“Yo, Bay Beach, or whatever.” There was a sharp whistle in the night air from behind him and his three friends. All of them were like night and day. There was 'Jelly Bean,' who had a short buzz cut the color of the fruit punch from the kool-aid brand, and had a little girth to him around the mid-section. Then there was 'Snickers' who was crazier than the lot of them. A tall wiry, zit-faced, kid-even taller than 'Bay Beach,' was at the time. But, his face looked like mounds of nuts with puss oozing out one or two of them every now and again. And finally, 'Skittles.' He was about average build, long hair to the middle of his back, aptly dyed like his name suggested. A rainbow of colors that looked damn near edible when walking by. The only thing that was colorful about the guy, because his personality was comparable to a cardboard box. But, 'Skittles' was the mastermind to the drug scheme-good at science and so he was good at mixing this and that and making something sell-able.
'Bay Beach,' wasn't his name, but the guy calling him was being a smart ***. The second tallest, but darkest skin toned teenager turned around to look at the teen trying to get his attention for the last half block, stopped and then nodded his head to his three friends. “I'll catch up with you guys in a bit.” He got a wary glance tossed his way from Snickers, and the teenager just nodded again. “It's good.” And it was. While the guy was an annoying smart ***, he wasn't any risk to the teenager he was looking for.
Slowly, the tall, tan colored teenager strolled his way in the direction of the teenager briskly walking his way, and nodded his head. “Hudson.” He reminded the teenager that had about a year on him, but that was it. Hudson possessed the height and even the bigger frame, compared to the guy puffing his way over to him. ”Whatever.” He retorted as the concrete between them closed up. “What's up?” Hudson asked the guy as they came to stand around two feet away from the other.
”Q-tip told me you sold him the same **** for ten bucks cheaper last week.” Hudson crossed his arms at his chest, took a firmer stance to the concrete sidewalk and slowly shook his head. “I can't remember that, but if it was cheaper last week, it's because of something called supply and demand.” Hudson said as his arms dropped and he shrugged with open palms. He didn't make the prices, he just moved the stuff when something was made from Skittles. ”I want my ten bucks back. Trying to play me?” The boundary of two feet was crossed with a subtle step forward from the other teenager, causing Hudson to do the same. “No, just giving you a lesson in economics, dumb ****.” Hudson took another step, this one a little longer than the last one. “Supply and demand. If Skittles doesn't have a lot of ingredient A to add to ingredient B and C, then it's going to cost more. The weeks he has a surplus of stuff, things will be cheaper. No one is being played over ten dollars. Chill, bro.” Hudson waved a hand in the air and snorted at the idea that ten bucks was going to make anyone-especially him, rich.
At best, that was around five gallons of gas. He wouldn't even be able to get out of the state on that ****.
”I want my ten dollars back, *****!” A swing came at Hudson from the left, causing him to duck out of the way, then throw his own punch at he guy's abdomen. And another followed suit on the opposite side. There was a familiar sound of a release of a knife from across Hudson, making the teenager lunge back a little, even though the knife hadn't been swung in his direction yet. Still, it was enough to make Hudson move his ***. Last time he was sliced, he ended up having a tetanus shot and a couple of stitches which prevented him from practicing a few weeks. No way was he going through that again. Not the shot, but the being unable to practice.
“Look, man. I got a five on me. Take it and we'll call it even.” Hudson suggested as his eyes fell on the thin, tiny blade that had been popped out a few seconds ago. ”No! You had your chance, you little *****!” A few jabs in Hudson's direction had him playing Frogger, backwards style again. Up until Hudson's back hit a newspaper stand and left very little room between him and the knife that darted all around. Hudson slid to the right of the box, only to come crashing into a trash bin beside it and rolled backwards, over it. The sound that came from his fall, and the trashcan falling, then rolling was louder than expected. Hudson rolled to the side and by a parked car, hoping the bin was going the other way, as was the other guy.
Only, the bin kept rolling.
At least that was what Hudson thought at first, but then he realized the 'roll' was too far away and no bin could roll that far over him just tripping over it. And then he realized how it didn't sound like metal hitting the sidewalk, but more of a soft 'pop' or repetitive 'rapping,' over and over again. There was the sound of glass breaking and then a couple of car alarm's going off, just before the guy with the knife hit the ground next to him. It only took that response to have Hudson understanding what was going on. Who was the target? Him? The guy with the knife? Someone else? It sounded too far away for it to be either of them. Hudson rolled on his stomach, forgetting the other guy, and looked dead ahead.
Skeins of truth
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Rhett Keyes
- Registered User
- Posts: 559
- Joined: 24 May 2015, 13:30
- CrowNet Handle: Keyes2life
-
Rhett Keyes
- Registered User
- Posts: 559
- Joined: 24 May 2015, 13:30
- CrowNet Handle: Keyes2life
Re: Skeins of truth
Hudson was in no way prepared to see what it was his eyes landed on. Sure, street life was rough, anyone who lived by its codes would tell you that. But somehow, he always felt invincible. They always felt invincible when they were together. Immortal, sort of. They had a little bit of muscle, a little bit of brains, and a little bit of quirk to work. Together since they were fourteen or fifteen, most of them were riding that train to adulthood and though Hudson was closer to it then all of them, somehow he never felt as if he was going to be eighteen in a couple of weeks.
Time seemed to slow. No, stop. Everything around Hudson went silent as he just stared at the chaos that was about a block down. Shards of glass, concrete chiseled from under and around shop windows laying on the ground, flashing tail lights from cars that had been penetrated by large shells of bullets that came from illegal guns. That was only part of the damage.
The true damaged painted the sidewalk red from three guys contorted in all different ways. Skittles was face down, arms in front of him. Jelly Bean was slumped on his side, one arm out in front of him against Skittles, the other tucked lifelessly beneath him. Snicker's wasn't as peaceful looking. His body had turned away from the assault of the bullets coming their way, and what Hudson could see of him, was from the torso down. The other half of him was tucked inside a large bay window of a barbershop, not that Hudson could make that out. He just assumed and hoped that was where the upper half of Snicker's body was.
The guy next to him was up on the two legs that god gave him once the car peeled off into the night. ”Didn't see ****!” Was all that was said before he sprinted off like he was doing a short meter race. Hudson doubted he would be able to make it more than two blocks going at his speed. Hudson hadn't really seen **** either. He couldn't tell if the car was blue, black or some other equally dark color. Had it been two or four doors? Other than it was a larger, older model, Hudson didn't know what he had been looking at, as he looked at the back metal bumper, trying to get a license plate. There hadn't been one, so he knew what that meant. Good ******* luck trying to find the guy, or guys who opened up a massacre on his friend's right in the middle of a ******* street.
Hudson slowly stood up, still not with the program yet.
He made his way over to his buddies, each step faster than the last until Hudson was almost jogging down the rest of the block. “Skittles.” Hudson called out, before calling the other two names, getting no replies from any of them. He saw the cold metal of the handgun he knew Jelly Bean carried in his waistband, thrown askew, next to the guy's car keys and house keys. Snicker's small pistol was at his right foot, having fell down his big baggy pants while his friend died. Hudson didn't even bother to try and see if Skittles was carrying anything, because just like the other two, Hudson knew the guy had a piece on him somewhere.
The car alarms almost dulled as Hudson stood there, staring down at his friend's dead bodies. He had choices to make in this moment. The first was almost instinctual. Grab a piece, or both guns and chase after the car. Hudson could do it, he ran for an hour every night after school. Hudson was sure he could catch up to the car in no time. But as the car alarms drowned out the rest of the sounds and thoughts, his choice had been involuntarily made for him. A choice Hudson would have never made.
Instead, the tall, athletic guy crouched down and felt for a pulse. A wrist here, a neck there and another wrist. Not finding a response, the tan teenager took a few steps back, kicking those set of keys, then left the scene of the crime to call for medical emergency. The teenager that was alive due to an unforeseen circumstance minutes before reported the street, the number of victims and described the vehicle as best as he could. They wanted his name, and the name came out so effortlessly, as if it were second nature. “Rhett Keyes.”
Time seemed to slow. No, stop. Everything around Hudson went silent as he just stared at the chaos that was about a block down. Shards of glass, concrete chiseled from under and around shop windows laying on the ground, flashing tail lights from cars that had been penetrated by large shells of bullets that came from illegal guns. That was only part of the damage.
The true damaged painted the sidewalk red from three guys contorted in all different ways. Skittles was face down, arms in front of him. Jelly Bean was slumped on his side, one arm out in front of him against Skittles, the other tucked lifelessly beneath him. Snicker's wasn't as peaceful looking. His body had turned away from the assault of the bullets coming their way, and what Hudson could see of him, was from the torso down. The other half of him was tucked inside a large bay window of a barbershop, not that Hudson could make that out. He just assumed and hoped that was where the upper half of Snicker's body was.
The guy next to him was up on the two legs that god gave him once the car peeled off into the night. ”Didn't see ****!” Was all that was said before he sprinted off like he was doing a short meter race. Hudson doubted he would be able to make it more than two blocks going at his speed. Hudson hadn't really seen **** either. He couldn't tell if the car was blue, black or some other equally dark color. Had it been two or four doors? Other than it was a larger, older model, Hudson didn't know what he had been looking at, as he looked at the back metal bumper, trying to get a license plate. There hadn't been one, so he knew what that meant. Good ******* luck trying to find the guy, or guys who opened up a massacre on his friend's right in the middle of a ******* street.
Hudson slowly stood up, still not with the program yet.
He made his way over to his buddies, each step faster than the last until Hudson was almost jogging down the rest of the block. “Skittles.” Hudson called out, before calling the other two names, getting no replies from any of them. He saw the cold metal of the handgun he knew Jelly Bean carried in his waistband, thrown askew, next to the guy's car keys and house keys. Snicker's small pistol was at his right foot, having fell down his big baggy pants while his friend died. Hudson didn't even bother to try and see if Skittles was carrying anything, because just like the other two, Hudson knew the guy had a piece on him somewhere.
The car alarms almost dulled as Hudson stood there, staring down at his friend's dead bodies. He had choices to make in this moment. The first was almost instinctual. Grab a piece, or both guns and chase after the car. Hudson could do it, he ran for an hour every night after school. Hudson was sure he could catch up to the car in no time. But as the car alarms drowned out the rest of the sounds and thoughts, his choice had been involuntarily made for him. A choice Hudson would have never made.
Instead, the tall, athletic guy crouched down and felt for a pulse. A wrist here, a neck there and another wrist. Not finding a response, the tan teenager took a few steps back, kicking those set of keys, then left the scene of the crime to call for medical emergency. The teenager that was alive due to an unforeseen circumstance minutes before reported the street, the number of victims and described the vehicle as best as he could. They wanted his name, and the name came out so effortlessly, as if it were second nature. “Rhett Keyes.”
