Youth and whiskey.

•Prologue•

WARNING: May, and will have graphic violence, cursing, drugs use. Read at your own risk.

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© -Osorrow- / 2014

All the characters from the story are fictional, and from my imagination, any similarity is completely not intended.

Do not copy or steal this.

Thank you.

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It was a calm peaceful night hadn't the Smiths decided to throw a party. The whole neighbourhood was flooded with a blasting music and people were everywhere. Parents and elders were having a hard time, trying to sleep but there was no use. Today's youth was reckless and disrespectful, almost uncaring about others' needs. A bunch of young people stood outside the house, some of them were drinking beer, smoking cigarettes while some others were sitting in clusters, playing games and humming to the electronic songs.

The driveway was filled with empty cans of soda and beers and red plastic cups and it sure wasn't a beautiful scenery to the Hayland's block residents but to the young untamed creatures that were teenagers, it was a part of the celebration, trademark of the crazy kids, a statement of the reckless youth. Mrs. Grayson let herself inside the house, struggling to find her way while people pushed her around, some drunk, some disoriented and some just doing it for the fun of it. She looked around, horrified as her eyes embraced the scenery; she could feel the bass in her chest and deafening her ears. The poor woman gulped desperately for air but the thick atmosphere was making it very difficult, - if not possible.

She could smell cigarettes, alcohol, promiscuity and if sex had a smell, she sure was sensing it now and it was unpleasant, horrifying and revolting. Mrs. Grayson stumbled around, trying to get a glimpse of the house owner who was dancing with with a brunette in the centre of the  provided dance floor. The middle-aged lady studies them while extreme disgust waved across her entire body; dancing was a very classy word to describe what the two teenagers were doing. They were practically giving the audience a sample of education sex, thou it was far from being educational.

"Everybody down! Get down!", a masculine voice shouted, miraculously topping the music. Mrs. Grayson turned to face the man but colours were drained of her body as her eyes meet the group of four people, hiding behind masks and pointing weapons towards the young people, who froze in their spot, some of them even raising their hands in surrender

.

"Cut the music! Cut the fucking music before I blow your head up!", another one screamed in rage, his voice more deep. Moments later, a dead silence fell on the living room. "Ah that's more like it!", the man resumed his talk, shrugging his shoulders, at ease.

"How about some real shit now? Hollywood Undead song, for example?", he added pacing around the room as eyes darted on him, horrified. Mrs. Grayson intently looked at the four intruders, by her judgment, they were all men, probably not over their twenties but the thought didn't appease her. Her husband was a cop and she remembered just how many times he had told her about the horrible deeds uncontrollable teenagers were capable of.

"Listen carefully sweethearts", the same deep voice murmured while the man pointed with his gun to the petrified crowd of people, "I'm out of coke and I'm hell broke so how about a little help?" Mrs. Grayson's heart was betting to her death; she has never thought one day she'll find herself in such a situation. These men were crazy, unaware that their doings were dangerous and could lead to dangerous consequences.

"So I'm gonna pass that bowl right there to you and you put everything in it; money, jewellery. You got me, valuable shit".

"You are scaring them, Phoenix!", a third voice sneered before hysterically laughing before his gang joined.

"We're gonna report you to the police!", a faint feminine voice rose in the crowd attracting the gang's attention. Phoenix took few steps towards the crowd where Mrs. Grayson was and involuntarily, she said a little prayer.

"Oh babe, you think my name is Phoenix?", he leered playing with his weapon while some girls began to cry, sure that their end has neared.

"And you think we're stupid to make that mistake? How cute!", he scoffed before chuckling. "That's my nickname because I rise for ashes, bitch!", he added holding his gun towards a random girl as if he was about to shoot. The poor girl was frozen as if her feet were glued and she violently squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
"How about that bowl, fuckers?", Phoenix screamed, looking across his shoulders.

"Hey buddy!", another intruder came to him, patting his shoulders, "the bowl's full but let's save the killings for the last!"

"More fun like that, right?" His companion nodded before leaving to stand by the door frame. Phoenix just stated at people, who were too afraid to look at him and those who dared, were blankly eyeing him, fear beating in their hearts and souls. Mrs. Grayson was sure she was never seeing her husband again and she was going to die here, with a bunch of crazy reckless teens.

Minutes later, the four gang meme era began to laugh as if they were possessed by some evil clown spirit. Expectancy and incomprehension filled the audience's minds as they stood there, too numb to act. "Look at their faces, man!", the fourth member laughed tossing his gun to the floor. Only then, realization hit Mrs. Grayson.

"Poor souls! Oh God!", Phoenix sneered with a chuckle, losing his salon as well. "They're scared shitless!"

"Those aren't even real weapons, fucktards". Incoherent whispers filled the room while some girls drained their eyes, others still too shocked to process what just happened.

"I'm sure some chicks thought we're gonna gang rape them, man!", Phoenix added passing his fingers through his tar-black hair. He took few steps towards a girl next to Mrs. Grayson, checking her up and down.

"Tempting, but I like redheads babe", he seductively whispered against her ear. And just like a hurricane that seizes the city by surprise, the four men were gone, leaving the bowl, and a bunch of traumatized teens behind and a sad excuse for a party. Mrs. Grayson quickly left the house, her heart still beating uncontrollably. It was better to sleep on the blasting music that to never see another sunrise.

        
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-Osorrow-