, a couch shoved into the corner facing the Master, where he sat on his expensive leather chair. A small window blocked by blinds that let natural light filter in. The police had sat down on the blue and extremely uncomfortable chairs. I remained standing, ignoring the annoyed glance that the Master gave me when I didn't sit down when he made the gesture.

"Yes?" I asked, though I already knew.

"We've gotten reports that you've run away, and we just want to speak with you," The older policeman said. There were two. One was white as fuck and had black hair, and the other was tanned and had brown eyes. The older one was the noirette.

"Okay," I accepted. I wasn't going to make their job easy, because why the fuck would I? It's not like I've done anything I could go to jail for, and the Master would somehow manage to bail me out of any correctional facilities if I somehow managed to make my way into one, just so he'd get his minion back. He'd probably make me do the paperwork to get myself out of it, too.

The two policemen glanced at each other uncomfortably, "Well, where have you been since you left school on Friday?"

The Master, who had been boredly glancing at his phone, shot me a piercing stare. I hadn't told him that I'd not gone back until Sunday.

"Earth," I commented dryly.

I looked into the eyes of the only cop that had spoken, knowing how uncomfortable he was. He had brown eyes, too. He probably found my steel blue gaze disconcerting, since my gaze was looking through him. His face wasn't very amused, and he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. The other cop at least managed to look like he was in the middle of an intense poker game, with how flat his expression was.

"Er, right... You know you have to return to your parents?"

I shrugged, "I did. They didn't notice."

The man I kept eye contact with didn't look like he believed me, but I just stared at him waiting for him to either explain more or leave.

"What were they doing that they didn't notice you return?" The other cop asked curiously.

My even gaze turned to the other cop, before the memory of the night flashed in my mind and I grimaced, looking away chagrined, "My mum was beating my sister up, my father was choking one of my brothers' out, my youngest brother was screaming, and my two other sisters were in the middle of exchanging hands. You can understand why I didn't stay very long after that, simply grabbing some items and leaving again."

The cops stiffened, and they gave me a more serious look even as I stared at the desk, teeth clenched as the memories passed through my mind. It was all very unpleasant, and I knew I may have accidentally kickstarted the arguments a few years early, because this level of violence wasn't supposed to happen until my first year of high school, not middle school. It began three to four years too soon, and I was the cause, I knew.

"Can you explain that? Accusing your parents of abuse can put them in jail," The older cop said, and I turned to him in disgust.

"They weren't abusing them!" I then thought it over, "They weren't..." I took a breath, "I didn't see much, but my sister had her hair gripped by my mother, and my sister was swinging wildly at her. Uh, my father had my brother in a choke-hold, like I said. My brother was struggling, I don't think he was actually trying to hurt my father... Um, my sisters... Well. One was screaming and begging the adult one to stop... And my youngest brother was screaming and hitting anyone that came near. So it wasn't abusing, it was more..." I grimaced at my weak excuses, "Mutual?"

I looked guiltily at the ground, remembering the bruises on both my sister's forms when they told me that I should just escape while I could. Neither thought that they'd escape the situation, none of the authorities they'd gone to have done anything about it. It was always ruled self-defense, despite the only sibling I have that would throw hands first would be the sibling I had that was throwing hands at my mother. I didn't bother doing anything else, face burning as I left the room, just running into the gym, which was directly across from the offices, and joining the class in their activities with only a cursory glance from the teacher. I wasn't even in the right class, but with the unhappy look and the way my face was flushed in embarrassment, they allowed me to join without a word. The pacer wasn't enough to call me out on anyway. I lasted the longest, only stopping when the other person did. The Master had been watching from the entrance, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. His expression was blank, as if it wasn't the first time he'd seen me show any actual emotion besides annoyance and reluctance.

I wandered over, breaths coming in pants. I wasn't able to keep up with the other, older kid at all. I'd have gotten eliminated around twenty three, not the fifty something that I ran, if I had actually followed the rules of the pacer. I didn't even manage to make it to the other side in the last fifteen or so counts. Despite the ugly twisting in my stomach, I was more relaxed. I could just ignore the twisting as the stitch in my side that made me almost throw up any time I tried taking a breath deeper than shallow. He didn't speak for a long time, just observing my expression. There was a lot of eye contact as I tried not passing out from lack of oxygen, leaning against the doorway opposite him.

"Mutual," He said mockingly, and I realized he'd been waiting for me to catch my breath enough to speak. I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

"As mutual as an eight, thirteen, and twelve year old can give to a fifty-five year old war veteran, a forty-seven year old whale, and a twenty-something year old marine veteran," I said, amused at the situation. I'm almost confused by the repulsion in the Master's eyes, and I follow him doggedly to his office, where I stumble at the sight of my two sisters talking animatedly to the cops. My brother was in elementary still. We'd not share the same school again until I was a senior.

I observed the dark bruises, and the scabbed over blood on my older sister's face as she cried. She was... pacifistic. She'd never throw hands, and was anorexic. The sister that cared too much and got hurt so much. I hoped she didn't turn to drugs like she did last life, even if she got over it soon after. I couldn't deny that with the events happening to her in this life, she'd probably deserve a lifetime supply of weed. I awkwardly walked over and hugged her, and she cried into me. I stared blankly ahead, waiting for it to end. After it did, I took a hesitant step towards my younger sister, who was still talking animatedly and angrily to the cop, and awkwardly twitched my arms up half a foot in an aborted hug gesture. She, surprisingly, accepted, and I froze in shock as she started crying. My second oldest- I didn't count the Marine as my oldest sister, she didn't deserve the title- was the strongest. She'd only ever cried over boys, and while she was a drama queen, I'd never heard her genuinely cry- sob, really- over anything important. My other sister stuttered through a continuation of the story, having been comforted by me. It seemed the argument was once again food-related. As it typically was. Quietly accepting when my sister released me, I took a step back and awkwardly walked over to be by the Master's side. He glanced over at me, but I didn't notice. Right. I almost forgot. These aren't almost-adults that are old enough and tall enough to effectively fight back. And it was all my fault it escelated to this three years sooner than it otherwise should have. I listen to the stories, easily able to interpret fact over exaggeration, and despite the blankness of my expression and the cold feeling seeping through me, I'm close to freaking out. The only thing in all of this that I could find a relief was that the Master wouldn't think nor care about me any different than if he hadn't known this. But I'd know. Every fucking time I look in a mirror, I'll see a person who got defenseless children beat up because I couldn't just suck it up and accept being treated like a particularly garbage maid that's every query was a nuisance to the employers.

Glancing over, I see the Master is particularly tense, jaw clenching and unclenching as he pretends he isn't listening to the extremely overexaggerated story of how the argument went. They didn't seem to realize that they'd prefer our guardians over foster care. It was fine, though, because from what I hear, the cops that were there ruled it self-defense. As usual. Soon enough everyone is sent off to their respective classes. As I don't know what mine are anyway, I simply stay. Soon the cops and my siblings are gone.

"Hugs are the most uncomfortable fuckers to give in the history of ever when someone's crying," I immediately complain, voice flat and tone hard. It was kind of a lie. Despite the crying part I rather enjoyed the hugs. It reminded me that we were still family- that they trusted me enough to wrap their arms around me. Even though I didn't deserve to feel a part of anything, only having made things worse for them.

"Blow jobs are too," The Master commented. I gave him a look at his immediate response, amused. He eventually glanced at me, seeing my amused expression, and rolled his eyes. I, of course, being a perverted fuck, had taken it to mean that he gave them. Because how else would he know? He certainly didn't cry, not around people at least. I couldn't imagine him being a crying college kid, either, but he had to have some sort of upbringing, and he certainly wasn't an emotionless bot like I was. I wondered what his backstory was, and if I'd ever hear it.

It is silent for a long moment, wherein I'm rifling through my backpack trying to find my schedule, which I certainly hadn't remembered after three months solely because I didn't want to nor care enough to. I knew when there was a test, and I was there for it.

"Foster care shouldn't be that bad, in this town," The Master commented almost softly. I scoffed.

"We aren't going into foster care," I glanced up, staring him in the eye, a small and bittersweet grimace worming its way onto my lips, "Trust me, nothing will ever come of this no matter how many times we try." Something in my voice must've given away the truth in that statement, which I wasn't surprised about.

Hearing an eleven year old be sarcastic and flat is one thing. Hearing an eleven year old's voice carry the exhaustion that not even all adults carried? I don't know. I just saw his expression change as I was looking away, though I don't know what it changed to. I just understood that hearing the bone-tired weariness of a life wasted and of regret in an eleven year old's voice was unduly surprising. I was surprised myself, the first time my young voice took on the tone, and, as an emotional five year old at the time, couldn't stop myself from crying at the emotions that followed. Fucking life, man.

"Don't be so pessimistic, there's no way they could excuse bruises like that," The Master said after a long moment, "Your sister- Taniya? She was bleeding, those prats obviously bloody abused her!" I found my schedule and opened it to see that yes. I had classes. I tried not thinking of how... British... The Master sounded when angry. It was almost cringeworthy, and if he didn't have an accent I'd have assumed he was just being a british weeb. I glanced at the time, then back down to the paper. Ugh, math, no wonder I accidentally followed Andrea into her class instead. I avoided the thought that I had probably been following her to every class she had, and in fact probably haven't been in any of my classes today.

"Yeah?" I asked, voice tinted with cynical amusement. I wasn't going to math, so I sat in a chair. My mouth had curled up into a grotesque mimicry of an actual smile, one that was like a person asking a kid something that they thought was true, but was, in fact, the most stupid thing they've ever heard. After math was lunch. Then gym. Then the crafts subjects. Then it was over. What fun. I'd probably just sleep here, if I could. I'd not want to be yelled at and sobbed at, which would happen if I were to go home tonight.

The Master gives me an annoyed glance when I don't leave after a few moments, before glancing at the time and rolling his eyes, "Skipping the in-between and just staying in my office for math?"

"She can suck your dick for all I care," I confirmed.

"Right," He said dryly, "Offering up other people's bodies instead of your own?"

I gave him a serious stare, "Master," I ignore the way he straightens up, as I never really look him in the eye and say his nickname seriously, "This is very important for you to know," I said seriously, emphasizing very, "Girls don't have dicks that can be sucked."

The Master rolled his eyes and relaxed back against his chair, picking up a rubix's cube and playing with it idly, staring at it in his fingers as if it was a particularly good pile of dirt. I lean over and blindly go to YouTube and play music. At a recognizable song, but not the one I tried searching up, playing the Master doesn't even look up as he taps the spacebar. I sigh as the room once more descends into silence. Great, the Master doesn't like Bohemian Rhapsody. Seeing as I tried playing Elton John, I wasn't really sure how it managed to appear just to rape my ears, but whatever. Hellish but good songs do be appearing everywhere nowadays.

"You know, you aren't heartless like I first assumed you were," I commented with a large yawn, before going back to reading. It wasn't quite true; He wasn't as heartless as I was, I always knew that. I entirely forget what I said not seconds before and wonder how the hell this book was supposed to be realistic. Literally Scooby Doo was more realistic than this bullshit. Like, seriously? "Based off real events" my ass.

"Ha! Thanks, it means a lot to me that my minion thought I was heartless," He said dryly. I glanced up, confused, before remembering what I said. Oh.

"Ah, yeah. You're just self-centered and particularly amoral. Kind of like me except you have a personality," I explained after a short pause, before going back to mentally berating the book in my hands. It was supposed to be paranormal horror, about ghosts and shit, but it read more like a cringe-comedy. I'd rather be reading and critisizing Fifty Shades of Grey, I thought, before I paused and realized that ghosts had the potential to be real if this was a parallel universe and not just a different timeline, and if the story were based off real-life events, it'd make sense why it was so cringe-worthy and comedic. Reactions to ghosts were ridiculous, if they existed. Seeing as this was a potentially parallel universe, maybe all those scam summoning spells actually worked or something as well. I'd have to check.

"What?" He asked flatly, and I glanced up, confused. Our last conversation had been minutes ago and yet he looked at me as if they never ended.

"What?" I repeated, confusion clear in my voice.

"You've been staring at the same sentence on that page for awhile now," The Master said simply.

I blinked slowly, "Cool." I go back to staring at the same sentence. How'll I get the blood, supplies for the ritual, and manage to draw an accurate rendition of a pentagram or summoning circle? I wonder if putting a few things with my ID at a crossroads would work. That was one of the shows that were missing from this universe, no matter how much I looked for the show. Same with Doctor Who, actually. I couldn't tell for the shows that appear later on, but some Marvel shows are missing too, like Iron Man. It concerns me, did Elton John not save RDJ in this univserse? That would suck. I jump in surprise as my book vanished, and look up, irritated as the Master plops back into his chair, looking at the page.

"Then Kyle walked into a wall in his fear, screaming like a girl," He quoted.

That was the sentence I had been rereading, I recognized in the back of my mind. My mind was still swirling with how else this universe was different. Maybe my parents were more aggresive? Maybe I was the side-character to the Master's life in this one, and had plot-armour? How could this universe be different in ways I hadn't otherwise considered? My heart dropped, and I felt my mouth go dry. I'd need to create another machine, this time to try and get back. Something should be able to track my electrical impulses and track it back to the original me, where I'd then take my own place just before I started the machine and blew everything up. Or- or maybe my time machine was used and changed the past as well as the future due to people using it? Either way, I'd need to recreate it and stop whatever happened from happening, because despite MY life being better, everyone else's around me tended to be worse. I shook my head violently. No, I couldn't. One, I needed to be older than I was to even be able to steal what I needed to, and two, maybe in the end they'd end up better for their suffering. I didn't know.

I hear a heavy sigh that was a bit too close, and blink in shock when suddenly I'm on the couch, and the Master is kneeling before me, looking me in the eye, "What? Where- I was-"

"Lost in thought enough that I had time to move you without you noticing," The Master observed, giving me a careful look. It was in that moment that I knew that whatever his past may be, it was full of pain and struggle, because no one was able to look like that without having suffered on their own. Maybe he fought in a war, maybe he had shitty parents too, maybe he was just homeless once. Who knew, but I realized that maybe disassociating heavily enough that I can't feel nor see the outside world isn't the best of ideas whilst in a room with a rather tame socio-psychopath. Or whatever the hell he was, because there had to be a title for the special type of crazy he was.

"Er, right, sorry," I glanced at the time, only to see that over half an hour has passed, and nodded to myself, "I should probably-"

"What were you thinking about?" He interrupted, not letting me stand up. I met his eyes, wondering how someone had such obsidian brown eyes. Who birthed the man, a demon?

"Ghosts," I lied, "I was wondering if they were real. Sorry, got, uh, distracted by the um, story possibilities." I immediately sighed after I was finished speaking. Well, that wouldn't work. I wasn't a writer in this... whatever it was. His gaze hardened at the obvious lie. I hated English class almost as much as I hated Math class. I had made that very clear to him.

"Story possibilities," He repeated flatly, in clear disbelief.

"Yup. I mean- like, could you imagine though? A single father has a daughter going through a um, demon-summoning phase, and she's very sucessful with it, and the only reason the entire world isn't burnt to the ground is because all of the ghosts and demons and shit find the guy cute- like that'd be a great thing to write about," I explained, pulling out a story idea from my past life. It wasn't even my own, I think it was from someone on Twitter. Or Tumblr. Yeah, one of those two.

The Master shook his head, but not in exasperation, like I had hoped. No, he clearly wasn't buying it, even though I knew that the way I phrased it and the tone my voice took that it was clear that I was familiar with the idea, "Don't avoid the subject. Don't lie."

I blinked at the clear threat and reminder of being choked. Huh, what a weird way to pretend to care, "Don't ask about things you'd rather not hear. Don't pretend to care," Is all I returned with, and I watched the Master's face twist in an unrecognizable expression, but he let it go.

The rest of the school year ended up in a pattern. I only went to math class if there was a test, which my first and closest friend would tell me about, as we shared the class previously. The Master put me to work, and I only got hit or threatened physically a few more times. By him, at least. I was right about my parents being more aggresive this timeline. Our dynamic changed back to the way it was before after a small bout of shakiness, where he tried pretending to care. I was right, nothing ever came of the bruises, as it was ruled self-defense, though it was clear there was a singular bruise on my mother and that several more bruises appeared on the kids. I rarely if ever returned home, and come my birthday I gained a gaming system. The Master seemed surprised at my immediate and sudden change in attitude, before I made sure to carefully view my own words before speaking. Fucking Call of Duty community, turning me into more of an outspoken asshole. In the end it seemed like nothing changed, though I was put into Algebra the next year despite the math teacher's protests. Thank you dearly, Master, for that concession. Though I'm 90% certain he did it because I threatened to blow up the city in sheer boredom, and then started listing chemicals and machinery and where I could get them from, how I'd make the bombs. I suppose hearing about fantasies about how your house would easily go up in napalm-inspired flames would probably get you to let a simple thing pass.

Come summer, I was alone, yet not. During the days I'd go to a nearby hiking trail and be gone until during or just after dinner, and during the nights I'd be playing intense games. I managed to get Black Ops before long, and, lo and behold, user M_OfYourMom and I became arch-nemeses. We played games against each other day after day. Or rather, night after night. It was a fun summer, really. I managed to avoid most conflicts, get written and signed permission to get a job when I turn thirteen, and other such things. The summer was distinctly lacking in sleep, though, me sleeping directly after dinner for a few hours before simply being unable to.