Unforgiven, chapter 1
"Where'd ja put the map?" Three teenage boys drove down a suburban road, the soft whirring of the motor slipping the landscape into twilight. A boy, with shockingly blonde hair spiked up form his forehead uneasily rested in the driver's seat, every now and again glancing into the back windows behind him. He shifted uncomfortably.
"Uhm...I think its..." He reached down, only to be met with a burning hot sensation on his legs. "Ahh! Fuck!" He had spilt his coffee on him while trying to hastily retrieve the map, which just happened (by some uhm, CARELESS person) to have been left at a gas station 15 miles back. He spun the car around quickly, convulsing it into donuts across the grey pavement. A boy in the back seat, smaller, for the blonde one was quite tall, screamed openly.
"Oh my God!! Wer'e gonna die!!! Bill! Hold me!!" He flung himself forward, driver still trying to gain control, onto another boy, the final one in the car, occupied in the passenger's seat. The boy in the seat latched onto the dashboard. A mop of black hair, which would normally seem to float around him, was now being flung messily every which way, flecked with coffee from the blonde boys spill. He let out a scream. It was over. He was sure of it.
A loud crash echoed throughout the houses, although no one came out. Not that they would anyway. A bunch of punk kids crashing a car into a light pole in Oakland was nothing out of the ordinary. Almost routine. Crazy stuff was always happening there.
Bill screwed his face up. He saw the light pole hurtling towards them, and had expected a much bigger impact. Like the kinds in movies, where the car rolls over into a ditch filled with crocodiles and then the gas tank explodes, and a pregnant mother was inside, but her unborn baby survived. Something unbelievably dramatic, like that. But the crash was seemingly over before it had even started.
He slowly, almost cautiously, opened his eyes. He was afraid, turning himself over, checking if any bones were broken, that he was going to see his best friend, (the one who spilled the coffee on himself :P) up in flames, burning away with any hopes and goals he might have had into the summer night. But he wasn't. Instead, he saw him, nearly unaware of what had just happened, cursing and grumbling away at his coffee cup.
"Screw you, Starbucks!" he yelled, slamming the cup of coffee onto the steering wheel. "I did not spend $7.45 on a stupid cappuccino for this!" He folded his arms, dissatisfied. The boy with the black hair smirked. Mike. Ever obsessed with coffee, but furious when he spilled it. (which he did a lot, he was accident prone.) Which was odd for Mike. He was usually relaxed, laid-back, down to earth, and totally modest. Which was pretty much everything he himself lacked.
He tried to open the car door, and, luckily, succeeded. He didn't want to spend another night in a car. He had already too many times. He shakily lifted himself out of the seat. Damn, he thought to himself, Mike's step in gonna be pissed. In all truth, under Bill's influence, had stolen Mike's step-dad's prized Ferrari. Mike's step dad loved that car so much. Half the time Bill swore he loved it more than he really loved his family. But yes, they had stole the car, and in haste, and took off. And crashed the car.
Bill wound his way to the front, not before checking to see if everyone else in the car was fine. Yeah, they were fine, or about as fine as they could be, considering the smaller boy out of the three's lifetime aspiration was to be the Clown King. The car was wrecked. The front was smashed in, nearly all the way, with small tufts of smoke exhaust winding up from it. Shit, they weren't even in the car anymore, but the were headed for a bumpy ride.
"Uhm...I think its..." He reached down, only to be met with a burning hot sensation on his legs. "Ahh! Fuck!" He had spilt his coffee on him while trying to hastily retrieve the map, which just happened (by some uhm, CARELESS person) to have been left at a gas station 15 miles back. He spun the car around quickly, convulsing it into donuts across the grey pavement. A boy in the back seat, smaller, for the blonde one was quite tall, screamed openly.
"Oh my God!! Wer'e gonna die!!! Bill! Hold me!!" He flung himself forward, driver still trying to gain control, onto another boy, the final one in the car, occupied in the passenger's seat. The boy in the seat latched onto the dashboard. A mop of black hair, which would normally seem to float around him, was now being flung messily every which way, flecked with coffee from the blonde boys spill. He let out a scream. It was over. He was sure of it.
A loud crash echoed throughout the houses, although no one came out. Not that they would anyway. A bunch of punk kids crashing a car into a light pole in Oakland was nothing out of the ordinary. Almost routine. Crazy stuff was always happening there.
Bill screwed his face up. He saw the light pole hurtling towards them, and had expected a much bigger impact. Like the kinds in movies, where the car rolls over into a ditch filled with crocodiles and then the gas tank explodes, and a pregnant mother was inside, but her unborn baby survived. Something unbelievably dramatic, like that. But the crash was seemingly over before it had even started.
He slowly, almost cautiously, opened his eyes. He was afraid, turning himself over, checking if any bones were broken, that he was going to see his best friend, (the one who spilled the coffee on himself :P) up in flames, burning away with any hopes and goals he might have had into the summer night. But he wasn't. Instead, he saw him, nearly unaware of what had just happened, cursing and grumbling away at his coffee cup.
"Screw you, Starbucks!" he yelled, slamming the cup of coffee onto the steering wheel. "I did not spend $7.45 on a stupid cappuccino for this!" He folded his arms, dissatisfied. The boy with the black hair smirked. Mike. Ever obsessed with coffee, but furious when he spilled it. (which he did a lot, he was accident prone.) Which was odd for Mike. He was usually relaxed, laid-back, down to earth, and totally modest. Which was pretty much everything he himself lacked.
He tried to open the car door, and, luckily, succeeded. He didn't want to spend another night in a car. He had already too many times. He shakily lifted himself out of the seat. Damn, he thought to himself, Mike's step in gonna be pissed. In all truth, under Bill's influence, had stolen Mike's step-dad's prized Ferrari. Mike's step dad loved that car so much. Half the time Bill swore he loved it more than he really loved his family. But yes, they had stole the car, and in haste, and took off. And crashed the car.
Bill wound his way to the front, not before checking to see if everyone else in the car was fine. Yeah, they were fine, or about as fine as they could be, considering the smaller boy out of the three's lifetime aspiration was to be the Clown King. The car was wrecked. The front was smashed in, nearly all the way, with small tufts of smoke exhaust winding up from it. Shit, they weren't even in the car anymore, but the were headed for a bumpy ride.
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