Chap 1: Prologue

Confused and near blinded thanks to the blood dripping from both sides of my forehead into my eyes, I unhooked my seat belt and opened the door to crawl out of the passenger side. My hands crunched down on shards of window glass and police sirens surrounded me. I opened my eyes to see the car I once rode in flipped over with two police cars attached to it by entwined steel so mutilated I could only tell the cars apart by their paint jobs. Nic came from the driver side and Fadden from the back. They drew their weapons, realizing our hope for escape had been taken away. I watched as the other car filled with my friends lay lifeless. With my right hand I pulled a pistol from my pant’s line and began to fire. Every bullet fired reminded me why I was here. Every bullet brought me closer to my end.

Thanks to my lack of publication, I decided to finally carry out a promise I once made. I decided to finish the novel, which was to be a tribute to all my friends. The only problem with writing anything about my friends is our lives reflected reality so well the story would end up being half fiction. So here I was once again, staring blankly at the computer screen, analyzing the first sentence, which I had already written at least five hundred times. The sentence read “In the end it was like the beginning”. The computer was white, the walls of my apartment were also white, the bed sheets were white, the tile floor was white and the telephone, which would end my life a hundred times over, was black and sat propped up beside the computer desk. With my pointer I smashed down on the delete key, erasing the small trace of my “would be” novel. The room had no pictures of any kind. There were none of my siblings, none of my parents, none of any friends or passed loves. It was as though all memory had been wiped from its walls. The only proof of my existence at that time was the ghost of my former self staring blankly at the computer screen.

The phone rang. On the other end was the love of my life. I could tell with the sniffles and strange coughs she was crying. I expected this phone call for quite some time. It wasn’t that I cheated on her or anything of that effect. It was that I had done nothing with my life or at least that is how she put it. According to her we were over and if she believed it was over than there was not a reason for me to think other wise. I expected a “Let’s be friends plea” but instead I got an “I will always love you” and then the silence and a dial tone.

For long moments I felt numb to any emotion. My life ran through my head, asking myself what I had done with this life. The answer was pretty simple; I hadn’t done a damn thing. All I could really remember was my father being a coke head, my friends smoking pot and I being there for every second of it. At that moment I remembered the infamous “Krew”. Kids whose lives were broken when handed to them. None of us liked people taking pity on us and since all our lives seemed pretty fucked up; we did not take pity on each other. I think that is why we were such good friends.

Once again the phone rang and on the other end was a life long buddy, whose relationship with me extended back to third grade. It was Koballa the short white faced success that my mother always tried to compare me to. The only friend my mother ever liked.

“Is Luis there?” the familiar voice asked.

“This is him,” I answered, too depressed to impress that I recognized his voice.

“Alfonso! It’s me Koballa! What’s up man? You are a hard person to get in touch with. I just called to catch up. How have you been?” He asked again. I wanted to tell him I sold a book. I wanted to lie and make everything better. But with all his questions I realized then that I didn’t give a damn. So I said I had been fine, which was not the truth but how was he going to know the difference. It was just my way to keep from having to answer too many questions.

“That reminds me. Fadden was looking for you about a year ago. He said something about Curt Sexton buying a club. I do not know if the place is open, but you may want to stop by. It is somewhere in Sanford. I will give you the address.”

With my life on the brink of suicide, catch up time sounded pretty good. I knew if any of the Krew still lived in Sanford they would house me for awhile. I packed up all my stuff, throwing my computer and telephone from the apartment window and soaking the room with gasoline. I put my leather jacket and black military hat on lighting a cigarette with a match and throwing it to the ground setting my apartment a blaze. I took a drag off my cig and pulled my jacket hood over my head, walking out never to return.