My name is Karma, Karma Barlett. I am seventeen, an 'orphan', and my twin brother is dead.
Some take pity on my story. I hate pity, pity and sympathy alike. Not that it matters.
Everyone knows the saying about Karma. In my case, the saying fits, in more ways than one.
I walk down the street, it's daylight, so i stick to the shadows of the alley's. I hate cities, but here I am, in the biggest one of all. New York. I'm here to find my dead beat father.
I walk slowly, wincing as my dark sunglasses press too tight against my face. I quietly curse all hangover's under my breath. I stop, slip a hand into my leather jacket's pocket and pullout my cigarette's.
I pull out my lighter and light the sucker. I can feel the nicoten in my lung's.
My father. A deadbeat. I was told he lives in a apartment in New York. SO I'm here. And if he doesn't like it, he can drop dead.
I wait in the shadows. Wait till the sun goes down. When the orange globe of fire is out of sight I walk calmly across the street to my 'father's' apartment complex.
I enter the building and take the stairs. I find apartment B38 and knock on the door. I can hear a woman laughing on the other side, and a mans voice, teasing her. I grind my teeth and knock again, harder this time.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" The man yells.
I resist the urge to punch him in the face when the door opens. I stare, shocked. I always knew I didn't look like my mother. But I never knew what my father looked like. So I stood, shocked, staring at me as my father.
He stared back. Our gold tinted eyes met, and as he gaped I gained composure. I tucked a few strands of my long midnight black hair behind my ear. I stare back, giving away no emotion.
"I'm looking for Gregor Barlett." I said, challenging him to lie to me with my eyes. He was smart. He told the truth.
"That's me. What do you want?"
"What, no welcome home princess?" I said. I was mocking him, he didn't like it. He sneered.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? And just exactly who are you?"
"It means you're an ediot. And I'm your daughter. Suprised?"
He gaped again. A woman, wrapped only in a sheet, platinum blond hair covering her shoulders, walked up behind him and stopped cold.
She stared, looked from me to my dad a few times. I could almost see the connection she made. She stared in horror for a moent, then marched away to find her clothes.
She came back, fully clothed, and stormed out the front door. The door slamed behind her. The sound rang like a gun shot in the silence.