Post by Deleted on Dec 12, 2010 21:59:12 GMT -5
N.Y.C., U.S.A.
The door to the apartment slowly opened, the smell of fresh paint fumes leaking out into the cold air, alerting all that the place was new.
“Come on,” A voice whispered, carrying a sack on his back. “Let’s get moving!”
“Oh yeah…” Another spoke, rubbing his hands together mischievously. “He won’t even know what him ‘im.”
~*~
Paul rolled over in his new bed. “Ugh…” He rubbed his forehead, opening one eye to read alarm clock. “3 AM…” he muttered, covering his ears to the racket that was all around him. “I hate New York.” He closed his eyes and tried to drift back into slumber.
Just as he was sure he had slipped into unconsciousness, he heard something shatter up against a wall.
To be exact, the wall right next of the head of his bed.
He leapt straight up and backed against the opposite wall. “Remind me again why I moved from Ireland?!” He asked himself. “At least I never got robbed there!!!”
Paul knew that whoever was out there, he needed to get them out before they robbed him blind, or before they came into the bedroom and found him. He shuddered at the thought and started looking for anything he could use to defend himself. His hand hit a golf club.
“Well Damo,” He murmured wryly. “Looks like I’ll get some use out of these after all.” He pulled it up and rested it over his shoulder, ready to use it against anything that came his way.
He opened the door.
The main part of his new apartment was filled with people, though he only recognized four of them.
“Yeeeeeeeow!!!” A man threw himself over the back of the couch and skidding on his knees, a Guitar Hero controller in his arms, and his fingers working like mad on it.
Okay…make that FIVE he recognized.
“Keith,” Damian said from the couch Keith had just jumped over, munching on chips that Paul had bought only yesterday morning. “You just FAILED.” He crumpled the bag and tossed it near the overflowing rubbish heap.
“Aw…” The surfer hung his head in shame. “This is NOTHING like REAL guitar!”
“Damian?!?” Paul yelled, lowering his weapon.
“Paul!” The boy hopped up and threw his arms around the man. “I’ve missed you!”
“B…b…but what are you doing here? HERE?! In my new apartment…” He looked around, seeing Keith bashing the controller, Ryan in the back, flirting with a girl he didn’t recognize, and Neil and George trying to have a conversation over the loud music. “…trashing my new apartment.” He finished feebly.
“I TOLD you I was coming over whenever I wanted.” Damian insisted. “And three in the morning isn’t too bad right? I could have come later. Or, er, earlier. I dunno.” He shrugged. “Which would be worse?”
Here Damian expected the man to explode, to kick the lot of them out, but instead, Paul grabbed Damian and clapped him on the back.
“Thanks Damo,” He said. “Best going away party ever.”
“You’re welcome Byrom,” Damian pulled away and smiled. “Now, how’s about a Guinness?” he yelled, getting cheers from everyone in the room, Paul the loudest of them all.
THE END
The door to the apartment slowly opened, the smell of fresh paint fumes leaking out into the cold air, alerting all that the place was new.
“Come on,” A voice whispered, carrying a sack on his back. “Let’s get moving!”
“Oh yeah…” Another spoke, rubbing his hands together mischievously. “He won’t even know what him ‘im.”
~*~
Paul rolled over in his new bed. “Ugh…” He rubbed his forehead, opening one eye to read alarm clock. “3 AM…” he muttered, covering his ears to the racket that was all around him. “I hate New York.” He closed his eyes and tried to drift back into slumber.
Just as he was sure he had slipped into unconsciousness, he heard something shatter up against a wall.
To be exact, the wall right next of the head of his bed.
He leapt straight up and backed against the opposite wall. “Remind me again why I moved from Ireland?!” He asked himself. “At least I never got robbed there!!!”
Paul knew that whoever was out there, he needed to get them out before they robbed him blind, or before they came into the bedroom and found him. He shuddered at the thought and started looking for anything he could use to defend himself. His hand hit a golf club.
“Well Damo,” He murmured wryly. “Looks like I’ll get some use out of these after all.” He pulled it up and rested it over his shoulder, ready to use it against anything that came his way.
He opened the door.
The main part of his new apartment was filled with people, though he only recognized four of them.
“Yeeeeeeeow!!!” A man threw himself over the back of the couch and skidding on his knees, a Guitar Hero controller in his arms, and his fingers working like mad on it.
Okay…make that FIVE he recognized.
“Keith,” Damian said from the couch Keith had just jumped over, munching on chips that Paul had bought only yesterday morning. “You just FAILED.” He crumpled the bag and tossed it near the overflowing rubbish heap.
“Aw…” The surfer hung his head in shame. “This is NOTHING like REAL guitar!”
“Damian?!?” Paul yelled, lowering his weapon.
“Paul!” The boy hopped up and threw his arms around the man. “I’ve missed you!”
“B…b…but what are you doing here? HERE?! In my new apartment…” He looked around, seeing Keith bashing the controller, Ryan in the back, flirting with a girl he didn’t recognize, and Neil and George trying to have a conversation over the loud music. “…trashing my new apartment.” He finished feebly.
“I TOLD you I was coming over whenever I wanted.” Damian insisted. “And three in the morning isn’t too bad right? I could have come later. Or, er, earlier. I dunno.” He shrugged. “Which would be worse?”
Here Damian expected the man to explode, to kick the lot of them out, but instead, Paul grabbed Damian and clapped him on the back.
“Thanks Damo,” He said. “Best going away party ever.”
“You’re welcome Byrom,” Damian pulled away and smiled. “Now, how’s about a Guinness?” he yelled, getting cheers from everyone in the room, Paul the loudest of them all.
THE END