[ PROLOGUE: DEATH BY TRUCK ]
The University of Everwood, is a private college school that only accepts students who score high, or has great connections within the system. Funnily enough, Michael Vanderbilt checked both of those boxes.
He could even say he exceeded the requirements, as he came from old money, related to the famous Vanderbilt family albeit distant due to proximity and little to no interaction. As the main family is situated in Tennessee.
While Michael's small family is living in Vermont— a simple four person family with him as the eldest; bright college kid with hopes for making music, a younger sister that loves make-up, a father that is balls deep in lawyering, and a mother who stays at home guarding the family.
It's a simple set-up, really, the patriarch works to provide for the family, the matriarch protects, cares, and nourishes the family. The children meanwhile study and do their thing, preparing for the real-world.
[ "Michael, fuck you." ] But life could never be that easy could it? With them hailing from old money, parents that married one another only due to arrangements, and siblings that have vastly different hobbies.
That, plus the fact that aside for only talking to one another whenever they need something, or to remind someone of something, yeah, the family is doomed to be messed up. [ "The fuck did I do?!?" ]
[ "Don't act like you don't, I've seen the way you look at my classmate." ] The sister of the family, Patricia, a freckled face dark haired girl yelled out in frustration. On the other side of the long wooden table, [ "You no-gooder pervert!!" ]
[ "I can't hear you, you rash bitch." ] Michael yelled out, actually having problems relating to hearing, but also wanting to mess with his sister. [ "Speak the fuck up for once, you low-born peasant!" ]
[ "F-fuck you!" ]
[ "Right back at yah!" ]
Though he didn't hear her exactly, he still flipped her off with a middle finger, before then taking a huge bite off of the sausage on his plate. His mother, on her phone, listening to music besides his sister, not at all caring about the cursing going on.
Instead his mother is much more busy texting someone, perhaps her cooking buddies, her church mates, or her wealthy friends. At this point, Michael doesn't know which is which, and to be frank, he doesn't care. Instead focusing on his plate.
At the balanced diet of sausage, bread, egg, and vegetables; calculated, measured, and cooked to "perfection" by the family's chefs. Before then reluctantly gobbling it all down his gullet. [ "Taste... stale as fuck." ]
Michael could never understand it, but the family's chef always had a way to make even the most delicious food taste bland— though weird, perhaps it's because of the dozens of butlers and maids on guard, on the side, staring at his every move. Perhaps that's exactly why he can't enjoy even the simplest, or most intricate meal. [ "Shit." ]
For as long as he could remember, since he gained sentience; which funnily enough spawned out of nowhere, like all the kids do. Michael has always been put into this routine, which he hates. For 21 years.
Since infancy he has been spoiled with money instead of love. Since toddlerhood the one who'll take care of him are the butlers, or maids, rather than his parents— as one is busy at work doing hell knows what, and the other is busy being a gossip.
Since childhood wherein he was forced to go to parties to socialize with other children his age, or to be shown off as a prize by his parents, to other families. And lastly since adolescence wherein he was forced at least 5-6 hours a day studying, rigid, old, complicated, mind-boggling books.
And now that Michael is in his 4th year, the last year of college actually. He doesn't know what'll be ahead of him, likely to be controlled even more by his parents, the same way as how he was forced to study Political Science; and soon to be sent to study law in some law school, for 3-years.
He doesn't want that, his parents do though, as his father talks big about continuing the family legacy all about being lawyers— started by his grandfather, which died due to overwork when he was but a toddler. Great thing, maybe.
Because from what Michael has heard about him, he was a womanizer, a ladies man, had mistresses left and right. Strong drinker, and not so much for physical activities. Yeah, maybe it was for the best.
And his father, who inherited that workaholic genes is likely to follow suit. He prays that it may happen today, tomorrow, or even the day later; just not in another 21 years, he doesn't want to deal with him for that much bloody longer.
The thought of being controlled by his family for at the least, another 21 years left a bitter taste in his mouth. Which made him not finish his meal, it was shit anyways; so he ordered the butler behind him to throw the food away. [ "Clean this up." ]
[ "Right away, sir." ] The butler, a white haired man with a wrinkly face did what he was told. All the while Michael slung his bag on his shoulder, walking out the spacious, heavily decorated, but cold dining room— not wanting to stay for another second longer than he possibly could.
For a moment he turned and glanced at his mother which is swirling a full glass of wine, some liquids falling on the white cloth staining it, about to announce that he'll be going to school first. He didn't, remembering that it'll be pointless, like the other 1000th or-so of times he did.
[ "Bye nerd! Don't come back again~" ] But his younger sister dressed in her all-girl school uniform noticed him, as she then waved at him goodbye. Before then flicking a middle finger in his direction— Hello Kitty nail art, in pink color and all that bunch.
[ "Hah." ] Michael smirked at that, already thinking of devious plans to prank his sister. Turning around as he walked through the door, butler and maids standing on the corner subtly bowing as he walked past them. A display of which he doesn't particularly like, but has gotten used to.
He walked through the halls of the mansion, easily passing by expensive paintings, vases, furniture of that sort and portrait of his ancestors staring down at him in their paintings. Surely if those latter could talk, then they would have probably reprimanded him for simply breathing.
He felt suffocated by the atmosphere, so when he finally noticed that there wasn't any servant in sight— then finally he pulled at his neck, his red necktie hanging loose slightly. [ "Let's go, chauffeur." ]
The chauffeur, a servant experienced driving, dressed apart from the other servants was hanging near the car; already waiting, and when he heard his little boss, he nodded. [ "Right away, sir." ]
Sighing to himself, Michael was about to open the door to the car, but paused when the chauffeur did it for him— [ "Thanks..." ] Another tradition he couldn't break free from, happening since he was a child.
[ "No problem, sir." ] He entered and sat by the backseat, sitting comfortably as he prepares for the boring yet hectic life school is about to present to him. He needs to socialize again, fake friends, study like there's no tomorrow, and all that.
At this point he wonders to himself how fatigue hasn't been able to creep into his whole being, but then he remembered if he did show, then he'll be reprimanded by his father; thus the scolding that would last forever, which is another level of torture.
The car started driving slowly past the extravagant garden littered with aesthetically pleasing flowers, then passed the gates which opened up, then finally into the road wherein Michael decided to busy himself by listening to music.
To be precise, the only fuel and reason why he is still breathing. That is music. He fears that if he ever did die, then how would he be able to listen to music? If he ran away, then how would he be able to listen to music? The basic answer is that, he can't.
For as long as he could remember, since he was a child, he wanted to learn how to sing and play the guitar— his father's opinion? Fuck that, go learn the piano instead. Singing? Nah, don't do that, learn how to play chess, golf, and fencing instead. Fuck.
But luckily, his father didn't ban him from listening to music, or even owning a phone. If he did, then that'll be inhumane even for him; and besides, how would he be able to easily socialize with others his age.
That move in allowing him to own electrical appliances was more-on for the family's image than Michael's wants. But hey, he wouldn't complain about that, and instead enjoy it, as he then searched through his thousands of songs; [ "This one." ] Finger finally choosing one after some time.
[ PUMPED UP KICKS ]
[ ARTIST: FOSTER THE PEOPLE ]
But before the song could even play the first verse, the car which Michael was on started to experience mechanical problems. As the said steering wheel started driving on its own, causing the chauffeur and Michael to take notice. [ "What the...?" ]
[ "Hey, what the fuck is going on with the car!?!" ] The chauffeur tried his best to drive the car, but to no avail, as it then instead swerved off to the left, hitting the safety rails which almost sent Michael flying due to the impact. [ "F-fuck!!" ]
[ -e found a six-shooter gun. In his dad's closet with a box of fun things. I don't even know what. But he's coming for you, yeah, he's coming for you, wait. ]
The song on his phone started playing, some parts he couldn't hear due to the car still going hitting more rails as it goes. Before then finally, the chauffeur, not knowing what to do, opened out the car door to the right and jumped out. [ "Run!" ]
[ "That j-just happened." ] Michael was about to do the same, but the car even though no one was hitting the pedal, kept accelerating. Scaring him. But he knows if he doesn't do the same, then he'll die.
A very gruesome death at that, and he doesn't want anything to do with that even though he jokes everyday about commiting suicide. Faced with the real thing, he instead realized he wants to live.
[ "O-oh no, no, no! Sh-shit!" ] But then he felt the door of the car not budging, even no matter how hard he pulled and pushed the handle. [ "I-I want to live! I w-want to live for once, holy shit! I don't want to die!" ]
He prayed silently in his heart, changing his ways if he did live. And perhaps that worked, as the door to the car opened for him. [ "Yes, thank you Lord!" ] Which he then jumped out of albeit with slight hesitation.
[ -ith the pumped-up kicks. You better run, better run faster than my bull- ]
He hit the concrete road with a thud, face first actually, but was happy that he was alive. As seconds later the car he was in exploded, like in those Michael Bay movies; and Michael who witnessed this, felt lucky.
He stood up albeit limply, glanced at the destruction the car created, then lastly at the exploded vehicle. [ "I-I actually live!!" ]
In clear disbelief, not noticing the fact that a truck on the other lane is also having technical problems. Which made loud noises to alert Michael, which he didn't completely hear due to his poor hearing.
[ "From now o-on, I-I'll be a better person- wait..." ] Though he did hear it last minute, turned to it actually in shock, alarmed by the noise. He was about to dodge, but realized that it was already too late to do anything; instead deciding to mouth "fuck you" to the truck. [ "Fuck y-!" ]
[ SPLAT ]
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[ FUN FACT: "The oldest known recording of music was performed on April 9, 1860, in France. A 10-second short clip of someone singing a folk song, 'Au Clair de la Lune.' The problem is that, the song was recorded but wasn't able to be played back. That was until 2008 thanks to technology." ]
[ 11/19/2025 ]
[ 11/20/2025 ] *