Tragedy(Billie Joe Armstrong) (#Wattys2018)

Chapter 3: Stalking?

Bandit's POV

I got out, I ran off. I went out into the town. It was dark but I would like to get lost, another excuse to not go home. I didn't have time to get my board so I ran. I got around the corner and stopped to catch my breath. Boy am I out of shape, and it's my own fault.

I walked for a few blocks I heard a booming sound. It was music. Live music. I ran a little closer and saw three people in a garage playing music. Punk music, good music. I sat down on the side walk to listen. I couldn't see them but I could hear them. They were good, really good. I wonder what their band name is.

There was no one around them so you could tell it was a practice. Practice or not they were good. The lead singer had a great voice. It was unique and the music was loud and relaxing in a way. Music was an art. That art saved my life once.

I watched for about an hour then they stopped playing. Now I feel like a stalker... ugh, I'm too weird. I stood up and continued my late night walk. I turned the corner and found my street. Great, I let out an audible sigh.

I opened the door and found my mom eating dinner. John must be upstairs. "Oh there you are," she said.

"Just our for a walk," I shrugged, "how was work?"

"Same old thing," she told me. Worked to the bone, then consumed by alcohol and sleep at home. "Have you made any friends yet?"

"I met the neighbor, he seems nice," I told her.

"Good," she nodded before taking another sip of her orange juice probably filled with vodka.

"I'm going up to my room, do you know where John put my instruments?" I asked.

"I believe they are in the garage," she said.

"Okay, thanks," I nodded and went to the garage. I rummaged through the piles of boxes until I found the cases for my guitars, bass, ukulele and keyboard. I made a few trips to bring them all into my room. I lined them up against the wall then set the keyboard on its stand.

I began to unpack the rest of my room. Hung up my clothes, put my boots and slippers in the closet. Organized my desk a little bit. Set up my record player. Organized my vinyl and books. Such simple things take hours... I looked at the clock, the sun would rise soon. Sleep is for the weak! I laughed at the thought.

I put on a t-shirt and sweatpants and combed my hair. I opened the window and sat on the sill. I grabbed a match book I found and lit a cigarette. I observed the empty street as I inhaled the smoke of death. If this doesn't kill me, my stepdad will.

I saw a movement then realized it was a boy. It wasn't the neighbor's son. I don't know who he was and I could barely see him. I saw the smoke leave his mouth. Smoking takes us all doesn't it. I put out the cigarette and put it in a dish I had in here from breakfast.

I laid down in my bed and squirmed until I was comfortable. Please let this get better. Let me get out of here. I don't know if I'll last two more years.