𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐯𝐢. ✭ 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒

JULY, 1976; EDDIE

Background Music
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-The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us! by Sufjan Stevens-
⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

"Ow!" The wasp that dug its searing stinger into me, buzzed off when I shook my hand in a panic. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"What is it?!" Chance ran to my side, clasping my arm. I crumpled to the floor of the field we had been running around in, taking Chance down with me. "Eddie, what's wrong?!"

"Something bit me!" I wailed, the irritated area glowing hot bright red. "Freaking bug!" Prairie grass scratched at my skin. Chance traced her finger over the tiny wound making me tremble.

"Let's go back to my trailer." She insisted, helping me up. "My daddy has a first aid kit back there. It'll be alright."

Sharp pain ruminated under the skin of my hand, I whimpered like a puppy on our whole way back. By the time we arrived at the trailer park the bite had swelled a great amount, attempting to take over my flesh.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna die." Sniveling, I held my hand close. Waves of discomfort wriggled across my skin. "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die."

"You're not gonna die, Eddie." Chance snapped, unlocking her trailer's door quicker than a Jackrabbit. "Now shush up or you'll get us in trouble!"

"Sorry." Miserably, I followed Chance into her trailer where she sat me down on the couch. "It hurts is all."

"It won't hurt for much longer, stay here." She ordered, running into her bathroom. A few seconds the bright-faced girl emerged, kit in hands.
"I got it! Go wash your hands." After I returned with a freshly washed hand, Chance settled next to me. She was swift at her work. Popping open the medical box, Chance pulled out a pill bottle and a tube of some sort.
"I got stung by a wasp last summer, remember? It ain't gonna hurt for too much longer."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Assured Chance, unscrewing the tube to plop the cream on my hand. She rubbed it in, thumbing over the stung area. After giving me a pill to swallow, Chance placed a bandaid where the wasp marked me.
"See?" She held my hand softly, giving it a small squeeze.
"Now you're all better." Raising my hand to her lips, she kissed the bandaid. "Mwah! You're cured!" Chance shot me a serious look, wide-eyed. "Don't worry. I swear I don't cooties or nothin'."

"It's okay." I shrugged, the pain in my hand diffusing. Even though most boys our age would've thrown a retching fit if she had done the same to them, but I didn't dare. Chance was my best friend. My only friend. It was impossible for her to have cooties. Lips turning up, I said. "I don't mind."

SEPTEMBER, 1985; EDDIE

"What do you think about his little Hellfire Club?" One of Chance's groupies giggled, her voice so high-pitched it made my ears bleed. Chance and her so-called friends were stalling around in the halls after the warning bell had rung. They were the only people not in class. Well, except for me. I was hiding in the janitor's closet trying to squeeze in a smoke before class when I heard her little group emerge.

"Hellfire?" Chance repeated, suppressing a pent-up laugh. "The Hellfire Club is the lowest totem pole at this school. Seriously, they're worse than band or chess club." A gaggle of laughter followed. My gut felt as if it had been punched, stomach dug into. "They're this little band of freaks with Munson as their leader."