BREAK ON THROUGH TO THE OTHERSIDE!
The dusty speakers blared through the summer heat and the noise of a million electric fans all humming in union. Eleven in the morning and it was already eighty degrees outside, promising to be another fun-filled day of suffering in the shade of his trailer, unless he risked going back inside and drowning in the stench of his stepfather cooking slowly on the couch. For a man of two-hundred plus pounds who was constantly high on some kind of drug, he was sure slow to die off.
BREAK ON THROUGH TO THE OTHERSIDE!
He'd caught Paul sneaking in late last night after being thrown out by Malaki's mom and assumed that, because he was out of breath and covered in dirt, the kid was running from the cops and had, in fact, led them straight to the trailer. One of the few things the bastard feared in life, other than rattlesnakes and Paul's dead father, was being caught with a gram of cocaine in his sock drawer and enough heroine to supply the entire trailer park---which he did. The fight that ensued was, what Paul liked to call, a one-hit wonder: he was hit and it was a wonder that he survived with his head nearly going through the wall.
Teeth clenched as he gripped the wrench tighter and imagined it was the fucker's head he was twisting, rather than the lug nut on the front wheel.
BREAK ON THROUGH TO THE OTHERSIDE----YEA!
"WILL YOU TURN THAT SHIT DOWN!"
Eyes glanced up towards the torn, screen door, watching as the dark shape upon the sinking couch shifted and moved just enough to have fingers twitching and reaching for the Rock Box, turning the volume down a half-a-notch until he was assured that the bastard was only changing sides and then up another two just to spite him. The man was like a vampire himself, only seeming to move when night came and the heat tapered off just enough to become bearable. He would sit at the kitchen table, pinching sacks of cocaine and waiting for Paul's mother to finish cooking him his mandatory steak. Paul hated everything about him. But he hated his mother even more for putting up with his ass for so long and in the end, becoming just like him.
The shadow scared him as it came up from behind and a startled wrench almost flew straight into Malaki's face.
" Jesus!" he veered to the side and just in time to dodge the flying metal object as it clattered sharply with the wooden shed. "What the fuck dude?!"
Breath was caught in his throat and head immediately fell to his hands as he tried to clear his mind of the sudden shock. He'd honestly thought it was his step dad, faking him out with that movement on the couch just to sneak up from behind and put his head through another wall. "I'm sorry man, you fucking scared the shit out of me."
Hands remained on his face a moment longer than they should have, covering the swollen bruise around his cheek that had formed from last night. Despite the fact that he and Malaki had been friends since they were five, the kid had no real idea of what went on in the trailer; for eighteen years in Santa Carla, the kid was incredibly bleak.
And today he was dressed much like Paul in nothing more than a tattered pair of jeans, no shirt and a single band tying back those long, messy locks of black hair. The dark circles under his eyes had indicated the fight that ensued after Paul had fled and before he could ask---
"Hey man, I'm sorry about last night. She's just been so fucking tense lately since my dad has to stay another month at the airbase, helping to train new recruits and all. She didn't really mean that shit she said."
It was an excuse like Paul's own about his constant walking into doors or tripping downstairs, that was becoming less and less believable as the years went by. But then again, the woman had a right to be pissed since it was Paul that had introduced Malaki to the sweet pleasures of the green herb amongst other things that he had managed to steal from his stepfather when the bastard passed out. Kindness only went so far in this world and no "hand outs" were ever free.
"Nah, it's cool man. She had a right to be pissed since I probably marked up your coffee table and all that," he couldn't help but grin, seeing Malaki's face light up in remembrance.
"Fucking better than last time when you put the whole fucking joint in your mouth, still lit. God, that was so funny," he said, leaning over his bike.
"Hey fuck you man, that hurt like hell!" he said, this time purposely chucking a screwdriver at his friends head.
Like the wrench, it missed and slammed into the shed, leaving Malaki to rush from his bike and tackle Paul, wrestling him to the ground in a headlock he'd seen a few nights before on the WWF. For being the same size as Paul, not to mention a hard-core stoner who drank in the mornings and took trips on acid to the Boardwalk at night, the kid was much stronger than he appeared.
He tried to throw the kid over his back but the arm around his neck was too tight, brushing up against that bruise and causing Paul to cry out.
"Whoa! Jesus dude, what happened there?"
Paul pulled back just enough to rub his cheek and grin. "Your mom."
They collided again and this time, Paul managed to come out on top, forcing Malaki to the ground and those arms behind his back while a knee dug sharply into his spine. The surfboard.
"You fucker!" Snarled out as Paul laughed and rode the imaginary waves and slammed his body repeatedly against the ground.
"Oh shit, here comes another big one!" he laughed, pressing his knee tighter and jamming that chest back to the ground.
This time, neither would notice as the shadow approached them from behind.