Hey everyone!

Welcome to my story. Let me give you all a little insight into this fic, just in case you're wondering WTF…

So, a few weeks ago I was sitting around with some good friends of mine and we were watching The Lost Boys (and counting just exactly how many times David says Michael's name) and we got into a jokingly heated discussion about whether or not David's tear is justified after he gets burned by the sun. The two of us who agreed it was justified felt that it was justified for two completely different reasons. My friend Cynthia's reasoning was actually what inspired this story. I decided I was going to write a backstory for David. A little piece about the man behind the vampire.

Well, that "little piece" turned into this big long story that I'm still in the process of writing but I figured I'd start sharing now and just update whenever I feel like it.

It takes place five years before the original Lost Boys film and also before David becomes a vampire. It's told in first person from his PoV. This first chapter is probably the shortest of chapters in the history of chapters.

Anyway, enjoy and thanks for reading!

It was the summer of 1982 and I'd just turned eighteen. I left my home in beautiful but boring Salinas California behind in search of fun and excitement in a city that was made for kids like me as my old man would've put it. I was "fresh off the boats," a term they liked to use to describe any person who was new to adult life in Santa Carla, and as anybody there could tell you… that city spotted me coming from a mile away.

I was cocky, but it was in that sort of way where I had no right to be. I had nothing to my name but the clothes on my back and a small duffle bag full of some extra clothes and cash which I later found would do me no good.

I should've took the warning of the old man I'd hitched a ride from and just stayed in his truck all the way to San Jose but I was eighteen and I knew what I was doing. While most kids were saving up for college, I was saving up to get out of Salinas. I had saved up my money from birthdays and Christmases since I was fifteen, just knowing that one day I was going to get out of Salinas and find a place worth living in.

I found Santa Carla instead.

I stepped onto the asphalt, my worn out Doc Martens almost searing from the heat of midday. It was unusually hot for Northern California but I couldn't complain. The beach was just a short walk away and soon I would welcome that warmth.

I knew I had to find the information center. I knew it was the only place where I was guaranteed to find a cheap apartment for rent but what I didn't know was that it was also a place where I was guaranteed to get myself in a mess of trouble.

After asking a handful of people on the street and only receiving a few snickers and finger points in response, I managed to stumble upon a dilapidated old building with the words "Santa Carla Visitors Information Desk" above it. The outer walls were thick with graffiti and the busted out windows should have been my first clue that the information center was no longer in service but I stepped up to the building with my confidence ablaze and knocked loudly on the door anyway.

I honestly don't know what I expected to happen when I knocked on that rusty old metal door but I can tell you I didn't expect what happened next. I felt a tap on my shoulder but just as I whirled around to see who had touched me, I felt a fist make a connection to my face and just like that, I was down on the ground. I felt boots in my ribs, some with steel toes that hurt like a son of a bitch, kicking me around on the blistering hot sidewalk. I don't know how long the assault lasted but I know that when it was over, everything I owned save for the clothes on my body had been taken.

I sat up slowly, dazed and disoriented, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I looked around and saw with a grimace that my duffle bag was missing and worse than that, passersby were laughing their asses off.

People knew this was going to happen and yet nobody saw fit to warn me. No, instead they laughed about it.

"Shit…" I managed to mutter through a bloody mouth, spitting that awful copper flavor on the ground. I gripped my head in my hand as let out a long sigh. Suddenly this decision to be a big brave man didn't seem so wise. "Should've gone to LA."

I stood up and dusted myself off, quickly realizing that sitting there feeling sorry for myself would do me no good. Aside from that though, I couldn't stand the laughter coming from the spectators anymore. I looked at the sun, noticing that it was starting to set. There wasn't much I could do at that point. I needed to find somewhere to lay my head for the night. I could sort everything else out in the morning.

I started the long walk down the hill to the boardwalk, the lights on the rides beginning to flicker on as the sun sank lower and lower into the sea. I ran my tongue along the long gash on the inside of my cheek, realizing I had managed to cut myself on my teeth during the barrage of kicks those assholes had decided to grace me with in welcome. I could still taste the freshness of the wound, grumbling in irritation knowing that it would likely bother me all night. It's a laughable thought now but the taste of blood was something I just couldn't stomach back then.

I didn't make it anywhere near the boardwalk that first night in Santa Carla. The pain from the attack was finally catching up with me and before I could even make it to 3rd street, I had to stop and rest. I took a seat against a building across from a strip club and watched with interest as the patrons of the night made their way in and out of the bright red metal door before I finally just let myself fall asleep in the sweltering heat of the summer night.