The Sun (1/1)

What does the sun represent? Don't tell me that it's a glowing ball of light, the direction of all good and the source of energy of all living things on earth. Cut the crap. If you're me, the sun is just a meaningless ball in the sky. Its rays are cold, and it has never been my light.  I hate the sun.  It's never been welcoming to me. In the sun, I feel vulnerable. Unprotected. Everyone can see in the light. That's why people love the sun. It helps them see.  And what you can see, you will not fear.  Everything looks less scary in the sunlight.  I threw my legs out of the dingy mattress, and pulled on a leather jacket. Tight skinny jeans and converse sneakers followed soon after. Throwing on a baseball cap, I hid my long hair underneath it and grabbed the small gun and a skateboard.  Throwing open the door, I skated out into the dreaded sunlight.  No, before you ask, I'm not a vampire. Not the Edward I'm-so-sparkly-and-amazing Cullen or even the I'm-gonna-suck-your-blood leech that patronizes the earth... Yes they do exist because they are technically genetically engineered humans, but that's a story for another time. No, I just hate the sunlight for some reason.  Turning off on a side road, I picked my way past the various trash and blood drops on the floor, making sure not to trail any blood on the skateboard. Up ahead, there were shattered glass pieces on the floor as well as chipped pieces of metal. You know what this means? Gang fight. Really common... So common that you won't bat an eye when you see the evidences. Yup, you'll wonder if its your own gang members that got killed, or hurt, but that's where the concern stops.  That's right, I'm in a gang.  The gang's called G.E.M. And we're different from any kind of any you see in the movies. We're not the kind who bounds up to you in those ridiculous costumes and say "hey wassup homie". Nope, we're the real deal gang. The type which operate in top secret organizations, the kind that's been specially trained from birth and engage in evil doings. And yes, the type that kill without question.  "Name?" "Onyx. Reporting to Ruby." "Proceed." I walked into the shed. It