The night was dark, just like every other usual night. But this night, it wasn't like any other night, it was March 7th 1959. There was just something, something gloomy about this fine hour. Everything seemed crooked and as the trees were to sway, they swayed as if they could just reach out to you and scratch you. The air was very damp, every word which was soon to be spoken, had its own little cloud as a pet. The hair of the dirt had already had its dew, and soon it will dry itself off with the sun being its towel. Teenaged Billy looked at his pocket watch that read 4:07am. At that time, he was with two of his friends on the lonely lightly sweating bridge. One friend, Gregory, was born on the eigth of september of 1942. The other friend, Charlie, died March 6th 1959.
"Gregory! Grab his feet, I'll get a hold of his arms." Billy commanded. Gregory stood there puzzled and stood at the feet of the dead friend. He spoke the words that just happened to slip of the tip of his tongue. "Billy, maybe, maybe-- we should go to the cops. We should let them know!" Billy dropped Charlie's arms and let him plop to the cold wet cement of the bridge. He looked straight into Greg's eyes with a devilish look, and his eyes turned to a purple once he blinked. He blinked again, and it was gone. Greg nodded his head and grabbed onto Charlies shoeless feet, while Billy grabbed onto Charlies handless arms. They tossed him in the slowly flooding river, just like a sack of potatoes. Billy's eyes blinked again once at Greg, he licked his lips and the words came out of his mouth. "Stay here, and if someone comes, tell them, specifically, that---only you had to do with Charlies death." Greg nodded, and Billy smiled as he raised his arm up to patt him on the back. "Good" Billy ran off into the heavily populated trees.
. . . Dean reached over to the boat of syrup. He brought it close to his face as if he was going to down it all in one glug. But no, he'd not monstrous when it comes to food. So, instead, he dowzed his waffles with them and he licked his lips in delight. His brother, Sam, sat there puzzled at what his brother has just done. It seemed as if he was still not used to Dean's eating habit. As usual, Sam scoffed. The older brother slowly turned his head away from the waffles, then up at Sam. "These, right here," He pointed with his fork to his waffles "are going to be so freakin delicious, while you are there...just eating a plain...unfrosted, unfun doughnut." Sam has absolutely no words to say. He took a bite out of his unfrosted and unfun doughnut. While he was doing that, he was looking through the newspaper. He read out the title "Boy killed Friend For Reason Unknown." Dean has his mouth full of waffles, "So what, that doesn't mean anything" He took another bite. Sam continued. "It's happened more than once Dean. At the same place, totally different people. Investogators already cleared that part up for us." Dean had a big piece of waffle on the side of his mouth, therefor he looked like a squirrel trying to hold its acorns. "They are always doing our job! They know absolutely nothing what they are doing!" Sam looked up from the paper to Dean. "One, you always say that. Two, swallow your food. You act like your 7, not 27." Dean tried mimicking what Sam said, but the he started choking on some of his food. As he tried to gasp for air he somehow managed to ask for some orange juice.