Dead-Alive

Chapter 2

Paul Richardson ^
_

"What is she doing?"

"She—she's just standing there..."

"You think she's on something?"

"I dunno, maybe."

"Hey, excuse me! Miss! Miss, are you okay?!"

"Lady, do you need help?"

"Heyheyhey! Don't get too close."

"Miss, we can call someone for you. Do you need a phone to call some—AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!"

"Oh shit! Jill!"

The camera went out of focus and air crackled as the camera man and his friend rush to their female friend. I could only hear shouting for someone to get off and... Gurgling?

"Ow! She bit me! The bitch bit me!" Jill screamed, panicked. More like sounded hysterical.

"Mark, get Jill! Call the police!" the camera man yelled.

"Cameron she's coming at you, man! Watch out! Watch o—"

"What are you watching?"

I jumped, nearly dropping my phone. I looked up to see Polly in my room with a plastic bag in his hand. It's been a week since I was at his place and since then we been texting pretty much nonstop. Just like old times. I wasn't surprise from the sudden home visit though I was interested in what he was holding.

Polly must've notice because he lifts the bag up, "Your clothes. You forgot them in my room when you left."

He tossed the bag and it hit me in the face. "Ow! Fucker!" I pushed the bag of clothes on the floor. He sat next to me and peered over my arm and at my phone.

"What are you watching?" He asked again.

"Uh, Crazy lady attacks and chase us down the street," I read the video title. "For the most part it's boring."

"Oh yeah? If it's so boring, then why are you still watching it?" He gave that smug look. The one that made me wanna throw my phone at his face.

"Whatever. So what do you want, or are you just doing a good deed for the day and dropping off my clothes?"

It felt almost foreign to have Paul in my room again. Compare to his room, mine was just a walk-in closet. Though while his room was plain and boring, I at least had decorations. My walls were cover in posters of celebrities, athletes, anime characters. It gave off a sense of clutter despite it being clean. And now with Polly here, it felt even smaller.

"You're grumpy today. What happen, another fight?" I rolled my eyes. I haven't talked to my old man all week. When I came home from Polly's the next day—clear minded and mildly sore—he tried to demand where I was. Ya know, trying to be a father. He just got a door slammed in his face and I haven't seen him since. Probably on the road again, which is fine with me.

"No, nothing like that. And I'm not grumpy," I defended myself. He just chuckled and shook his head. And then he had the audacity to pat my head like some child. In reply I just jabbed him in the side. He grunted and thumped my temple.

"Ow! That hurts, damn thunder fingers!" Yet I grinned as he looked at me with a 'are you serious' expression before he smiled himself. I swear our friendship is a weird one.

"You know what you need?" Polly changed the subject.

"A new best friend?"

He rolled his eyes. "Cute. No, smartass. You need to get out. Being copped up in the house for too long is gonna make you batshit crazy. And I happen to know about a party that's going down tonight."