Chapter 1: New Beginnings
Very often I had wished to settle down. It was always from one place to the other with my family. I still don't understand why things were so, but I guess I was too caught up in the thrills of being a clueless and ignorant kid to think about the odd goings on. At least for a while.
Before i start my thrilling tale, i should tell you about myself.
My name is Evan Popper. I was about 14-15years of age at the time this story happened. I was your average kid, blond haired, blue eyed, goofy, silly, clueless and a huge questionnaire. I am short sighted too, so had these weird looking round glasses like the one harry potter wore, to help me see better. I had to crawl on my teeth, begging to get my dad to change them for me. I got my wish, but it took one hell of an effort. It was worth it anyway.
I wasn't very tall as i had a period of stunted growth. I felt bad about being the youngest at home. Being the shortest just added fuel to the fire. However, when i approached 15 years, i sort of rocketed in height, almost reaching my bro. Almost.
Now about my brother.
I have an elder brother who is 3years older than I. His name is Darren.
He stands tall at a whooping 6'4ft.
I recall getting cramps in my neck from looking up at him all the time, since I had a delayed growth from 9years.
Darren had hazel coloured eyes with brown hair like my mom. He loved long hair, and would rarely get a haircut until my father asked him to. His face was smooth and he had a very warm smile, that almost never ceased to show when he spoke.
My bro was more extroverted than I, so we didn't exactly see eye to eye. I was the brooding type, only taking out time to joke around if we were alone at home. I never felt the need to associate with my family when we were together. I still don't know why.
We always shared a room though, and this made me throw more than my fair share of tantrums too. As far as I can recall, Darren never got angry at me for that. Now that I think about it, he almost never got angry at me.
I was very troublesome. So almost.
My family was never the richest, but we were comfortable.
My dad earned a couple of thousands per month with his decent white collar job and other side jobs he partook in.
My mom, on the other hand, was a caterer. I think she did her job for her passion and fulfillment, rather than the money.
My dad was the sole breadwinner, and we were doing just fine.
Personally, I don't think he'd have liked the idea of my mom providing a dime for the family. The only thing she bought was treats for us whenever she got home. I absolutely loved the tacos she bought. Alongside the chocolate, my mom always knew what we'd like.
I'm sorry. I'm drifting from the tale. You can't blame me. I enjoy writing down my experiences and it's been a while I did so, judging from the recent happenings. I tend to stray from the point sometimes, so, many apologies.
Now about my dad. His name is Hank.
He was one word —hellishly strict.
I could've sworn he wasn't our biological father from the way he treated I and my bro sometimes. We could never look him in the eye when he spoke to us. It was almost draining to stare into all that power.
Remember I said I had to crawl on my teeth to get new glasses?
I wasn't kidding.
My dad always believed in the saying that nothing good comes easy. So he makes I and my brother work for whatever we wanted from him.
According to him, he always worked for whatever he needed, since his parents weren't able to take care of him.
I didn't see reason with him. Our parents were fairly well to do, so we needn't stress too much over things.
Go tell that to my dad if you craved spanking.
Now, although my father was likened to a demon spawn in the eyes of my brother and I (the only thing we perfectly agreed on), he didn't look strict in any freaking way.
If I didn't know him as my dad, and saw him randomly walking past, I would deem him an angel.
His years of struggle and suffering in order to find his feet didn't take much of a toll on his looks, only his psychology.
My father is the tallest in our family. That is probably where my bro got his height from.
My dad is 6'6ft at height, and that was mostly what made him intimidating.
His other features are mild, gentle and soothing.
Like his blond hair he always kept short, never above 10cm in length.
Yes my dad was and is so meticulous in keeping to a particular length.
His light blue eyes that looked like that of an angel, except when a bad grade's involved.
If looks could kill, well, you can guess my fate by now.
He is slightly muscular. Not very huge, just a reasonable amount of muscle and fat.
I always admired his looks. He fought hard to keep himself in shape, since obesity was in his lineage.
Nevertheless, my dad never weighed more than 80 to 85 kilograms
Even though I felt he would drive a knife through my chest, stopping my heart from beating in a fit of rage, my father never really hurt us. Of course he gave us our fair share of spanks, but these were not considered abuse in my house. Above all these, my father almost always smiled, unless we do something to piss him off. I got used to things. He was my father after all.
Now my mom.
Oh my mother. You might be expecting a sweet, caring, lovable creature with beautiful locks of hair, pretty eyes, rosy cheeks and a kind tender heart.
Oh I wish. Hell no. If you thought that, then you're wrong. Dead wrong.
My dad is a higher rank angel compared to my mom.
I would prefer the company of my dad to hers.
My mom hardly loses her temper, but when she does, it's a completely different ballgame.
The most scary part of it is, one never knows what makes her angry. It all depends on her mood and you best wish on your life that she doesn't stay home in a bad mood.
For example, doing or not doing the dishes can make her angry, depending on her mood.
If she's happy, she most likely do them or call you to do them, for a treat in return. These days are heavenly.
If she's just average in mood, she'll most likely scream your name so loud that persons 50 miles away would hear.
You best pray she doesn't call your name twice.
She will ask you to do the dishes, and end up magically revealing other little chores that seemed to have been hidden under some spell. You MUST do them.
If she's mad.
Oh my sweet Lord. If mom is mad.
Run.
Just run.
Go to summer camp, a sleepover or something.
The house is not safe till the anger wears off.
Using the dishes scenario, again.
Mom won't waste her energy calling you.
If you're watching TV, she'll walk in, turn it off, and drag you by your ears to the kitchen, not saying a single word. If you're reading, she'll most likely tear the book and drag you off.
We already know what to do, so we just start washing.
God knows that she won't lift a finger to do anything again that day.
We'll make dinner or lunch (depending on the time), serve it and wash the plates, do all the laundry, mop the floors, take out the trash, clean the ceilings, rake the compound, wash all the bathrooms, regardless of whether they are clean or not.
Mind you, all these would be done without a single word coming from my mom. She would just give us a death glare that pierces our very souls.
Now that I think of it, mom has never laid a finger on us.
We were just scared of what would happen if we disobeyed. After all, a barking dog seldom bites.
Now that we've described mom's personality at home, let's narrow things down to her looks.
Mom wasn't as tall as dad, but she could pass for being a tall lady.
Mom was 5'8ft and one hell of a woman. Theresa is her name. Dad calls her Resa for short.
Her body was mostly feminine as she resembles one of those weightlifting females.
She always wears clothes that reveals her small muscles at home. Just a reminder to us, her kids, of what was coming if we misbehaved.
She had long brown hair and light brown eyes.
Her face was overed with flawless freckles.
I call them flawless, cause they made her all the more beautiful.
My family was never perfect, as you might've guessed by now, but we were happy.
I hardly remember any fights between my parents. I think now it's because they always tried to keep their affairs hidden from us
Though I'm sure Darren would be aware. He was very observant.
I still do not know the reason we moved ever so often, never staying in a place for more than one year. I didn't like this, but I was too busy with other childish things to actually ask my parents.
We moved and moved and moved until we finally came to settle down in a house my mom inherited from my maternal grandmother, who lived like a rich countess.
From that, you should know that my mom wasn't exactly, "middle class".
She comes from a wealthy family, but she's an orphan. With all the wealth left to her, my mom thought it was too overwhelming and left it unattended to.
Dad of course didn't mind, since he wasn't after money.
I think they came to an agreement and decided to start handling my mom's assets and finances.
That was the period we moved into the house, in a new area, with new people, and new customs.
That, my dear readers, is the beginning of my tale.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone