Chronicles of the Living

Chapter 5

I really need a friend.

I sat on the church steps. Hands on my face, tears leaking between my fingers. Pete sits next to me wearing his father's black suit. It's baggy in him but it looks nice. His hair slicked back with gel.

You always have a friend.

He doesn't look at me. It's uncomfortable to watch a friend cry.

Can I come home with you.

Always.

The scene goes black, dark like time has shifted to night. I find myself on my own front porch. Terrified to turn the knob. The door swings open violently knocking me back on my feet.

Where the fuck have you been?

I stayed to help clean up. The look on his face tells me he doesn't believe the lie. A firm slap meets my face. I turn to the side spitting out blood, trying to hide my tears

Don't you lie to me boy.

I'm sorry pop. I won't lie again I promise.

So where were you.

Everything goes dark again before I'm in a dimly lit room. Not a room. More like a shed.

I stole it from my dad.

Pete hands me a water bottle. It looks like water but the contents smell like hand sanitizer. I take a sip from the bottle. My face contorted before I cough spilling some of it on my suit.

What the fuck is in that?

Vodka, ittle makes you feel better.

Something tells me he's never known the pain of losing someone. There's no medicine, no cure. You deal with it how you deal with it but it never gets 'better'.

I find myself back on the front porch, staring terrified at my father.

Come here boy.

I get closer and he grabs me by the collar. Leaning his head in to sniff my suit jacket.

You've been drinking? To my surprise my face isn't met by another slap. Instead he releases me and smiles. Not his normal vicious smile. He seems entertained not angry.

Your a man now huh? Come with me.

I'm sorry sir it won't happen again.

Shut up and do what your told. He steps through the open front door. He sits back into his recliner that he'd moved directly in front of the box television. He reaches to the floor next to his chair grabbing a bottle of whiskey.

Grab a chair. I obey the order. I pull a chair from the kitchen table and drag it next to his.

When I sit he unscrews the bottle taking a sip. Then he hands it over to me, giving me a demanding look.

If your gonna drink make it the good shit.

I put the bottle to my lips. It tastes awful I lean to spit it out.

Don't you dare waste my booze. I purse my lips stopping the spit, then I choke back the brown liquid.

Good boy.

I wake up on Pete's couch with a tingling feeling throughout my whole body. I hear the whistling, getting closer. My heart pounds in my chest. Then a slow, light tapping on the front door. Oh god what do I do? I try to scream but no noise leaves my throat. It feels like someone is squeezing the air from my chest when I try. I try to sit up in bed but can't move. All I can move is my head. I hear the door creak open slowly.