Psichos

Chapter 1: Wrong and right.

Danny Gibbons had always had a very clear sense of justice, and what was right and wrong. So he could say quite surely, that everything in his life was about as wrong as it could possibly be. He was only nineteen years old, and already he’d lost his father, been labeled as a third class citizen and banned from any towns, and, been driven out of the apartment he’d spent the first five years of his life in for no reason known to him until years later, other than that he had red eyes, and forced into a refugee camp with barely any shelter, and only one meal a day.

While other young men his age had just graduated high school, Danny had not been allowed to attend public school since kindergarten, when he had been driven from his home in a wealthy neighborhood in Washington DC. No, instead, he attended school in the camp, where the other freaks and outcasts from DC were forced to go. There were not many. Out of the entire population of DC, only 20 kids, most with one parent or none with them, had been banned from the city.

Currently, his one meal a day consisted of a piece of stale bread with no butter, a dry cut of beef that may as well have been jerky, frozen peas, and a bottle of water. Just like every day for the past two months since they changed the menu. He finished his meal, and left the tent to sit outside. He climbed a tree and looked out through the forest, where he could just barely see a glimpse of a road with cars heading into DC. He sighed. He was so homesick. And so hungry for real food. The kind he used to eat. Pizza, steakburgers, Chinese food. The thought made his mouth water. The city was so close, but so far out of his reach. All he had to do was leave the woods, and walk for fifteen minutes, and he would be at the city limits. But the government forbade any one of them from leaving the forest without police escort to wherever they were heading. Not that anyone could stop him, but it would be best if he didn’t make a scene.

It wouldn’t hurt to spend a few hours in town and just have a little fun. It wasn’t as if he was going to do anything high-profile. He ran his hand through his short, messy brown hair, trying to make it look presentable. It would not comply. Sighing, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small matchbox, and opened it. However, the box did not contain matches. He pulled out a pair of color contacts, and carefully placed them in his eyes. He knew without a mirror that his eyes had instantly become brown. He then pulled out his mother’s stolen makeup, and covered the little mark on his wrist that set him apart from the normal people of Washington. With the ugly number “3” tattoo covered, he headed back to his tent. His mother and all the other refugees were sleeping. That was good. He quickly ran a comb through his hair, and put on a jacket.

As he walked along the side of the road, he couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. After all, he was tricking he system so easily. I mean, if Police didn’t check for colored contacts and makeup, then they deserved to have the stupid, prejudiced laws broken right under their stupid little noses. He’d already snuck into the city three times, and every time, it was getting easier, mostly because he always looked for the same officer to let him in.

Officer Rogers was a portly African American man with an air of all around goodness around him. It was easy to see that he didn’t like the laws any more than Danny did. But he had to do his job.

Jeremiah Rogers knew Danny as “Jack Lowe”, a young man who had family in DC that he occasionally visited. He didn’t ask questions about where he was from. He didn’t pry. He just scanned his eyes and wrist, and then let him into the city.

Today was no different. Officer Rogers said “Good Mornin’ Jack” checked his wrist and eyes, and said “Go on in”

Danny muttered a quick “Thanks Mr. Rogers” and went on his way.

Twenty minutes of walking later, he was in a bar. He sat down and ordered a bottle of Budweiser. He presented his fake I.D., which read “Jack Lowe” and stated that he was twenty-two. He gulped down half the bottle at once. He didn’t understand why the other refugees were so scared to do this. By no means was it difficult. I mean, it wasn’t like he’d ever be able to rent an apartment or anything as Jack Lowe, but at least he could go out and occasionally have a good time. He listened to the band, some old country band that nobody paid attention to anymore, and laughed bitterly. These guys were the real criminals, the real dangers to society, not the Psichos, he decided. Country music really was the ultimate evil.

He took another gulp of Bud and set his bottle down. The man next to him finished a sixth bottle of Bud. He was, by the looks of him, in his late forties or early fifties. And definitely an alcoholic. The man, far drunker than he, slurred his speech as he ordered the barman to change the channel. The barman told him that the TV wasn’t on, and that he had definitely had enough.

“Ah’ll tell you when ah’ve had enough you sunnavabitch” he drawled, slamming his beer down on the counter. The bottom of it shattered and it spilled all over him. He demanded another beer.

“Sir, you’ve had enough. I think you should go home,” the barman said sternly.

“Screw ya ya little bitch, Ah’ll go home when ah feels like it”

“Get out now sir. Before I call the police,” he replied.

The man stood up. “Is that a threat ya little shit?” His breath reeked of alcohol, and even four feet away, Danny could smell it as if he were right on top of him.

“No you drunken moron, it’s a promise” the barman replied.

The man reached across the counter and grabbed the barkeep by the throat.

“Ah don think so” he slurred.

Danny downed the rest of his beer, and stood up, gripping his bottle in a vicegrip.

“Let go of him you lunatic” he said, surprised at how bold his words sounded.

The drunk let go and turned to him.

“Whadju say to me kid? You even eighteen? God they let anyone into bars these days.”

“The drinking age is twenty-one you dumbass” Danny replied. “And if you keep causing trouble, I’m gonna smash this bottle right across your face. Drinking to relax is one thing. Drinking to get smashed and making it so nobody else can enjoy their evening is another. You’re a shitfaced moron, and you’re ruining my good time. And I am not a very patient guy”

The guy threw a drunken punch at Danny’s face. He jumped to the side and brought his bottle down on the drunk’s head.

“SUNNAVABITCH!” the drunk roared.

“Told you” Danny replied. The drunk stumbled away from the bar. Just as he was about to open the door, he threw the rest of his shattered bottle at Danny’s head with surprising speed and accuracy. Danny calmly reached out his hand, and pretended to grab it. However, what nobody in the bar knew due to the dim light, was that the bottle never touched his fingertips. In fact, it stopped half an inch short. He sent it sailing toward the drunken man without ever touching it. It connected with his face, and he was out cold, and Danny did the honor of giving him the bum’s rush out the door. With that, he sat down at the bar, and asked the bartender for another bud. The mousy young bartender gave it to him free of charge.

As he was about to leave, the bartender looked up. “Hey kid, thanks. I’m Grant. What was your name again? Jack right?”

“Actually, it’s Danny” he said, before mentally smacking himself. Alcohol, while it calmed him down, never did help his thinking.

“But your I.D… never mind. I think I get it now.” Grant said “By the way” he began, quickly taking what Danny recognized as a colored contact out of his eye, so that a blood red iris was showing “Nice catch”.

Danny’s mouth hung open for a brief moment in shock. So there was another Psicho here in the city. And he somehow managed to get a job. Which also meant he probably had an apartment. Then he nodded in understanding.

Grant smiled. “Come by the bar sometime and we could hang. It’d be cool to have someone to hang with after work. And if you’re into politics I work part-time on a council. I’m pretty sure you’d be interested in us.”

Translation: Come by the bar sometime and we’ll talk about how take back our city. And with your help my gang will start a revolution. Don’t miss this chance.

In return, Danny smiled, and quickly removed one of his own contacts, before placing it back in. Then he left the bar.

When he got back to the camp, all of his friends and his mother were still sleeping. He rubbed the makeup off his arm. He then took out his contacts so that his deep red irises were exposed to the world. With a quick motion of the wrist, the contacts and makeup were hidden in the folds of his sleeping bag. Once again without him touching them. Then he curled up in the sleeping bag. Yeah, his life was about as wrong as it could be. But maybe fate had presented him with a way to make it right.