Elis New Love

I'm a fairly innocent person, as far as people go. According to California, well the entire United States really, law, I am now an adult. I don't feel different, except for the sudden rush of adrenaline that seems to house in my lower abdomen, my 'tummy.' Apparently there's some magical event that's supposed to happen between 11:59pm and 12:00am on this, my eighteenth full trip around the sun, that makes me capable of running my own life. Who decided such a silly thing? I'm still a kid.. I feel it.. I look it.

Me? I'm a strange specimen, or so the internet tells me. Having a very tall family, all 6's, I stand at a measly 5 foot 11 inches. My brown hair disobeys me lest I spend an hour fixing it in the mirror, all brown and wavy. I prefer to style it over my crown and to the side, proper yet cute; the direction varies on which arm I am able to hold up the longest. After a ruthless 3 years of common youthful facial conditions, my face is now as smooth as a peach, as I like to put it. My eyebrows are full yet tamed, as I spend a few minutes every couple days to reign in their incessant need to grow. My brows sit atop two unique eyes, both ignoring any societal-induced yearn to be identical. Whilst their colors are the same (green, brown, blue and gold,) their patterns differ from one another. I enjoy my eyes. It's the only part of my body I know is absolute and unchanging. I don't need to wash them, nor do they require frequent moisturizers, nor do I need to remove any unwanted hair from them (excluding the occasional independent eye-lash.)

My name? My full name is Elijah Donahue King, although everyone who isn't a piece of paper calls me Eli. I actually like my name. My parents were very good at picking names that flow very smoothly over the tongue.

My siblings are Rebekah, Gabriel and Dominique. They've all left my parents' residence since their lives grasped adulthood, each taking their share of the family's money. My dad never did talk about where he got his fortune, only that it 'apparently' had something to do with plasma television screens. A patronizing excuse, to me, but I never pushed the matter further.

I used to hate my parents, my whole family really, because they shunned me once they realized I was interested in my own gender when it came to romantic relations, before I even did mind you. The difference in treatment happened about five years ago and I never knew why until my parents died, 2 years ago, when Gabriel told me why they started estranging me. I didn't even realize that I was a homosexual until Gabriel confided in me, and I remember experiencing a very large epiphany moments later.

Now it made sense why I was always curious about other boys in the locker room. Now it made sense why my eyes would always rest upon shirtless men just a tad longer than normal. Now it made sense why I never wanted to kiss the girls that engaged myself. It all made sense.

That was two years ago, when I lost those that gave life to me, in an over-the-top-cliché car accident. A truck driver apparently forgot what a red-light meant and side-swiped my parents' vehicle, killing them both instantly.

I could go on to tell you about my short history, my family history (or what I know if it,) the mansion, my friends, our fortune, but that's not what I'm here to talk to you about. I've been allowed to document these life-changing events that were, at first, forced upon me. I've been given the 'privilege' of narrating the story of how a rich boy like myself became something much more... well you'll see.

It all started 2 weeks after the second anniversary of my parents' death, my 18th birthday.