Date: Sun, 29 Jul 2007 10:27:54 -0500
From: Extreme Writer <extremewriter9@gmail.com>
Subject: Lifeline: Chapter 2.

***Disclaimer***

This story contains writings in which things of a sexually explicit nature
performed between males are portrayed. If this material offends you, then
read no further. Also, the characters in this story have no resemblance to
anyone. Not your friend John, your cousin Harry, or that guy across the
street who always keeps his blinds shut. For those of you who have decided
to stick around, you may E-mail comments, questions, suggestions, or
anything else your hearts desire to: extremewriter9@gmail.com. Now, with
all that out of the way, I present to you readers...

Lifeline: Chapter 2.

Mark didn't know what to do as he stood there on the edge of town. It was
full daylight, so seeing the general layout wasn't a problem for him. He
didn't want to use his cane, for fear of drawing attention to himself. He
also was careful to keep his face averted, so no one could get too close of
a look into his always moving eyes. His eyes thought they couldn't focus,
so they continuously moved, no matter how much he tried to make them stay
still. Mark could focus on things, but never for very long. He had only
central vision in his right eye, and was totally blind in his left. Despite
his extremely limited sight, he had exceptional hearing, a photographic
memory, and a knowledge of the streets of the city of Covington that would
make the police green with envy. Mark didn't know many of the street names,
and he couldn't really give verbal directions, but he could have someone
follow him and lead him or her pretty much anywhere he or she wanted to go.

This knowledge served him most well when he needed to get away fast,
whether it be away from police or other street kids. Mark didn't get
involved in the gangs like most street kids did. He felt better on his own
than with anyone else. He felt he was less noticeable on his own, and
didn't have to worry about anyone betraying his existence to the wrong
people if the person got pissed off at him for whatever reason.

Mark finally decided to just walk and observe with his heightened senses of
hearing, smell, and touch. He couldn't scavenge for food, not in broad
daylight, so he was left with little else to do except walk to his favorite
spot where he was alone. He liked it here because it was shady, and there
were houses around, but not too close. He could remain in the trees that
surrounded the old neighborhood and feel safe from the heat of the day and
the curious, probing gazes of people, who were his enemies.

Mark spent most of the day sitting there under the tall oak trees whose
branches were so thick that it looked like someone had taken one large
black window shade and hung it over his head. He was on a hairpin trigger,
alert for any noise that would tell him to leave as stealthily as
possible. As he sat there, Mark started thinking back on how his father had
been when he was alive. He had died when Mark was 13, and Mark didn't
really miss him. He was hardly ever home, and when he was, he was usually
so high or drunk on god knew what that he disregarded everything and
everyone. Mark's mother could've cared less if he was there or not. All she
cared about was trying her best to keep Mark in school and try to gloss
over the harsher aspects of his father by whatever means possible so that
Mark wouldn't lose hope and drop everything.

Mark hadn't been an A-plus student in school, but he was extremely gifted
in technology, which took him far. He was average at mostly everything
else, except English. For some odd reason, English and Mark just went
together like bread and butter. All the different rules and concepts just
seemed to stick in his memory. He was horrible at any math passed Algebra,
which meant Geometry, Trigonometry, Calculus, etc. Mark missed school. It
was his only main source of comfort from having to deal with both his
whacked out parents. Mark could remember quite vividly the nights when,
after he would finish his homework, he would argue with his mother, trying
to find out why she wouldn't leave his father. She always told Mark that it
wasn't for him to worry about. It didn't matter soon, though. His father
died of AIDS-related complications which Mark nor his mother had any clue
he had in the first place. At least Marks' mother hadn't gotten it. She was
so scared of his father toward the end that she didn't even think of trying
to have sex with him.

Toward the end of the day, Mark left his spot, slowly and deliberately
crossing town to the outskirts again, where he arrived every morning. He
scavenged around for a while, finally coming up with a whole entire burger
that some ungrateful bastard had tossed into the outdoor trash can of a
local park, along with some cold but still very edible french
fries. Feeling pleased with himself, Mark walked carefully back to the
field where he had spent his nights for the passed two years. Mark didn't
feel right coming back to the same place over and over again, but as he was
completely blind in the dark with only his cane to guide him, he didn't
really have any choice in the matter.

He was sad as he ate the best meal he'd had in a while. He couldn't even
use his laptop anymore to write in his journal or get online. The battery
had died long ago. He was careful to keep the backpack with him and well
placed at all times so that nothing was damaged. He had a digital recorder,
laptop, AC adapter for said laptop, and an external hard drive with USB 2.0
cable and the AC adapter for it. These were Mark's only possessions, but he
cared most dearly for them. They were really the only things that meant
anything to him. He only had a couple changes of clothes, which he washed
in streams whenever he went exploring further from town, which he didn't do
often, as he was afraid of some how not getting back to the area he knew so
well and had come to almost love. With these saddening thoughts flowing
around inside his head, Mark went to sleep, using his backpack as a
carefully placed pillow, and setting his weapon of choice, a box cutter, so
that it could be easily accessed at a moment's notice.