Date: Wed, 7 Mar 2001 14:06:05 -0800 From: gryndyl2001@yahoo.com Subject: Like Any Other Day - Chapter One This story is a work of erotic fiction involving teenage boys partially based on real people and recent events. Names have been changed to protect the guilty as well as the innocent. All the usual rules apply. If you're under 18, live in a country that doesn't know anything about curiosity, free distribution of knowledge, or is simply ignorant, ect, then you shouldn't be reading this now. Copyright Notice - Copyright March 7, 2001 by the author. This story is copyrighted by the author and the author retains all rights. This work may not be duplicated in any form, physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise without the author's expressed permission. All applicable copyright laws apply worldwide. Like Any Other Day. Chapter One. It seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute, there was my friend James, standing next to me laughing his familiar lyrical, baritone laugh, and the next moment he was on the floor, liquid pouring from his head. I heard the pop. Muzzled, almost distant. I saw Bryan with a strange look on his face and something in his hand. An object, foreign, cold, bluish in color and smoking. "Die faggots. Die all you unholy queers", Byran said. The words registered but didn't make sense. Looking down, my shoes was covered in red liquid. Liquid coming from James' head. It was blood, with little grey specks intermingled. Then it hit me. More pops. Panic, screams and confusion. Bodies running, falling, and trampled. I was frozen in place, not really scared but more intrigued by the entire scene unfolding before me. And then a loud bang, different from the now familiar popping. Bryan fell. Next to James. Their blood combining into one giant pool. "Why?" I asked myself. They had been the best of friends. I was the only one left standing in the ever increasing pool of lifelessness. Cops were everywhere. One standing over the now still Bryan, rifle pointed down, poking him, turning him over then shaking his head. He didn't look much old than my 17 years and when I looked into his face I could see the beginning of tears. Then I realized it was Bryan's older brother. Four years his senior, he had just graduated from the police academy a year before. When we were kids we had all played cops and robbers together. Adam always choose to be the cop. From the earliest rememberances, all he wanted to be was a cop. And now he had shot his brother. I watched him as he sunk to his knees, dropping his gun by his side and craddling his brother's head in his arms. His black swat outfit gradually being soaked with blood. Looking up, a wail that started as a low gutteral sound, then raised to fevor pitch. He rocked back and forth and exclaimed, "Why?" Another cop lead me away as the parametics arrived. I looked back at my two friends, lying prone on the floor of our high school. Then I noticed others; three, four, five. I lost count as I was lead out into the quad. I collapsed. Bright light and a deep buzzing in my ears. Was I dead? I can't be dead. I was just in school walking to my first period class and talking to my friend James. Wait! James. And Bryan. And bodies. I didn't see all that, did I? I tried to clear my head and focus. My eyes are "covered". Why can't I raise my hands. Do I heard a voice? Sounds familiar if I can trust my senses just now. There, I heard it again. I tried to open my mouth, but it was blocked. I moaned slightly, and heard it again. "Thank God". "Mom?" "That is a good sign, isn't it Doctor?" This time the voice was different, masculine. "Dad?" Too much to handle. Haven't heard them in so long. Darkness. Tears. Am I crying? James? Where is James? Red, I see red. Oh my God, Bryan shot James. And others. And then Adam shot Bryan. It was too surreal. But now I know it to be true. Why? A voice. Maybe it has the answers? "Adam, is that you?" Hey, I said that out loud. I can barely recognize my own voice. So slight and raspy. "Yes, I'm here. I'm here for you Michael". Peace at last. It's been a week now. The gauze is off my eyes and I can focus abit. The doctors have told me, it will all come back to me. Like riding a bike. But I am sullen. I still have tubes here and there, the most annoying is the cathather. Not that it hurts, but is more a violation. No one will tell me anything. My parents visit, and, while there is a certain joy that I am alive, I sense a hesitancy. A doctor Williams, a shrink has been in and out, several times asking me if I want to talk. Usually, I just look away out the window. More often than not, he quietly leaves. I do know now I had been shot. Three times. First in the chest, breaking two ribs and collapsing a lung. Second in the stomach and third in the head, above my left eye at an angle and exiting the left side above and slightly behind the ear. What the hell kept me on my feet? I guess I was lucky. Certainly have heard that from enough people. But something was wrong. I didn't "feel" lucky. The cops had come and gone all week after I had regained consciousness and the breathing tube was removed. I really couldn't, or wouldn't, give them much information, as I needed to sort all this out. I watched the first of the many funerals to come on television. At first, everyone objected but I insisted. My parents and schoolmates were there with me, for support and no doubt, watching for my reaction. I felt detached. A total of nine dead and 5 wounded. Details. A 9 mm was used in the shooting. Clips. Reloading. Something about a police service gun. Bits of information strung together. None of it making any sense to me. I heard Bryan's name listed as among the dead, killed by his brothers own hand. But no James. Could it be? Again, no one would give me any answers. The cobwebs are beginning to clear. Was a normal day, like most. Up at 6:30 a.m. A shower and morning stuff to do, down the steps to see my mom and dad, still with sleep in their eyes, coffee cup in their hands and the paper split between them. Dad reading sports and mom the living/style section. A quick "Hi", returned with dual grunts almost in unison. Mom pointed at the stove, an indication that I should make my own breakfast. I opted for dry cereal, some toast and orange juice. With little said at breakfast, checked my bag to make sure I had all my homework, said goodbye and ran out to my car. The drive was uneventful. Again, like any other day. Parked in my assigned spot, grabbed my backpack and bounded into school. Still early enough to go and socialize in the cafetria, waved at my usual group of friends and sat down for the latest "gossip". James joined us about five minutes later. "Hey dude, what's up"? "Notta Lotta Outta", he replied. "Bryan wants to talk to you. Says it's important". "Kewlies", I said, "I'll give him a call later tonight". Just then the bell rang and I was off to homeroom. "Jeez, I hate this bitch", I thought. Not only did I have to see her first thing in the morning as my homeroom monitor, but she was also my advanced math teacher third period. So much for getting away from strong female types. Wondered why Bryan wanted to talk. After this summer, we had little if nothing to say to each other. "Oh well", sure he will tell me. Morning annoucements. Something is wrong. Things are slowing down. I can feel it, but can't put my finger on it. Must be my imagination. Finally the bell. Everyone scrambles towards their first period class. I gather my things. James is waiting for me right outside the door. I smile. He returns it and starts his usual tirade at a mile a minute. We're laughing. Joking. Then he moves in front of me, raising his hand to my chest and inpeding my forward progress. A strange look on his face. And then "pops". ---------------- OK ... first chapter of many? My first story. I have read and gotten so much for the authors here. I always wanted to give back. But I'm not a writer. Well, of sorts. A programmer, so I guess I deal in logic. But after recent events, this story started to pour out of my very soul. So much hatred and violence. Email me ( gryndyl2001@yahoo.com ) if you'd like to see this continued.