When I was a little boy, my grandfather told me that life ends in death. I didn't understand his quote until my late grandmother died unexpectedly.

According to some of my relatives, they believe my grandmother drowned herself in the bathtub. For a while, she had been too depressed to eat, sleep, or get out of bed to feed Georgia-her newborn kitten.

But none of them believed that grandma had the urge to kill herself.

Despondent, I attempt to ask my father how she died, but my solemn mother handed me a bowl of mashed potatoes so I can serve it to my five-year-old cousins.

Beyond the cold window, black velvet roses found solace in the moistened dirt; tears slither down withering skin. The tension became so unbearable that my mother couldn't swallow her helping of macaroni salad.

Out of all my relatives, my grandmother was the first person who supported my decision to write.

If it hadn't been for her, I would have torn the pages from my journal and set it ablaze. Hell, I would have given up the desire to write a novel as gruesome as Edgar Allan Poe's.

However, if Brooke, Caleb, Johnny, and Nessa were actual people, I wanted to see them live happy lives.

In an alternative universe, the kids would find high-paying jobs, get married, and tell their young children what life was like during the 90s. Still, as I said before, not everything has a happy ending.

Many were ambiguous, while others were colorless and sullen. Furthermore, despite my best efforts, it was difficult to picture a world where the kids can live together in peace.

All I can do is sit on my wooden chair, pluck a single page for my typewriter, and prayed for the teenage outsiders as they prepare for the unknown.

Stepping into the brilliant red Acura Integra, Johnny starts the car while Brooke and Caleb climbed into the back seat.

They rechecked their supplies to see if the children need anything important.

Waterbottles, ammunition, guns, and medical supplies rest comfortably inside their bags, whereas Johnny attempts to stuff his sword inside his black backpack.

"Jesus." Nessa finishes her water bottle and shoves it in her dark red backpack. "You seriously need a new bag, Johnny."

Johnny looks down at the worn, black fabric and sighs very glumly. His bag is adorned with vibrant pins—Pac-Man, The Goonies, a bold red Anarchy symbol, and New Kids on the Block.

He had this backpack since his first week of Idlewild. Now, it looks like it has been torn apart by a pack of wolves.

"I know," he grunts sheepishly.

Nessa leans her back against the front seat. "I have a purple backpack in my bedroom. You can borrow it if you want."

"Thanks," Johnny smirks, scanning the cloud gray road. "But you need it for your stupid Pearl Jam magazines."

Flabbergasted, his little sister punched him hard in the shoulder.

"Oh, shut up." Nessa pouts. "Pearl Jam is a not stupid band."

"Why?"

"Because Eddie Vedder is a beautiful angel," a swooning Nessa declared. "And his friends make good music."

Rubbing his sore shoulder, Johnny couldn't help but crack up at Nessa's innocent crush.

He remembered when they were in Idlewild, Nessa's dorm room was filled with Pearl Jam posters, mementos, and Rolling Stone magazines about Eddie Vedder.

The couple reclined on the right, checking to make sure that their guns were loaded.

"You got your Beretta pistol gun?" Caleb asks his girlfriend.

Her tender lips lift into a smile. "Yeah, what about you?"

Caleb chuckles warmly. He reassures her that his twin Glock pistols are buried deep inside his yellow and black striped backpack.

Grinning, Brooke runs her soft fingers across Caleb's cheerful face. Dreadlocks tangled her pinkie. Freckles and acne scattered across caramel brown skin as Brooke inspects them.

When they first met, Brooke discovered an insignificant scar on Caleb's bottom lip. She did not know where he had gotten it from, but she never asked.

Partly because it was none of her business.

An inquisitive Caleb asks Brooke once more if she is doing okay.

"Did you have another vision?" Caleb frowns, as his chocolate brown eyes studied hers.

"No, but I have a feeling that this plan might not go very well," Brooke mutters quietly.

Johnny peeks at the rearview mirror once more. "What do you mean?"

Feeling very nosy, his little sister swerves her head to Brooke's direction. Despite Nessa's courage, she too was startled by her best friend's horrifying suspicions.

"Please don't tell me that there is another monster on the loose," Nessa whined. "I am getting sick of them."

Much to her relief, Brooke simply shakes her head.

"There are no monsters—only cops doing their jobs," she explained. Brooke brushes her legs against the black seat, easing her sore knee caps.

Caleb's lips stretched into a menacing frown.

"Yeah, like incarcerating Apollo for being a mutant. I don't know why you like this kid, Nessa. Is he your boyfriend or something?"

That's when Nessa's entire face burned bright pink. Brilliant red appears on her tightened fists. For a moment, Nessa wanted to slap Caleb for his revolting insult.

Then, all of a sudden, Johnny leaps to her defense.

"Cut it out, Caleb!" he growls. "If Nessa wants to help Apollo, let's help Apollo—"

"Why?" Caleb crossed his arms like an impatient child. "Apollo has never done anything for us. All he does is burn people alive."

"And what are we, Caleb? Superheroes?" an enraged Johnny retorts. "Do we wear stupid capes, preach about justice, and save people we don't know?"

Everyone was silent. Brooke studies the old coffee stain on the worn mat, whereas Nessa and Caleb both gawked at the hazy windows.

An innocent sky blue alters into an eerie dark purple. Thick vapor soars across the solemn atmosphere, but there were no bright stars.

And the only glimmer of light the children can see were taillights coming from accelerating cars.

Patting his steering wheel, Johnny sneaks a glance at the rearview mirror and saw his friends sitting quietly in their chairs.

Releasing an unhappy grunt, Johnny finally tells Caleb that he understands how he feels.

"I am not forgetting what Apollo did, alright?" Johnny sighed.

"But according to Nessa, he had a rough life, you know? Apollo has no family or friends. Plus, he has been trapped in that lab for God knows how long."

Caleb didn't say anything. Eyes glare down at his worn pants, studying the small tear, exposing his left ankle.

"Come on, Caleb." Johnny pleads. "You have got to know what's that like. Being alone."

In an instant, the boy's tight-lipped smile vanished. Innocent eyes became homicidal. The color drained from his skin, like a running faucet.

For as long as Caleb can remember, he lived in the dirty streets of Harlem. No family or friends to take him in. No bed to sleep in.

To put food in his mouth, Caleb joins several criminal organizations. He learned how to shoot, steal, and fend for himself until Caleb was captured by police officers.

One day, he was living with his foster siblings, and then the next, a Mexican couple took him in and enrolled him in Idlewild. There, he had met Brooke and the Phoenix siblings who later became his second family.

Without them, the cynical Latino wouldn't have been terrified of dying. Fearful pupils analyzed the boy's solemn face as Brooke strokes his unkempt dreadlocks.

"You okay?" the disheartened girl asks before Caleb kisses her. Lips touched her cheeks, nose, and chin. Soft fingers stroked Brooke's delicate exterior.

"I am doing fine." Caleb smiled, after kissing her forehead. "Thanks."

Though startled by his bold move, Brooke held his hand and leaned against his shoulder.

Nessa, who sits next to a serious Johnny, stifled an angry moan. "Will you two please get a room?"

Brooke stops kissing Caleb and stares at the disgruntled Nessa.

"Falling in love with someone is not gross, Nessa," she tells her in a patient tone.

"Falling in love isn't wrong," Nessa said, in a condescending tone. "Being imprisoned in a vexatious third wheel is. So, can you two kindly stop making out in front of my face, please?"

Johnny snorts a laugh. "Wow, you hate romance, huh?"

"Holy shit, you finally noticed?" Nessa retorts sarcastically, mimicking his voice.

Johnny angrily flips her off, but Nessa was too anxious to notice. As she drops her backpack on the floor, the scorching yellow coin plummets into the thick clouds.

"Start driving, Mr. Pink," Nessa demands after she pokes her finger at the windshield.

"Do not yell at me-" Johnny scoffs.

"Crime is afoot!" she boomed. "Hurry, Mr. Pink! We have to find Apollo, or else he will get thrown back in jail again!"

Johnny only scowls at her. "Can you please stop calling me that stupid name?"

"No." Nessa pouted.

"Ugh." He takes a careful swerve around a speeding rusty brown Mustang and forwards his Acura Integra. "So Brooke, do you know where Apollo is?"

Brooke thought back to her vision and tells him that Apollo is in Chinatown.

"Seriously?"Caleb stares at her funny. "Why is he going to Chinatown?"

"Beats me." she shrugs. "Hey Johnny, take us to 943 N Broadway, Los Angeles, CA 90012."

Johnny accelerates but stops at the sight of red light. Cars surround him. He hates the stench of car fumes and wishes that the lights will turn green.

"Oh my God," Johnny moaned. "I wish this light would fucking change."

Caleb picks his teeth. Though he had brushed them a few hours ago, Caleb could still feel something hurting his small molars.

"If you hate traffic so much, why don't you teleport us to Chinatown?"

Johnny hurls him a glare at the rearview mirror.

"First of all, I can't teleport more than three people," he replies. "And second, this is my dad's car. If he hears that I abandoned it in the middle of a traffic jam, he will murder me!"

Brooke did a sigh. She ties her boyfriend's black starter jacket and reassures Johnny that nothing bad will happen to his car.

Unfortunately, her old lover doubts it; Johnny emits a groan and slams his head on the back of his headrest.

"Jesus Christ," he said finally. "I hope not."

The traffic went slow until a miraculous thing happened: the stoplights had finally switched green. Ecstatic, Johnny immediately swerves the key in the ignition and slams the gas pedal.

Adrenaline pushed the youthful passengers against the chairs. The wind swirls inside their hollow eardrums.

Irritated, Nessa, Brooke, and Caleb try to press the window buttons, but the glass wouldn't close the crack.

"Jesus Christ." Nessa mumbles after Johnny takes a right. "Can you close the windows?"

Her older brother didn't reply, but his right thumb presses a button that closes all of the windows.

"Thanks," an irked Brooke grumble under her breath. She pats down her wild hair with gentle hands and leaned next to Caleb.

Adjusting his cherished snapback cap on his head, Caleb asks Johnny if the teenage felon should be rescued.

"Say, what?" Johnny asks after he signaled his left turn.

Nessa catches a strange glimpse of him in the rearview mirror. "Of course, he should be rescued. Apollo has been through a lot."

Her best friend Brooke didn't think so; last time she met Apollo, he wiped out almost half of Jason's medical team.

Fire blossomed like raucous flowers; blistered heat scorched bare skin. And no matter how hard Brooke washes her hair, she could still smell the displeasing stench of singe stinging her curls.

Sensing her discomfort, Caleb slides beside Brooke and begins to reassure her.

"You okay?" he repeats.

Ever since Brooke spaced out, Caleb often checks on her to see if she is okay-much to Brooke's chagrin.

"I'm fine, Caleb."

"You sure?"

His girlfriend gradually bobs her head. "Yeah, I am just thinking about Jason Young and his horrible experiments."

Nessa shudders at his name.

"Dear God," she moaned. "Please do not say his name. That guy is a fucking psychopath."

Johnny grits his teeth while navigating the tan brown steering wheel. He thinks back to the moments when Jason kept horrible secrets from them.

He couldn't get the sight of malnourished sea monsters out of his head. The brittle stench of saltwater smelled like ghastly medicine.

There were times when he struggled to feel sorry for Apollo, but all Johnny can see are angry flames lashing at his face.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny projects a tired sigh. His tense foot relaxes the gas pedal.

Deep green signs mentioned towns and streets the children have never been to San Francisco, Sacramento, Los Angeles, San Diego, and other vibrant cities.

It's surprising how insignificant human beings can be; one day, they build vast towers, and the next, people swim in their habitats—like fishes in huge glass tanks.

But like many creatures, I broke out of my comfort zone and visited countries, states, and foreign lands until my youth was stolen from me.

Nowadays, I can't remember the places I had seen.

Did I visit the Taj Mahal? Is the Eiffel Tower just as tall in person than in one of those cliche romance movies?

Witnessing passing street names, Caleb chewed his pinkie nail. Perhaps, when they are finished rescuing Apollo, maybe the kids could visit these places.

Unfortunately for Caleb, California is not ready to allow street vermins inside their cities.

Though they were able to get employment, the kids would still be denied service from fancy establishments without showing their passports to the managers first.

As for their distant parents, they manage to scrape enough money to send it to their children. But on some occasions, the adults would receive ten silver coins.

It is a worthless sum, but at least the children can get by.

Thinking about her relatives, Brooke rests her head against the windowsill. She thought about her parents-Thomas and Adelaide.

They were loving, kind-hearted, and talented clairvoyants. Because of them, Brooke was able to understand her powers and diverse plants.

"Where are my mother and father right now?" she wondered. "Could they be in South Africa, helping the sick and injured?"

As much as Brooke wants to see her parents again, she wouldn't rest until Apollo is out of San Francisco.

Neither did her pessimist colleagues.

Soon, as Johnny furthers into San Francisco, the dismal atmosphere is now tainted with bright scarlet.

Red lanterns floated like balloons; stores and markets were filled with bustling people, strolling to and fro to get to their favorite destinations.

Lucid fluorescent lights seduced exhausted Americans. Cooked rice and meats seasoned the crisp air until Johnny cruised through the vibrant community.

He, his little sister, and his friends paid no attention to the laughing sightseers plaguing markets and candy stores.

To several gullible visitors, Chinatown is like paradise—filled with treasures and trove. But in every community masks the ghastly odor of blood, danger, tears, grime, and death.