[14/8/2002]
When did it all go wrong?
When did everything start to fall apart?
I guess it was when we came here—Sariel Splendid High
I had just finished middle school at the age of ten, still wondering where I'd continue my education. My parents weren't well-off, not by a long shot. My dad barely came home since I was in preschool. A drunk—everyone in the neighborhood knew him. Every bar, every restaurant, they all knew my father.
And of course, it started to affect my mom's business. She sold women's accessories. Simple stuff, really. But when your husband is that guy, the drunk everyone whispers about, the shame sticks to you like mud.
Funny thing is—everyone knew my dad. Everyone except me. I barely saw the old geezer. Couldn't even remember what his face looked like.
So my mom packed us up and left Brooktown, over on the east side of Malibu. She wanted a fresh start. A way to make ends meet.
My dad? He was a jingle writer. You know, the kind of guy who wrote songs for cereal commercials, toy ads, even cartoon theme songs. From what I heard, he used to live lavishly. Things were good—until he met Mr. Felix.
Mr. Felix was sixty years old when he first met my dad. He promised him bigger things—popularity, productivity, more money, more connections. At first, Dad laughed it off. Men like Felix usually prey on the desperate, selling lies wrapped in smiles.
But Felix wasn't a liar. Not entirely.
He did give my dad fame. His jingles spread everywhere—cartoons, cereal ads, toys. For a while, he was living the dream. Until Felix gave him Warp.
Warp was supposed to be a "pharmaceutical miracle." A pill to melt away stress, keep your head sharp, and boost creativity. Dad believed it. Maybe he wanted to believe it. But Warp wasn't a miracle. It was a curse.
It left him depressed, disoriented, restless. The only thing that gave him any energy after that was alcohol. One pill turned into two, then more, then bottles of cheap gin to chase it all down. He drained his savings, burned through everything.
Mom tried to fight back. She hired lawyers, investigators—even frauds—anyone who could help her prove Warp was a scam. She lost more money than we ever had. Both hers and his.
And then, on August 4th, 2008, it all came crashing down. Warp's pharmaceutical company collapsed. Turns out, my dad wasn't alone. There were lawsuits everywhere. Fathers, mothers—even kids, as young as seven—were ruined by those pills.
Some of the side effects sounded like horror stories. People laughed until their throats bled. Some stripped naked and ran through the streets on all fours. Some claimed they could see in the dark, others thought they had superpowers. Different stories, different nightmares, but one thing was always the same—addiction.
No one could stop. Rehab failed. Churches failed. Substitutes failed. Warp clung to them like a shadow they couldn't shake. The government had to step in, rounding up the worst cases and locking them in facilities across the country. They caught maybe eighty percent. The rest were on the run, or dead, or insane.
People started calling them Warpers.
But this isn't really the story of Warp, or even of my father.
This is the story of someone else. A boy I once knew. My friend.
His name was Maxwell Turner.