V is for Victim

Chapter 1
Chapter One

Chapter One

The sky just seemed so much grayer these days. As he wandered through his familiar haunts, the young man pondered as to what kind of deity could be responsible for such an abundance of heart-breaking dullness. Everything that used to catch his eye, swing his camera around, everything he used to enjoy in his youth had simply...faded. Yeah, faded. That was the best word for it. The streets, the buildings, even the cars that raced by the road he walked down seemed to be nothing more then colorless shades of blah. Must be a dreary god indeed.

Addison sighed to himself and looked up with a wry smile. “Sorry for maligning you up there,” he spoke to the darkening skies, “I know you’re not to blame.” He wasn’t a superstitious man, but he didn’t want it to start raining on him. That would necessitate yet another trip to the filthy laundry mat down the street. He chuckled, pulling his brown corduroy jacket closer around him. “I’m an artist, y’know? We have to complain about everything.”

That much was true for the young man. It wasn’t that he liked to complain, it was just due to the fact that nothing ever seemed to go his way. Addison fancied himself a nice guy. He’d never been in trouble with the law, he usually held open the door for old folk at the bank, and the ladies seemed to like him well enough, but for some reason, he just couldn’t catch a break. Contrary to all the above statements, Addison (just ?Addy’ to his few friends) wasn’t a morose or depressed individual. He liked to complain, alright, but only to himself. His students found him funny and lighthearted, and it was to his profession that he thanked for a less then bleak out look on life. But it was also a source of constant frustration.

Addison Wolf, (Mr. Wolf to his students) was a teacher. Or, well, more truthfully, a teacher-to-be. He had taken all the proper courses, scored high everywhere he needed to, put in a few thousand hours as a teacher’s aide for the local schools. But all these a teacher do not make. Several times a week, he would sub as an art teacher for Mrs. Kendry, a seventy year old instructor whose failing health caused her no end of sick calls. Addison, who was her neighbor in their rundown apartment complex, took the job she had offered immediantly. He hoped that his dedication to Mrs. K’s class would get him the notice of the Board of Education here in King’s Canyon, but sadly, apparently, it didn’t. He had tried many, many times to apply for a full time position at the local schools, and each and everyone of his applications had been denied. No availability, he was told. Too many teachers, not enough classes, they said. He had even been informed that should Mrs. Kendry pass on, there was already a waiting list on her position a mile long.

“That was horrible,” Addison thought to himself, recalling. “Buncha vultures.” He looked back up at the sky, then looked around. Same blah. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to get any good photos here. Maybe the weather was better on Thera today. He dug his hands into his pockets, rummaging for his sunglasses. His questing hand brushed against the hard plastic ID card that would get him there and he grinned. The sun was always shining on Thera.