The first chapter, now with the format fixed and the typos cleaned up. I figure if I'm gonna start doing this again, I may as well do it right...
"What in sam hell happened to you, boy?"
Jimmy cowed under his mother's screaming. She was referring to his black left eye, a souvenir of his latest run-in with Dawson, the school bully. Telling his parents would bring dire consequences, but holding back would bring worse.
"Well, Mom, today at school, I got into a f-" Jimmy stumbled over the word."A fight."
"What!?" Darlene Todd screamed in her screeching Georgia twang. "What the hell is wrong with you, getting into fights at school like some kind of savage? If you want your ass whooped, we can beat you right here in this house. You don't need to go stirring up trouble at school like a damn wild Indian!"
The truth was, it really hadn't been a fight, so much as a mugging, and Jimmy certainly hadn't went looking for it. But while this would have appeased most parents, it would have little effect on Darlene Todd. And it would only make things worse when he had to explain to his father...
"Never mind that, woman." A gruff voice spoke up behind him. The voice belonged to Jimmy Todd senior, a moving mountain of biceps and beer gut. Turning around, Jimmy Jr. had to crane his head back to see his father's face. And his half empty bottle of Cutty Sark scotch.
"I wanna know what the boy did to this other feller. Did you tear 'em up?"
The moment of truth had come. Jimmy's gaze shifted to the ground, as he muttered "I really...d-didn't touch the other guys." In addition to being the biggest kid on the playground, Dawson Brooks was a budding socialist. He had been so kind as to share Jimmy's face with three of his usual cronies.
"What?' Jimmy Todd Senior roared. "What the hell's the matter with you, letting yourself get your ass kicked like that? When I was a boy, working at the mines, I'd strangle a bear for looking at me wrong. If you wanna be such a pansy we can shove candy up your ass and rent you as a pinata for them damn illegals. Finally earn your keep."
"But dad, there were four of them and-"
"I bet that's how you like it, ain't it? Seems you're happy to get pounded by four boys at once, you little fairy!"
"Pretty Hello Sailor Magic Girl Sakura!"
Jimmy didn't respond to that one. His father straightened himself up, possibly calming down, probably getting his second wind for a new round of ranting.
"The next time four punks jump you, boy, I expect you to do hard time for four homicides. You hear me?"
"Now get t' your room. I'm grounding you for a week for getting your ass beat."
"The hell you are," his mother interjected. "I'm grounding him for two weeks for fighting."
"Quit yer meddlin', bitch," Jimmy Sr. shouted. "It was your blasted 'pre-natal' care what made 'em so soft in the first place."
"I'm not about to raise my boy to be an ignorant jack-ass like his worthless daddy," railed Darlene. "He's gonna get an education, and become a doctor, or a lawyer."
"You're gonna raise the boy to open a cabaret, you bleach blonde skanky whorebag."
"You drunken, dirty, chicken-shit pig bastard!" Darlene shot back.
Pig-bastard was one thing, but Jimmy Senior wouldn't stand to be called a drunk. Dropping his bottle of scotch, he swung back and slapped Darlene full across the face. After a moment of stunned shock, she rushed him with a one-two combo that broke his nose, and ended with a right cross. The two of them stared each other down for a minute, before latching onto each other in a passionate kiss and falling to the floor groping each other. Such is the magic of white trash...
A few feet off to the side, Jimmy was anxious to avoid the psychological trauma of witnessing his younger sibling's conception. Turning away and clearing his throat, he coughed once and began nervously. "Well, uh, if I'm grounded for three weeks," a particularly feral moan cut him off, "I guess I'd better get to my room."
Without waiting for a response, he crossed the threshold into the family room and made a break for the stairs. But before he made the first step, he was stalled by his father's shout.
"And one more thing, boy-" bellowed Jimmy Sr. from the next room.
Jimmy expectantly turned back to the doorway and waited, wondering what could be next.
"Tell that blasted hippy Stan, or Sam, or whatever the hell to turn down his damn jam box. I'm sick 'a hearing that damn jungle shit he's blasting."
Jimmy's heart fell. For an afternoon, anticipating the conversation with his parents, he had forgotten about him. For the first time in weeks, he had actually forgotten about the stranger who had rented half of a room from his parents. Half of Jimmy's room, to be precise. But with the worst from his parents behind him, Jimmy now had to face the prospect of spending the next three weeks grounded beside his "roommate".
"Yeah, sure dad," Jimmy called back. "I'll tell him for you". Turning back to his ascent, he continued on to the second floor. Only now, he trudged to his room without his previous enthusiasm.
Approaching his room, Jimmy could clearly make out the strains of Cannibal Corpse's "Raped with a Knife". As his room had a triple layer of soundproofing on the walls and a solid oak door, he knew the music would be deafening inside. His "roommate" had a penchant for playing black metal at volumes louder than any normal man could endure. Particularly at three in the morning on the night before a major test. He also enjoyed breaking Jimmy's possessions, setting small fires, and leaving deadly spiders between the sheets of Jimmy's bed; anything at all to make his life a living hell- literally.
And the sad thing was, he was the best and most reliable friend Jimmy had in the world.
As the song ended, Jimmy took advantage of the lull before the next track began to venture into the room. As always half of the room, Jimmy's half, looked fairly normal. His bed was made up, he kept a neat little desk, and on a night stand next to his bed sat a tank with two goldfish he never bothered to name. The rest of the room was dominated by chaos. A black fold-out sofa sat right in the middle of the floor, amidst a sea of fast food containers and Danish porno magazines. The entire far wall was covered by band posters and newspaper clippings of homicides, and a huge set of speakers stood taller than Jimmy. As he entered, these speakers began belting out a song by Napalm Death.
And in the middle of it all, lounging on couch with a video game controller in hand and a beer at his side, sat Satan.
Living incognito in the mortal world, the Father of Lies seemed fairly inconspicuous. An observer wouldn't have been able to tell him from your typical stoner. Caucasian, average height, about 25 years old, he wore a yellow sweater with blue jeans. A Jack Daniels ski cap covered his greasy, neck-length hair, and a matching set of black dogtags hung from a silver chain around his neck. The only thing that really hinted at his demonic nature were his bright red eyes. However, their particular bloodshot hue was just as likely do to the devil's chronic abuse of...well, chronic.
"What the fuck's up, bitch?" Satan asked without even looking away from the screen in front of him. Somehow, his voice carried over the music without him making an effort to raise it. Jimmy, closing the door behind him, had to shout for his room mate to acknowledge him.
"Oh, nothing much, Satan. Hey, my mom and dad want to know if would maybe turn down your radio."
"Oh yeah?" Satan started as he took a hit from a fat blunt. "Why don't you ask them if they'd like me to summon a cohort of demons to sodomize them with red-hot power augers?"
"Uh, no. I don't think I'm gonna ask them that, what with how they'd kill me and all..." Jimmy muttered as he looked at the floor. "Hey, what's that you're playing there? Did you get a new video game?"
Satan reached over and finally turned down the volume before replying, "Oh yeah, just imported it. 'Japanese Schoolgirls Fighting with Chainsaws'. It's like Street Fighter Alpha 2. If Street Fighter Alpha 2 took place in a Home Depot."
"Where'd you pick up the money for that? You know, since you don't have a job..."
"Hey asshole, I have a job. I'm the Prince of Darkness. I pull in money from every act of defilement that men commit. Treason, lust, buying a copy of the new Metallica album..."
"You evil bastard!"
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, I stole it though..." Taking a hit from his beer, he glanced over at Jimmy and his black eye. "Whoa. What's up with the shiner? Did you slip up trying to go down on a black guy?"
"No, Satan. It was just that bully Dawson again," Jimmy said as he went over to his window sill. "He and three of his friends beat me up, and now I'm getting grounded for fighting. Man, I wish that jerk Dawson would just...just crawl in a hole and die. That's what I wish he'd do," Jimmy said as he gazed out of his window and sighed.
Satan perked up and paused his game (where one school girl had just impaled her classmate on her chainsaw and shattered a Molotov on her forehead) and cleared his throat.
"You know, Jimmy, that could be arranged. All it would cost you would be...YOUR IMMORTAL SOUL!" Satan roared with the voice of a legion of the damned as his body was engulfed in a pillar of flame. Jimmy looked at him as he stood in the middle of the room burning. After a second, it just got really awkward.
"Eh, no thanks, Satan" Jimmy said as he looked away and scratched his head. "I guess I'd rather... keep, my soul. If that's all the same with you."
"Suit yourself." Satan's flames went out, and he plopped back onto the sofa, where, miraculously, nothing had been burned. "Now if you're done with you're period, get over here and pick up the other control. I'm getting bored with fighting the computer, so I want to kick your ass for a while." Satan killed his beer and turned his music back up to an audible level.
"Ok, I suppose I will...Hey! Look at that!"
"Huh? What is it?"
Jimmy stuck his nose to the glass for a better view. "There's somebody moving into the old Henderson place across the street. That place has been empty forever. I wonder who's going to be living there?"
"Psh. Probably some yuppie bastards. I should make a note to burn that place to the ground."
"Oh, I don't know. They seem nice enough. And look, there's their...oh Jesus."
"WE DON'T SAY THAT HERE!", Satan exploded. Crossing the room to the window in a split second, he stood ready to throttle Jimmy, until he saw what he was staring at. "Dear merciful Christ," he muttered as his jaw dropped.
Across the street sat the new neighbors' daughter on their front porch, Gothed out to the maximum. She wore knee-high black boots and fishnet stockings up to her black miniskirt. Her black vinyl halter-top bared her pale, slender shoulders, and her gorgeous face was immaculately made up. As she watched the movers unloading furniture with boredom, she worked on a cherry slushie-- it's color the same brilliant red as her close-cut hair.
"She's beautiful" Jimmy whispered, awestruck. Satan, for his part, forgot about rearranging Jimmy's spine and went back to his sofa.
"She's hot, I'll give you that. Jailbait, though," Satan mused. "I could for that if she was legal. You, now. You're about the right age. Although, there's no chance in my kingdom that a girl like that would even be seen with you." If there was one thing he loved, it was crushing Jimmy's spirit.
"I guess you're right" Jimmy said with a sigh. "I could never get a girl like her. Though I tell ya', if I could get her to notice me, I would do anything."
"Anything?" Satan asked, perking up.
"Well, yeah, sure, anything," Jimmy continued. "Other than sell my soul," he amended, more out of habit than anything else.
"Is that so?" Satan asked, staring at him darkly. Suddenly, his frown turned into a malicious smile. "You know, I bet I can help you.'
"I can," Satan confirmed, rolling up his shirt sleeves...
Across the street, at the old Henderson place, which had just become the new Dupont place, Emily Dupont sat drinking an Icee. At first, she had been ecstatic to leave Nebraska. However, they're new abode in South Carolina was hardly an improvement. This place was dead... and she didn't mean that in a good way, either. But her parents, for some reason she'd never understand, were in charge of the decisions, so they'd packed up her and her brother and drug them out to this hellhole. When they'd stopped at a 7/ 11 for junk food, the old woman behind the counter was visibly shocked at Emily and her brother's appearances. As the day progressed, Emily found that that was a pretty good precedent for the responses she'd been getting in their new neighborhood. Either she'd been looked at like a freak, like at the 7/ 11, or leered at, like she was by the sweaty hicks from the moving company.
Not that Emily was particularly perturbed by either response; she dressed the way she dressed, and she was willing to kick the ass of anyone who wanted to make an issue of it.
From behind her, she heard the familiar clomping of her brother's Doc Martins. Derrick was the resident punk in the family; he sported baggy plaid pants, an oversized black sweater with an anarchy symbol scrawled across it, and spiked blue hair that matched his own slurpee. Emily knew from the past that Derrick hated blue raspberry slurpees; the only reason he had chose it was because he was jealous of how well Emily's hair color matched her delicious, cherry beverage.
"Hey, have you checked out the bedrooms yet?" He asked her. Emily only responded with a noisy slurp.
Derrick only rolled his eyes. "You know, if you weren't so busy moping, you'd see that this is a pretty nice place". He forced himself to sip his Icee, but for the look on his face, it might have been malt liquor and gasoline. He was trying to be cool, and failing.
"Nice, huh? I'm surprised this shithouse has indoor plumbing," Emily responded, after a long drag on her straw. She was getting to her younger brother, whether he knew she was trying to or not, and it only made her slurpee that much sweeter.
Derrick let loose another monumental eye roll, and forced down more of his beverage. "I don't know what your problem is. I wasn't thrilled about the move either, but c'mon, it's nothing to weep about."
Now it was him getting under her skin. "How about the fact that we're now residents of Cesspool, USA? How about that we're surrounded by thirty miles of homogenized, conformist suburbanites? How about the fact that nothing is ever going to happen around here, ever?"
Just then, across the street, a window on the second floor exploded into a ball of fire. With a loud scream, a boy went sailing from the window and onto his front lawn, where he rolled around screaming and kicking. After a few minutes of crying out in pain, he got up and started running around in circles until he ran into a tree. Falling down, he spent some more time crawling and screaming in agony, before collapsing on the ground next to the sidewalk. There, a single sprinkler rose up and put him out.
Derrick and Emily watched as he lay on the ground twitching and coughing until, pathetically, he regained consciousness and struggled to his feet. Rubbing his eyes and wheezing, he looked up... just in time to see the German Shepherd, and raise his arms in a feeble attempt at defending himself. The big dog spent a few minutes shaking him, before clamping onto his neck and dragging him down the block. The boy only had time for one last desperate scream. "NOOOOOoooo..."
A second later, the door of the house opened, and an overweight, half-naked man ducked out brandishing a shovel. "I told you you were grounded, you little bastard! Grounded! Bastard!".
Clearing his throat, Derrick turned to his sister. "So... after seeing that, you wanna eat your words, or am I going to have to point out the irony?"
Decisively, Emily pulled the top of her slurpee and drained it in one last gulp, before tossing the cup to the ground. "Fuck you, Derrick," she said, before turning to go back through the front door. She went inside, without making eye contact.
Man, it was weird looking back over this. I'd forgotten what my early stuff looked like. Anyway, next chapter immediately.