I was not happy. My name is Sebastian Gallagher... and I was not happy!! I was in a packed SUV, all of my stuff shoved into any open place. My arms were crossed over my chest while I was slumped in the gray leather seat, scowling like a three-year-old without ice cream.

My mom (Anne Gallagher) and dad (Charles Gallagher) were up front, dad driving while they both listened to "Lawrence Whelk's Greatest Hits" and were singing along in loud, off-key voices.

The batteries of my CD player had just died and I was forced to listen to their wailing voices. I don't know where I got my musical talent from because it definitely wasn't my Mom or Dad. Maybe Mom had had an affair... It felt as though the music transformed into tiny people as soon as it hit my ears and the tiny people would crawl inside of my mind and start ripping my brain apart, trashing and destroying everything and causing me immense pain.

"Would you turn that shit off?" I spat angrily, knowing that they would either simply ignore me as usual (except for scolding me for saying 'shit') or try and deter me from the matter at hand.

Mom turned around and looked at me, "Sebastian, sweetie, are you feeling alright? You look a bit greenish. Have you been reading? You know you get carsick when you read, pumpkin."

You can tell she's trying to butter me up by the way she uses all of those pet names. She's too thick to realize that never works. It made me angrier, "I'm fine, Mom. This music just sucks major dick and it makes me wanna blow chunks all over the fucking leather upholstery!"

"Watch your mouth, young man!" Dad yelled.

"I want to go home!" I shouted.

"Honey," Mom cooed in that stupid soothing voice that made me desperately want to rip her throat out, "We just want what's best for you. We think you need to get away from the city and places where they expect to much of you. You'll get some sun, make friends, learn about different ways of life-"

"Maybe I don't want to." I know. I was a spoiled brat. Not really. They got me whatever I wanted money-wise, but I never got even the slightest bit of attention when I wasn't fighting.

Yes, fighting. The pretty-boy with the snow-white skin, feminine body, bright red hair with green streaks, big blue eyes, two piercings per ear, and the dumbbell in his eyebrow, could fight. Amazing, isn't it?

That's why they forced me into this stupid car to drive from Manhattan to some tiny town in Kentucky that wasn't even on maps. The town was so small and the area was so sparsely crowded that they only had one school for 7 different towns. How stupid is that? They had no right to make me come here! Just because I've gotten kicked out of nine prestigious boarding schools for fighting in the past 4 years did not give them the right to force me to live with my Grandmother in Kentucky.

Ok, so maybe it did...

But that's not the point! I didn't need them anyway. I didn't need Mom, not Dad, not Grandma, not you, not anyone. I was perfectly fine alone. I was best alone. I was always alone...

The road got bumpier as Dad drove on. My arms were crossed over my chest and I glared out the window as the tires kicked up dirt, rocks, and a helluva shit load of dust. After Dad drove for a while, he finally pulled into a long driveway and pulled to a stop near the house.

"We're here!" he announced cheerfully. The first thought that came to my mind: Duh.

"Yay," I said dryly. Oh, yes, excitement was in the air. Excitement, my ass.

I got out of the car and nearly jumped out of my skin as three labs ran over and started sniffing me, shoving their heads in my crotch, and licking my hands. There was one of each color; yellow, chocolate, and black.

I looked around as the dogs continued exploring and examining me. The house was small and was light blue with black shutters. There was a porch with a black swing hanging on chains from the ceiling. Behind the house, I saw a small black shed with black painted windows and a large padlock over the door.

There was a large barn, same color as the house. I could here a chainsaw going from inside. There was a hay silo and a hen house near it, along with large bare fields and two pastures with three cows in one and two horses in the other. Grandma came around from the back of the house with a basket full of different vegetables. She smiled when she saw us.

"Charles! Annie!" she exclaimed happily, setting down the basket and jogging over. She hugged Dad tightly, "How's my little boy? You look so nice and healthy. And Anne! Have you lost weight? You look great!"

"Thanks, Mom. Sebastian, come over here and say hello to your Grandmother."

I walked over and promptly said, "Hello to your Grandmother."

Grandma smiled happily and laughed, "He's a witty one. How do you put up with him?"

"It's very trying, but he's worth it," Dad chuckled.

"You've grown up so much! I remember when you thought that Larry Bird was the San Diego chicken. Do you remember that Charles?"

"Yeah, mom. It's like it happened yesterday."

She had the same red hair as me, only hers was streaked with white instead of green. She was a pure-blood Irishman (or woman, your choice). So I was half Irish, half Swedish. It made an odd combination. I guess I got the Swedish eyes and the Irish temper.

"Claire!" someone shouted, jogging over to us from the barn. He was tall and thin, but muscular. He looked to be in his late twenties, dressed in typical farm garb, had a rich tan, freckles everywhere, sun-kissed brownish hair, and sparkling brown eyes. He was all around very attractive, but not my type at all. I didn't go for hicks.

Yes, I like guys. Get over it, losers.

"Everyone, this is Frankie. He helps me with the farm year-round, instead of just the Harvest like the rest of my helpers. Frankie, this is my son, Charles, his wife, Anne, and their son, 'Bastian. He's the one I told you about."

Pleased to meet you," he said, shaking Dad's hand, then Mom's, then offering to shake mine. I just looked at him skeptically, as if to say 'you're joking, right?'.

"Nice kid," he said to Mom, who sighed and glared at me, "Claire, I finished that desk for ya."

"Oh, that's perfect! Charlie, could you help him carry that up to your old room? We've fixed it up for 'Bastian. We'll go inside and get started on dinner."

"Ok, Mom," Dad said. I followed Mom and Grandma as they headed toward the house. I was positive I was going to absolutely love it here. Not.

"What are the names of your dogs?" Mom asked when she noticed how attached they were to me.

"The yellow one's Tinkerbell, but we call her Tink. The chocolate one's Mink. He's actually Tink's brother. He's the baby of the group. And the black one is Rikitikitavi. We call him Rik. He's Tink's mate." Grandma said, opening the front door as we walked past the swing. She locked the dogs out so they would stop bothering me.

"They're very pretty dogs," Mom said as we walked into the kitchen where the table was already sat and the smell of food emanated from the oven.

Grandma grinned, "Don't let Rik hear you call him that. He prefers 'handsome' to 'pretty'. And yes, he knows the difference. I don't know how, but those dogs act more human than some of my workers sometimes."

She poured a cup of coffee for her and Mom (offered one to me, too, but I declined) and they sat down at the table. I frowned and muttered that I was going to go get my guitar. I have four, but they really didn't need to know which one, nor did they care.

~*

After Sebastian had left, Anne turned to Claire, worry painted on her face, "So?'

"No doubt about it," Claire replied solemnly, "He is the Catalyst of the prophecies. We will need to find the Guardian as quickly as possible. The time is coming soon and if we don't find the guardian, we will have to kill him."

To Be Continued...

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