Your name is Jakob Gyldensted.

You are 34 years old, and you are currently in the hospital. You are laying down on the ground, with your world dead, on top of you.

Your entire world for 26 years now dead, and you are at fault for that. Your world had two, sunken in brown eyes. Those brown eyes wont stop staring into your soul.

You are made out of rock, because you haven't fainted yet and your arms are holding you up, even after an hour of laying there. You can't move him because if you do you'll fall in your world's blood. You can't take that. Your legs don't work correctly anymore, you broke them when you did your favor for your best friend, Micah Larson. You cannot cry, or scream out for the help of a nurse. Your section of the hospital had been roped off because you didn't need papparazzi around your room, or nurses, or doctors, until tomorrow morning. No one would hear your screams even if you screeched for hours. When the sunrises, that's when your world's body can be removed and you can go home or most likely to the mental hospital.

You obviously didn't think this through. You did not think that your world would come in here and try to end your life.

But this obviously doesn't make much sense. We should start at the begining.


Your name is Jakob Gyldensted.

You are eight years old, and you are standing on the corner of the street in Greece. You are holding onto a pole, trying to get across the street but you can't because you're too short to reach the button to change the light to walk and no one will help you because no one notices you. No one notices the street urchins anymore. No one notices you anymore. You've been living on the street since your parents left you behind on a vacation trip to Athens four months ago. You eat every other day when people don't notice you and you manage to steal some old bread. You get water when you dunk your head into whatever water source that happens to be near by. If that means you're going to stick your head in a pool of stagnant water, then you are going to stick your head into a pool of stagnant water to stay alive. You have to do whatever you can to stay alive.

Because you are Jakob Gyldensted. You are only son between Feliks and Charlotta Gyldensted, the owners of the rather famous, billion dollar company, G&W. You have, or had, two younger siblings. They were your half siblings because your mother always felt lonely, and had too many male friends who lingered about and brought her flowers and chocolates. Your brother and sister were normal.

Alice, your sister, immediantly won your father's heart because she was a perfect little angel. Gideon, your brother, was a favourite at parties and your father treated him like more of a son then you were, even though you were legitmately his and Gideon wasn't. They were twins. They had two of everything, they shared everything and when they were born they looked and sounded and cried like normal babies were, and that made your father happy. Your mother loved you too. You were her first and you would always be her baby boy, but she couldn't seem like it. You wanted to be loved by your parents and wanted to love your parents.

You could never hold any resentment towards them for leaving you behind like they did. It was an accident. It had to be. You forced yourself to believe this, even though you knew this was your fathers idea, with your small, eight-year-old brain. Your father has always been cold towards you, because you are the freak child and you always played with Barbie and Ken, instead of the action figures and balls your father bought. He thought you would be a boy, and act like other boys.

You don't. You can't. You're not interested in being rough or tough, you like your dolls because while they don't talk back, they always smile and make the loneliness not seem like it's there. It didn't hurt so bad then. You were the freak child in the family of normal, big buisness types. You had two sets of genitals, and that wasn't normal, and because it wasn't normal, your father didn't understand you or want to be near you, because having two full sets of genitalia was "not mother fucking normal". That's what your father said.

You are still at the street light. You jump up to try to get to the button but you are just out of reach on your tippy-toes. You whimper and lean against the pole, you want to get to the lake. You haven't had water in almost twenty-four hours and you were trying to pass out due to dehydration.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump. You look up and see him and he suddenly seems like God to you, because he's smiling and holding a bottle of soda and he's saying words. You don't understand him, and you reach for the drink. You're not selfish. You just... Need liquid.

He smiles nervously and decides to hand you the soda and you guzzle it down and try not to cry. No one had shown this much kindness to you in a long time. You finish off the soda and hand the empty can back to the boy and he takes your hand and leads you away from the pole. He takes you down the street to a resturaunt and buys you food. He talks while you scarf down food and suck down water and whatever they hand you. You can't hear anything he's saying over the crunching and slurping. You look up every now and then.

He looks about nine, maybe eleven at the oldest. He's still got baby fat on his face, and he wears thick, square glasses on his nose. His eyes are dark brown, and his hair is messy and dark black. You notice his teeth whenever he talks. He runs his tounge along his buck teeth whenever he's thinking of something new to say. He leans his head on his hand and he says something about his little brother. Apparently this God had a brother. You shrug and finish off the meal.

"So, what's your name kid? I see you on that street corner like... All the fuckin' time, right? For like three months or some shit like that. What're you doin' here and why don't you ever change your clothes?"

This surprises you. You don't get why he'd care, but you fiddle with your fingers and try to formulate a response that doesn't sound too stupid.

"Uh... Well... I-I live down there... And when I come home every day I take that street and uhm..."

"That don't explain the clothes deal, kid. You homeless?"

You respond with a sad silence.

"Oh. Well, kid, I know where you can stay. I got this friend, right, and he lives like a few streets away or some shit like that..." He goes on to explain about his friend Micah, whose Mom takes in kids when they need a home. You drift off and you don't hear what he's saying anymore until he snaps his fingers and you snap right back into reality.

"That sound good? Kid? You alive 'n there?"

"Oh... Yeah. I'm sorry. It does sound good." What did you even agree to? You didn't know. But Micah's house had to be better then living on the streets.

The boy shakes his head and stands up, offering you his hand. You nervously take it and you start walking when he does. You guess he paid earlier. You follow the boy who keeps talking and you just listen on and off. He takes you around corners and down alleys because he said they were shortcuts.

You stop at a house that's tall and the color ocean foam. You smile. You always loved that color.

"Well, here we are."

"Uh..." You look around nervously.

"This is Micah's house. You said you wanted to live here, right?"

"Oh..! Yeah. That sounds good." You smile at the boy.

"Good." The boy nods and leads you into a house. It smells like pastries. The boy leaves you at the door for the moment while he ventures off down the hall and to the right, where he talks to a woman. You stand there awkwardly, you don't know what you're supposed to do. You stay where you are, though. The boy reappears with a tall woman with a pudgy face and a huge, warm smile on her face. "Ms. Larson, this is the kid." He says.

The woman kneels down and stares at you. Her eyes are a warm shade of green. "Hey there. What's your name?"

"...Jake."

"Well, Jake, I'm Ms. Larson, but you can just call me Momma. All the kids do. And Juliek said you wanted to live here with the others?"

"Yeah..."

"That's fine, sweetheart. We'll get you all cleaned up and everything." You couldn't believe this was happened. This was the luckiest day of your life. The boy, you guessed his name was Juliek, walked over and ruffled your greasy, matted hair.

"Hey, Jake, I'll come back and visit you, OK?"

You nod excitedly. A friend? You hoped.

"Bye, Jake." He smiles and walks out the door and you walk into the warmly painted house and get to take a bath. Momma bathes you and gives you new clothes and you can't believe this is happening. You get to meet all the kids.

Trevor, Dierker, Micah, Julia, Sylvie all live there. Micah, Julie and Sylvie were all of Momma Larson's children. They were nice. Trevor and Dierker lived with Micah because they had no where else to go. They had been friends for, you guess, years. You spend an evening talking and getting to know these strangers. You like them.

You crawl into your new, single bed and sleep peacefully for the first night in a long time.