----SOUR---- Chapter 2

"Oh, is that supposed to make me scared?" Chandler slurred and threw his arms up in the air. "Hey world, some fucking latino guys are threatening to kick my ass. I'm shaking in my booties!" he almost tripped over a small rock and his head rolled back in a drunken dazed stare at the sky.

"You better be shaking pretty boy, we're going to knock you up good," Thug #1 beat his fist again as if that was supposed to intimidate Chandler and his manhood.

Chandler howled into the sky and spread his arms again.

"I'm going to be pregnant? Oh glory be! I'm gonna be a daddy!-"

He stopped abruptly and gave the coldest, darkest stare to Thug #1 who was supposibly the one who was going to throw the first punch.

The first sign of rain began to fall as if the skies had cracked at the sight of the bitterness and challenge on Chandler's face. He was shitfaced drunk.. but he wasn't in the mood for games. If they wanted to kill him, might as well get it over with.

"Shut the fuck up, and give me that watch - punk."

Thug #1 shoved Chandler hard on the shoulder and puffed up his chest covered up mostly by a faded jean jacket. Probably found in a dumpster somewhere. That was the way he looked, like he had just crawled out of the New York sewers. Smelled the part too.

"And what if I don't?" Chandler took a step back from the shove and almost tripped again.

"Then. I'm going to have to take it. from you." He shoved Chandler harder, and this time he stumbled backwards, but didn't fall.

He wasn't much of a fighter. Getting picked on in school, he never fought back. Maybe he had attempted to throw a punch once or twice, but nothing that saved his ass from the daily beatings courtesy of the cruel brats in junior high school.

"Take your best shot, you piece of trash," Chandler grit his teeth and spat.

Before he even got the words out, Thug #1's fist connected to his face and he fell backwards on the pavement, slamming his elbows onto wet rocks. It was now raining consistantly and a cool breeze blew.

His lip ran blood and he seemed to lose his sight momentarily, seeing a blast full of colors and stars in front of his eyes. He felt the pain at his cheekbone, but it didn't concern him.

Before he could react or spit out another reason for the "bully" to hit him, a metal toed boot slammed into the left side of his ribs, and Chandler curled up and clutched his middle, all of his breath leaving his body in a split second.

Thug #1 laughed into the night and Thug #2 wrestled the watch off of Chandler's left limp arm. The 3 laughed to eachother at the pathetic scene on the ground and took off walking casually back into the shadows where they had come from.

No sound escaped his lips as he struggled for breath, even though internally he didn't know why. He had no need to live any more. Drunk, fucked up and laying beat in an alley at four in the morning was not his idea of a good life. And now the watch he had gotten as a birthday birthday present from Joey had been stolen. Ripped right off his arm. Joey had saved forever to get him that present. And now it was gone in a second - just like their friendship had turned out.

As he lay there on the ground, breathing only enough to live, but not yet comfortably, he reflected on past events that had lead him to this lower than low point. What had triggered the drunken nights, two packs of cigarettes a day, the bitter thoughts about every human he came in contact with and the severe depression that lead him to just. not. care. He didn't know exactly, but knew that the demon was with him now and had no plans on going anywhere.

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He was being poked. A flashlight was shining directly into his face, and once he finally snapped with the program, he grimaced and fell to the right side from his sitting position against a building, shielding his eyes with his arm. That triggered his ribs to scream and he almost bit his hand. 'Kill me. Kill me now' he muttered within his mind.

"Hey kid." So there was a voice behind that flashlight. The bright light that had burned his eyes just seconds before moved to a section on the wall. "Hey, get up."

Chandler sat up straight again, now noticing the light off his face and looked at whoever was standing directly in front of him. Well just fucking perfect, it was a cop just waiting to handcuff him and haul him off to jail for bumming around in an alley in the middle of the night. They'd find something to charge him with. Plant a pound of cocaine in his pockets.. Put him out of his misery and give him the lethal injection on a cold metal corpse table. Strap his arms down so he couldn't thrash - but of course he wouldn't. 'Put it in my last beer,' he'd tell the guard 3 weeks before his due date was up -

"What are you doing out here at this time of night? You got no place to go?" The cop shut off his flashlight deciding he didn't need it anymore. Beind him his cop car stood looming like a giant trophy, headlights going as far as the eye could see.

'Hey shitface, can't you see my goddamn mutilated face?'

"Yeah I have a place of residence, if that is what you're asking." He responded, luckily not feeling quite so drunk anymore. If he was, he would surely be thrown in the back of the cruiser. Plant a murder on his record with no body found.. -

"Looks like you got jumped, do you know who did it?" The cop continued. His silver hair getting brighter and brighter the more Chandler looked at it.

"Just some street gang or something," Chandler answered back and stared straight ahead across the alley, watching a stray cat jump through a garbage bin.

"You get home now you hear? No reason for you to be out laying in alleys at this time of night. Do you need a lift?"

Chandler shook his head, still watching the cat look for a late dinner, or an early breakfast.

The cop hesitated, but then "holstered" his flashlight and took a step toward his car.

"Lay off the alcohol, you reek like you've been soaking in a whiskey tub for five hours."

With the cop's final word, he got back into his cruiser and continued on his patrol down the alley, the lights disappearing with him.

Chandler rested his head against the rough brick wall of the building and closed his eyes. Truth be told, he didn't want to go back home. He knew that Joey would be home by then. He would find all of the empty beer bottles, the overflowing ashtrays.. He didn't feel like answering any questions.

'Chandleerrr what are you doing to yourself? Where is the old Chandler? I liked him better.'

'The old Chandler is dead.'

He struggled to lift himself up, using a crate next to him for help, when his ribs stabbed into his insides. They weren't broken, but they sure felt like it. Great, now he was going to have to walk around with this crap.

Then standing, he looked at his left hand, where he had grinded the cigarette butt into his palm earlier. He ran his fingers over the nasty wound that was probably an angry black right about now, of dead flesh.

Satisfaction. The only thing he could completely control in this world. Was the cigarette burn on his palm.

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