Writing Prompt

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused. He looked down at the laundry basket, filled with, not laundry as you’d assume, but instead two jugs of milk. A stranger had been running in his direction and suddenly stopped to thrust the laundry basket into his hands. “I don’t need these jugs man!” Paul yelled at the running stranger. People walking by on the sidewalk glanced at him, obviously confused. “This is a strange welcome to New York.”

Paul sighs and continues walking to his apartment, when his phone begins to ring. “Hello.  Amy, I’m not home yet. Can this wait?  I’ve had the strangest day.”  Paul adjusts his shoulder work-bag and tries to manage the laundry basket.  “Alright, let’s talk when I get home, bye.”  He hangs up and continues walking.  His recent move to New York has been interesting to say the least.  When finding out that her brother had a new job opportunity in her state of residence, Amy told him that her roommate had recently moved out and that having her brother move in would be fun.  Paul agreed after realizing he’d only have to pay half of the rent.  

Finally Paul arrived at the apartment building.  He entered into the lobby to see Amy talking to a bellboy. Amy turned and noticed her brother’s arrival.  “Ahh! You’ve made it. About time.”  She walks up to him, and realizes what he’s holding.  “When I said feel free to bring whatever, I never expected this.”  Paul lets out a short laugh.  “Your shirt! It looks as if it’s been drenched in fruit punch.”  “Yeah, as I said, strange day.”  Amy laughs.  “Let’s head up.”  They walk to the elevator.  Once inside, Paul sets the laundry basket and milk jugs down.  “Gosh it feels so nice not to be carrying that.”  “Where did that even come from anyway?”  Amy leans back against the elevator with her arms crossed.  “Some crazy man came running up to me, pushed it into my arms and ran off. I have a feeling New York has a lot weirder to offer.”  Amy chuckles.  “Oh, definitely.” 

The elevator opens and the two walk out, Paul again holding the milk jugs. “Home sweet home.” Amy unlocks the door and walks in. Paul follows her and closes the door behind him. He sets down the basket and his work bag. “Could you unload the dishes? I’ve got a Zoom call right now and it’s the last chore I need done.” “Yeah I got it.” Paul walks into the kitchen and starts to unload the dishes. He suddenly hears a noise coming from the direction of his bedroom. He sets down the plate he’s holding and slowly starts to walk towards his room. The noise occurs again, which increases Paul’s anxiety. He picks up a broom that was leaning against the couch and begins to walk again. Once he reaches his bedroom, he looks around but doesn’t see anything broken or unusual. He decides to check the closet. He approaches the sliding door and gently opens it. “What on earth are you doing in my closet?” He immediately recognizes the guy who ran up to him and handed him the laundry basket. “Please man, don’t tell Amy.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused. “Do we?” Asked the guy crouching down in front of him. The purple hilts of the dual blades on his back showing freely. He had bright red eyes with a sluggish look on his face. He was lazily looking up to another guy with a mask of a laughing demon. The guy nodded. “Shoot.” He mumbled under his breath. “Hey, sorry man. Thought you were someone else.” He pulled a photo from his jacket. A photo of his younger brother. “You know this guy?” What had his brother done? “Why you lookin for him?” “Not what I asked.” “No, I don’t know him.” “Lier.” “What?! I’m not lying.” “Then why did your heart race?” “I…” “Kuro, make him talk,” The man with the mask grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and began to drag him. “No please! I’m not lying!” “I suggest telling us the truth. Kuro doesn’t have a speck of compassion and I’d enjoy watching him torture you.” He tried to struggle and scratch him but his grip was too strong. He pulled out the pocket knife from in his pocket and stabbed the man in leg. He didn’t flinch. Was he an actual demon? “Let me go!!” He dragged him unto the roof and flung him over the side. “Aaaahaha!!!” His feet swayed in the open air. “I swear! I don’t know who that is!” “Tell me, or let him drop you.” The man smiled maniacally. Kuro loosens his grip. “Aaah!!” He scrambled to grab hold of his arm. “Or if you want, Kuro can get his tools out. Ever been skinned?” “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you!” He nodded to Kuro. Kuro pulled him back and sat him down. “Now spill.” “I’ll tell you in one condition.” He rubbed his eyes, annoyed. “Fine, what condition.” “You tell me why you want him.” “We were hired to find him and either he pay his debt or we kill him. Personally, I’m itching for the second option.” He’d always known his brother’s gambling habit would get him trouble, but this was too far. “How much is the debt?” “2,000 to a local gang. 5,000 to the Mafia.” “So you’re from the Mafia?” “Nope. Your turn.” “He’s my little brother. I don’t know where he is though.” “Then what use are you? Kuro, drop him.” He began to get up. “Wait what?! No wait!! I might know where he is!” “Kuro, wait. Where?” “He has an apartment here in the city, it’s under a different name.” “What name?” “No, I’ll show you myself.” “Smart, lead the way.”

“Please don’t be in here,” he thought. He slowly opened the door and looked around. It looked abandoned. They pushed past him to look around as well. “Looks like he’s not..” He turns to the closet and starts toward it. He pulls out his dual blades then kicks in the closet door. A masked man is behind it. Suddenly men start pouring in from the hallway and every crevice possible. It was a trap, he hadn’t known. “Kuro, ki..!” He suddenly got hit by under a dozen tranquilizers. Kuro did nothing. He just stood there. The men surrounded them. He was shot as well. The last thing he saw was Kuro standing there and one of the men poking him and waving their hand across his face. He didn’t move.

“You’ve got the wrong guy” he shouted, dazed and confused.

“Oh no you hear that boys we should let him go then.” The official looking man said, pining him to the ground. His crowd snickered amongst themselves one even letting out a good hardy chuckle. “Like I haven’t heard that one before Mr. Black, or should I call you Freddy Mayson.”

In all truth Quinten Black has no clue what’s going on. One minute he was just chilling at one of his mothers lavish business banquets, next he was being held down by some officer who he just can’t read the name tag of in this position.

“Ugh I’m serious okay I’m not whoever… that is. What did I even do.” He spits out, trying his best to squirm free.

“Oh come on Fred don’t play dumb you know why you’re here.” The officer speaks again.

“No, no I don’t. Last I checked I was “socializing” at one of my moms “parties”.” Truly at this moment he wonderes why he didn’t sneak up into his room tonight. Wait a minute that is what he was doing. Then these donkey-pigs started chasing him.

“Just admit it dude, you snuck in disguise as a guest so you can steal the Black-Jewel charm.” A uniformed blond man, who looks to have nice shoes from this angle, said.

The what. “I don’t even know what that is. Come on let me go.”

“You can not be serious give it up already. Guys take him to the station I’m going to inform the family and guests the perp has been caught.” Mr. probably commanding officer said.

With his hands cuffed behind him Quinten was forced to his feet and shoved over to a pair of identical looking officers. Seriously both bald shades covered there eyes even the same mole by the ear. It’s like mom was a copier machine for these pricks escorting him towards the exit.

One more thing about Double and Trouble up front there leading the way. neither of them seem to be that good at running. Meaning if he just slows down a bit, makes a small fidget motion like so, aim the knee and… OW that’s gotta hurt.

Down falls Trouble on his knees clutching the damaged area. Double quickly dropping down to attempt comforting his clone giveing the masterful escape artist a chance to dash off down the halls. Where is he going? He doesn’t know just need to lose these pricks.

He could go for his original plan up in his room but that has a lot of room for them to catch up. Plus there’s a reason he was trying to be sneaky in the first place. Maybe he could hide in a bathroom. No downside. Who in there right mind would break into a bathroom.

This is Quinten’s house he knows the next left three doors down is a bathroom. Things may not be optimal at the moment but perfect timing for this perfect plan.

Quinten slowed to a halt right in front of the spruce carved door. Places his hand on the nob and twists it. More so jiggle it around. “Crap the doors locked” he thinks “now what”

Suddenly Double and the blond dude round the corner in chase. mr blond in the lead yells out “Get back here Mayson, you can’t run forever!”

“That’s not my name” Quinten shouts back, bursting back into the sprint he had going. Oh word now what? The guys are right behind him now. Where does he go? The other bathroom is far on the other side of the banquet hall and even if he got there these guys would definitely see him hide and camp the door. Or worse they could grab him before he can lock the door.

Wait a minute. There’s an idea. Still in a sprint Quinten dips right, flinging open the largest doors in the halls revealing the large grandly decorated room he was trying to flee in the first place.

The sudden slam turning a good few heads in his direction. A good few of course meaning about a quarter of them. “Oh this will do nicely” Quinten thought before busting out his big ingenious plan.

“MOM, HELP” he yelled out still in chase. The crowd of elites getting the hint parted giving the boy a clear path to safety.

“Mom, mom you gotta help me,”

“Ugh dumb kid what did you do”

“I just went to the bathroom and…

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused. Again they whacked him, the smack of the metal bat agonizing against his bare shoulder. He made to stifle a shriek, but it escaped his mouth like the whistle of a kettle. The black cloth sack went over his head for a third and final time.

From the sack came the insistent muffled voice, strewn with pain and panic. “You’ve got the wrong guy!!!” the voice pleaded. At that last word, a heavy brown leather shoe found it’s footing against the naked back of the captive man, and with a swift motion sent him hurling into the unforgiving bay. He disappeared into the deep green darkness, the shackles around his feet pulling the weight of his legs over his head as he hit the water. “That’ll teach him to mess with Mama Lei.”

Hugo was a painter who liked small boats and sea birds to feature in his work. He valued buoyant, placid things that wouldn’t overwhelm the vast beauty of the ocean but still had something to offer in its presence. A massive, flashy sailboat would sure lose the message, a creaky wooden ship could only sink the whole work. The ocean can speak for itself, Hugo thought, and a bird or modest vessel does just enough to pepper some flavor into that conversation.

Hugo walked past Green Bay every day on the way to his studio at exactly 5:45 AM. He carried a large burlap bag containing his canvas, his case of watercolor paints and his brushes, slung over his shoulder. He stopped and scanned the horizon at 5:47 for a few moments or less, depending on the weather. He walked at a comfortable, even pace for two more blocks before turning right by the Stevenson Cannery. By 6:00 AM each day, he had turned the lock on the door of his studio like clockwork and entered the realm of his creative mind.

It had been weeks since Hugo had completed a painting he was truly satisfied with. He had scrapped his most recent attempt to paint a pelican landing gracefully over the water. To be exact, he had scrapped such an attempt eleven separate times. On September 2nd, 2003 at 5:40 AM Hugo was hot on the trail of a new painting as he trundled along on his daily walk to the studio. He could still taste the butter from his morning pastry lingering on his top lip, and he thought of the ocean. The day was foggy, warm and gray. It was the perfect beacon of inspiration for a new work of art. He smiled to himself and the bounce in his step felt electric.

At 5:45 Hugo’s feet brought him to an automatic stop at his favorite lookout point on the bay. A piece of the metal barrier had been removed from this outcropping years before and had never been replaced. Water churned at the wall there with envy of that mass of land that kept it at bay. On especially stormy days, it got a taste of rebellion as it sent a wave over onto the street, before pulling itself back in with slippery restraint. Hugo stood there at 5:45 AM on September 2nd, 2003, gazing out at this unfenced view of the water and gasping suddenly.

There, about 6 yards out in front of him, a shape bobbed rhythmically over the waves. The shape was unmistakably a young man, and unmistakably a dead one. A mist hung solemnly over the whole terrible thing, yet it seemed somehow respectful of both the shape and the surface of the water as it strayed no further than they would allow. It was like a dream. A frantic, dizzy feeling swept over Hugo. “I have to paint this,” he thought to himself. He glanced quickly to his right, his left, and behind him. No one. The morality of his action could be grappled with later - a vision was at stake.

Hugo threw his bag over his shoulder and onto the ground. As he began to fight with the clasp of his bag, a beam of yellow light hit him in the face. He glanced up and squinted, using one hand to shield him from the glare. To his dismay, a large boat had emerged from the mist and was steadily and silently approaching him, narrowly missing the floating body as it came to greet him. A surly-looking man with two scrawny, serious companions on either side of him was standing on its deck. As the boat pulled up to where Hugo crouched with his bag on the ground, the man jumped and landed directly in front of him. His two cronies followed suit and the man snatched Hugo upright by the scruff of his collar.

“Thought you could get away with it, did you? Mama Lei had you within an inch of our sight the moment you left the island.” “I-I don’t know what you mean? What island?” whimpered Hugo. “WHAT ISLAND?!” bellowed the raging man, seemingly offended. “You thought you could drown her intended and end up unpunished, did you?! There he is, floating lifeless…MAN, Mama Lei is devastated.” He gestured with a wild swing of his arm to the dead body in the bay. “You thought you’d take his place and move up the ladder? That right? Well as it turns out, its up to me, and I’d say we ought to make it even.”

Hugo opened his mouth to protest the absurdity and was simultaneously met with a smack against the stomach by a hunk of metal produced by one of the skinny companions. The man dropped Hugo and he doubled over, groaning in pain. As he did so the other skinny, frightening man clasped shackles over his legs. “No one messes with Mama Lei, fool.” The man who spoke threw a sack over Hugo’s head and slung the unfortunate painter over his shoulder with one single, nimble motion. The crew returned to the ship as quickly as they had come. As the ship was swallowed into the fog, Hugo wailed out fruitlessly “but you’ve got the wrong guy!” The body in the water bobbed in sympathy.

(I didn't care for my first attempt at this prompt...I rarely delete these. Figured I'd take some more time and make it a bit more unique. LMK what yall fine folks think!)

"You've got the wrong guy!" Shouted the man on the screen. There was a dazed expression on his face, his voice coated with confusion.

“He’s the killer,” Denny blurted out. “So obvious. Watch. It’s always the boyfriend…I guarantee you he has something to do with the main chick's mom. They keep bringing her up. So fucking obvious.”

I flashed a nervous smile, my eyes on him but my ears were honed in on the movie. I didn’t know what to say.

“Seriously. I can write a better movie than this,” Denny continued through a scoff and an eye roll.

Why did he behave like this? He acted this way with just about every movie I wanted to watch. Did he not get the idea of just sitting down, turning off the mind, and enjoying a movie for what it was worth?

"That guy too," Denny said with a snap of his finger followed by a point. "That stoner guy. Guarantee you that they're both in on this."

"Ummm...sweetie, maybe you'd be better playing games with the guys if you're just going to rip on the movie that I want to watch...again," I replied. The words just kind of fell out of my mouth, a part of me was surprised I'd said something of that nature.

"Well...shit. I'm sorry babe. I didn't mean to..." Denny's expression drooped and his shoulders slouched, as though he'd been defeated.

"No, it's okay. It's just that I really like horror movies and you have a weird way of savagely ripping on them or completely spoiling them for me. And right now you're ripping on this one and you probably blew the ending."

Denny let out a forced chuckle, "Wow Tara. You're still upset about last week."

"Umm, yeah? I'd heard so much about that movie too, I had no idea Bruce Willis was a ghost."

"You had no idea?" Denny snapped. "The movie's been out for over twenty friggin years. It's the plot twist that started all plot twists!! How that one flew over your head is beyond me. I actually give you credit!"

"My parents banned horror films from the house until I was eighteen! I didn't see anything until I moved out!!"

Denny shook his head with frustration, his mouth moving up and down as he figured out his next statement. I knew what he was going to do, I could see it building up in his eyes. He was going to savagely rip into any form of entertainment that I liked and behave like an overgrown child.

"Forget it," I interrupted. "You go play games with the guys. I'm watching this in the bedroom."

Denny rolled his eyes and retreated to his “man cave” saying something under his breath that I didn’t care to argue with. I’d been regretting the idea of investing in a condo with Denny, and today didn’t help matters.

The first month together was great. Wild late nights together, great talks, and even better moments cuddling. A month ago, I didn’t regret a thing. But that all wore off within the following two months. It started off with petty things like how he washed the dishes with little to no water pressure. How he barely did any cleaning. The fact that he didn’t clean the sink after he shaved. The list went on and-

It was Mr. Whiskey's meows that distorted my train of thought. They were short, then loud, unfamiliar, and staggered. It was as though he was talking to someone or something.

“Mr. Whiskey?” I questioned, frozen in place just a few feet from the bedroom door.

Mr. Whiskey stopped mid-meow, and I could feel his eyes staring out the bedroom door despite not seeing him. My heart began to race as I took the remaining steps to my bedroom. I peered in with caution to see Mr. Whiskey in the corner. He was talking to something, I could see it in the corner, clear as day. I couldn’t figure out what it was…my brain wouldn’t allow it. Mr. Whiskey and the thing looked at me, and then it lunged towards me.

“Denny! Get your fucking head in the game!” Shouted Kenny over the headset. “Seriously, if you’re that bothered by what happened, go talk to her, but don’t cost us the game!”

I heard Kenny’s words and they stung, but I couldn’t think of a valid comeback…my brain wouldn't allow it. And he was right, my mind wasn't on the game, far from it in fact.

The words “DEFEAT” splashed across the screen, the sound of Kenny’s frustrated groans drowning out the game's music.

“Sorry,” I muttered. It was the only word to come to mind.

“Bro…” Kenny struggled for his words. “I mean, not to be a dick, but you’re fucking up my rank right now.”

“Ughhh. I know. I’m going to go talk to her,” I replied. I clicked off my console before I could hear his reply.

I collected my thoughts as I paced around my man cave. I’d been a dick to Tara, I’d been for a few weeks and there wasn’t a valid reason. She’d been the best roommate and beyond that a stellar girlfriend.

I made my way up our flight of stairs, my mouth running at hyper-speed with the words I wanted to say. I’d had them just right…and that’s when I noticed the silence.

Our bedroom door was wide open, but where was the sound? Where was the movie she was watching? I could hear the wind blowing through the window, the cars as they passed by…but that was it.

“Ding…Ding…Ding.”

It was Mr. Whiskey’s bell as he came prancing out of our room, his paw prints leaving a trail of red on the carpet.

“What the fuck…”

I kneeled down and grabbed a hold of Mr. Whiskey. There was fresh blood on his paws, streaked across the white and gray fur of his torso, his mouth was lined with dark red liquid. My heart began to race as I wrapped my arms around Tara’s blood-soaked cat.

“Tara?” I shouted. “Everything all right?”

But I knew full well that everything was wrong, that nothing about this scenario was right. I walked slowly towards our bedroom, Mr. Whiskey's bell ringing with each step. I peered in…and screamed.

“So he killed her.” Detective Harmon’s words sounded like a statement more than a question.

“Looks that way,” I replied.

Harmon frowned. “I think your pale demeanor says it all. Do you have the stomach to tell me what happened?”

I gave a nod, the simple jolt of my head causing my stomach to turn. "They found the boyfriend covered in blood, he was mumbling hysterics in the bathtub...and they found her everywhere.”

Harmon didn’t reply, he simply gestured for my story to continue.

“They found both legs in the bathroom, left arm by the closet, right arm by the window. Her head was on the pillows at the center of the bed. Her torso in the middle, sliced open from top to bottom, her insides spilled along the mattress.”

Harmon thought this through with unsettling silence.

“What did he say when he got cuffed?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “What they all say. That we had the wrong guy."

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused.

The old woman standing over him bared her teeth, her eyes aflame. She shoved her staff into Greyson’s chest, forcing him flat onto the ground.

“No more tricks from you, peasant!” she spat. “Where is that cursed genie?”

Greyson squinted up at her, grunting from the pressure of her staff. He suddenly became aware of a rumbling in the ground beneath him — it must have been growing for some time before he noticed it. But it was beginning to shift the sand and pebbles around him on the dry desert ground. Looking up, he could tell that the woman now noticed it, too. Raising her head, she scanned the dunes around her before finally turning to her right, aiming the staff at the top of a dune.

The rumbling slowed to a stop. The woman did not lower her staff.

“The genie will do you no good, Emmetta,” came Greyson’s voice — but not from Greyson. From behind the dune that the woman was focused on.

The woman shot Greyson a confused look. Her eyes darted back to the dune, studying it. She swung the staff back to Greyson.

“I said no more tricks,” she growled. “The genie, or your life.”

Greyson returned her gaze. “How will you get the genie if I’m dead?” he asked.

“She won’t,” his voice answered from behind the dune.

Emmetta swung her staff back at the dune. A ball of purple light, like the plasma ball that Grayson had as a child, erupted from her staff and hit the dune. Instantly, the dune exploded. Through the resulting cloud of sand, Grayson could barely make out… a… pirate ship? On legs? Mechanical SPIDER legs?

Through the sand, a cannon fired. Emmetta swung her staff from her right to her left, deflecting the cannon ball into the sand a few yards from where Grayson lay — and, for just long enough, leaving the staff within Greyson’s reach while she was distracted. Greyson kicked out with his right leg, sending the staff tumbling across the sand. He rolled, swinging his legs at Emmetta’s, sweeping them out from under her. As she collapsed, he scrambled to his feet, darted to the staff, and snatched it up. As Emmetta rose, he ran for the mechanical spider ship.

As he neared the vessel, a man came into view — a man identical to Greyson, but more sunburnt, and wearing something like brown robes instead of Greyson’s T-shirt and shorts. Standing next to this doppelgänger was a beautiful woman with dark skin, bright green eyes, and golden robes of her own.

“Fire all!” he heard the man call.

“So you two had a plan?” the woman asked.

Greyson laughed. “No way. I just got here.”

“How did you know what to do?” she asked.

The man smirked and looked at Greyson.

“I heard my own voice… I knew there was a genie involved…” Greyson returned the man’s smile. “And I pieced together why I would wish for another version of me to appear.”

“I needed something quick,” the doppelgänger filled in. “I needed something Emmetta would not expect. Wishing for a version of me from another world — as scholars have assumed there are — would, at worst, provide a distraction. And, at best —“

“…provide a partner,” Greyson finished. He looked at the woman for a moment, smiling. “And, if I were to guess… I’d say the ship was wish number one, and I was wish number two. Leaving wish number three to free you — and end the wishes. If, in fact, the limit is three, as I’ve always heard.”

The woman smiled and looked at the man in robes. “I see you are clever in every world,” she commented.

Greyson looked down at the staff he was holding. “And now, my guess is that I’m other stuck here forever… or the wish made my return contingent on something.”

He held out the staff to his doppelgänger. The man studied it for a moment, then locked eyes with Greyson.

“Thank you for helping us,” he said.

Greyson smiled. “Thank you for showing me what’s possible.”

The man nodded. “Godspeed.” He lifted the staff from Greyson’s hands.

Greyson was back in the college library. His group members all yelled in surprise. He was still covered in sand.

“Greyson!” Rebecca cried. “What just happened?”

Greyson didn’t answer immediately. He just returned the gaze of the beautiful, green-eyed, dark skinned girl, and knew what was possible.

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused. With a throbbing headache and queasy stomach he struggled to free himself from the zip tie restraints fastening his wrists and ankles to the kitchen chair. Through blurry eyes he attempted to recognize the two little men who stood silently before him. “Who are these tiny people and how did they get the drop on me?” he thought to himself, “What could I have possibly done to get myself into this situation?” his brain in a fog from the events which occurred the prior evening. All he could vaguely recall was receiving instructions to meet for drinks with a small group of people, or was it a group of small people? “Can you tell me what this is all about?” he pleaded to his miniature captors who simply ignored his cries. Suddenly another tiny person with a female figure entered the room and gestured for the others to vacate. “Who are you and why am I here?!” he screamed allowed. “SILENCE!” she squeaked. “I will be the one asking the questions giant!”

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” He shouted, dazed and confused. “It wasn’t me!” The roar of the crowd drowned out his pleas. He watched, wide-eyed from the window of him humble homestead. The townsfolk had to of been deceived by her. This had her written all over it. But he never imagined she’d take it this far. He’d underestimated her powers. The chants of the rage-filled crowd began to align. “Burn him out!” They chanted. “Burn it down!” The rise of torches from the sea of people caused fear to grip his body as the beacons of light were carried closer and closer to his home.

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused.

“It wasn’t he who kill Candra,” he said, “it was me.”

Everyone looked around and at each other.

“I killed that bitch,” he exclaimed.

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” He shouted, dazed and confused.

Those were the last words he screamed,before he passed out cold. Bright colors appeared,before his closed Lids, spinning and dancing, tricking his brain, to think that he reached a rainbow. This night was supposed to Be the night of fun, music, and some spirits with friends. Now just a hard internal pounding, and some face pain To go along with it. Once the spinning stops and the fog goes away, but not the pain, he remembers….

His friends were driving into town earlier, when a car on the other side of the road, threw a beer bottle at them. Well they couldn’t just leave that alone, so they chased after the culprits, with a fast car and fast talking loud Words. He didn’t want to be involved, so he slid down the back seat, and pushed back the cushion, and ended up in The trunk of the old car.

Soon tire marks were made, on the back road, and rubber was smelled for miles, as the chase began. They finally Met at the old airport, and a challenge was made to race at midnight. Well it was almost that time, so they had Their final smoke with stink eye all around, between the two cars.

He was in the trunk, listening but not seeing, as the race began. He fell backwards and hit his head on the jack That was bouncing around with him, as the car sped off. He felt the speed and heard the grinding of the gears, As the car shifted.

Suddenly, he felt like he was flying up in the air, but it was actually the car, that went airborne after hitting a Ramp. Then with all tires spinning landed with a bang, and then the tires blew out one by one, as the car Finally stopped. The other car raced off, then suddenly stopped and turned around and came back.

His friends jumped out the car doors, and ran off toward the woods, forgetting that he was still in the trunk. The other car pulled a u turn, and came back to the parked empty car. He could hear them outside talking And searching the car for the others. With his heart beating loudly in his chest, he heard the trunk of the car Being tapped on with a crowbar.

It was opened by the others, as they found him and pulled him out of the trunk.

“You’ve got the wrong guy”