2Hey everyone. I didn't feel like studying for my final exams, so I figured it might be time for me to submit a fanfiction. So, my plans for this story aren't really fleshed out completely yet. I sort of want to show the vulnerability of a teenager, through the character of Warren. How he became to be the badass we know from the film. The rating may go up in a bit. I have a tendency to shift tenses, so if you catch any, let me know, since I'd like this to be written in past tense. Reviews are welcome. May take a bit for the story to get interesting, but stay with me. :D
Brittanie aka frozenangel1988
Things Made of Nightmares
A Retrospective Morning
The young boy groaned at his alarm clock. It was way too early. Freshman year. At the oh-so-great Sky High. He had tried to convince his mother to send him somewhere else since she refused to bind his powers, somewhere where his father's reputation wouldn't be known. But nope. She was adamant. Her son, Warren Peace, would attend Sky High just like all the other Peaces before him since the school was built.
With another groan, the fifteen year old kicked off the light sheet covering his boxer-clad body. Normally, he'd instantly turn up his body heat and get up slowly, but today he needed the cold to shock his system into action. Most people thought that pyrokinetics hated cold. It was probably true, but Warren didn't know many other pyrokinetics, other than his father, but he hadn't seen him in years. Warren strangely loves the cold. It made him feel alive. Forget, even if it was temporary, that he was just human. He could pretend that he wasn't just a swirling body of fire, but a living, breathing, human.
Standing, Warren stretched as he made his way over to his full length mirror on the back of his closet. He liked what he saw, until he remembered that he would probably, one day soon, resemble his father. The criminal. But that day was not today. Today he was just Warren. A slightly scared so-to-be freshman. His naturally tan body had begun to show signs of the workout regiment he started in the summer. He smiled at his reflection, his deep mahogany eyes echoing his father still. Warren was thankful that he had inherited his mother's straight almost black hair, instead of his father's curly mass.
Another wave of cold washed in through his open window, jerking him out of his early morning reverie. Cracking open his closet, he extracted a new band shirt he got a few weeks ago at his first concert. Machine Head. That'll do. Perfect mindset for the day. He wrenched his head through the shirt hole, his back now emblazoned with the words "No Fucking Regrets". Pants. Now for pants. Jeans. Yes, his father hated jeans. Warren loved them. He pulled on a faded blue pair that was already crumpled on the carpet, threading a thin studded belt through the loops. With one last glance in the mirror and the decision not to brush his bed ridden long locks, Warren grabbed a worn leather book bag and bound down the steps into the kitchen to see his mother.
She was small. Always beautiful, yet broken. Her heavy lidded green eyes were still laced with sleep. She looked up when her son entered the room. A faint smile shot across her lips, gone in an instant. Her right hand, that held a half smoked cigarette, pointed to the full coffee maker. She knew her son loved coffee.
"Thanks mom." Warren plopped his bag down as he fiddled around in the cabinets in search for a portable coffee mug. Finding a red travel mug, he poured the precious liquid in, adding three sugars and a touch of creamer.
"Have a good day, sweetie." His mother's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but he knew to listen for it. He kissed her on the cheek.
"I will. I'll see you later." Warren fixed the top on his mug, snatched his bag, and ran out the front door to the bus stop. There were already a small group of students there. He waited for the bus against a tree, pulling out his iPod and plugging his ears with his headphones. He pushed play just at the bus rolled up. Stepping foot onto the bus, he knew he would do everything he could not to repeat the nightmare that had been Baron Battle. He wasn't Baron Battle. He was Warren Peace.