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Should I continue this book based in 1983?
By admin | June 16, 2009
The clock read 11:50am. It was almost lunch time, and my fingers tapped anxiously, waiting to go hit it up with my friends at our friend Mikey’s house. I started chewing the eraser off the end of my No. 2 pencil. The teacher just droned on and on about her life, and I mouthed to my bro, Andrew, to just shoot me in the head. He smiled toothily at me and I silently groaned. I put my hands together and pushed them outwards in a stretch. Finally the stupid teacher shut her damned trap, and the bells rang for us to go. Most people bolted out, but I waited for Andrew to slowly catch up. It’s not that the kid’s fat, it’s just he is slow as hell. In walking anyway if you know what I mean. “Benjamin, do you got the Coke?” Andrew asked me. “Dude I told you to call me Demon Fucker. Of course I got the shit.” I told him. As we were walking, our group of people turned to be six, and we headed outside and down to Mikey’s house, just around the corner. His parents didn’t care if we cut class, so we went there to hit up heroin and smoke the coke. Jason Owsley, Mikey’s lanky cousin, pushed me from behind in a playful manner. “Dude. Don’t touch the Demon Fucker man.” Mikey warned him. I clenched my fist, about to knock the dude out, but when I swung, Andrew caught my fist in his hand. I lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply the smoke it gave off. The sky was cloudy black, and we all knew a rainstorm would come along soon. I knew my brother wouldn’t shoot up like the rest of us, cause he is afraid of sticking a needle in his arm, so I made sure Mikey did not have enough heroin for him. My brother is 5’11, black messy hair, like Slash’s from Guns ‘N Roses, dark brown eyes, and always wears black sunglasses. He wore a Mötley Crüe shirt, regular blue jeans, and some black converse, that he recently set ablaze. My clothes were just weird. I had a Metallica t-shirt on, leather red pants, a black leather jacket, and some running shoes. My hair was up in a green and blue Mohawk, and my eyes are a deep grey color. I’m only a ninth grader. Give me a damn break. I wouldn’t be the leader of this group, if: I wasn’t so muscular. I didn’t have 20 tattoos, and if I didn’t kick people’s asses. We finally reached Mikey’s house, and walked into the room, said hi to his mom, and went up stairs to his room. “Get the shit.” I commanded Mikey. “Get all of the coke you got, and heroin, and whatever else you have. Got any freebase?” I said. He went over and knocked all the drugs onto the floor, spilled out the contents of his drawers, and emptied out a pillow case full of drugs. And we intended to do it all. I poured out the Coke I bought onto a plate, and we all went crazy. I think Dylan, one of our regular junkies, passed out, but I was too high to care. Or notice…for that matter. One of them had left, another didn’t even do it, Andrew was trying to climb the wall after an “invisible bug” as he called it. “Dude I’m hungry.” Mikey complained. “Get your mom to bring us some food or something.” I told him. He went out, fell down the stairs, and asked his mom for food. She went out to get food, and Mikey trudged back up the stairs. The guys and I were all passed out on the ground, and he went and kicked me right in the side as hard as he could manage while he was high. I woke up, looked at him, and he said, “My mum issss ghettin Mac-Dunuls.” He said oddly. I got up and woke up my group. “Yo. Mikey’s mom is bringing food.” I said to them. “FOOD!” They all yelled and raced down the stairs. I went and sat on Mikey’s bed and took off the band from the heroin. I ran my hand down my arm, and my eyes slowly moved up to see who was standing in front of me. My eyes seemed to deceive me, as I thought it was a guy with a monkey’s head, until he spoke. “Duuuuude. Bro. Foods ith hurr.” My brother Andrew said to me.
Wow. THAT WAS GREAT. And I want more. Very original and real…yeah, kids smoke. I love it!
E-mail more to me please as so I could refer you to aa agent of mine.
ryankoenighain@gmail.com
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