Grayson Snaps

Chapter 1: Suburbia

Author's Note: Grayson Snaps will be rated M for several reasons, some of which being sexuality, graphic content, foul language, drug use, and violence. That being said, getting the tone of this story just right has been a challenge that I've felt has strengthen my overall capability as I writer; I hope you enjoy reading. Thank you for all the love, support, and feedback. Each vote makes me smile. Each comment confirms why I started in the first place: I love this fandom and the amazing individuals within it. I love hearing from everyone. Again, thank you. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Suburbia 

Suburbia. Su-bur-bia.

Each house has a roof the color of gray, or light gray, or sandy gray. Sometimes the house is made up of brick, kind of like the story you're told as a kid. And he huffed and he puffed and he...couldn't blow the house down. What an idiot. Bricks suck. Sometimes the roofs are stained a healthy red, other times a deep, dark gray.

Many houses on the street have a back porch. Their decks are made from the types of wood that you buy from Lowes or Home Depot. They are all basically the same weird light brown color that looks like diarrhea. In the driveways sit nice cars with nice car payments and almost everyone attends some church in town. Keeping up with the Jones's is a real thing here. It's bullshit.

This is a suburbia. It's a block of expensive houses filled with expensive assholes. There's never really any peace or quiet, though, because everyone has a dog. Well, almost everyone. Everyone seems to put them out in their yards at the same time. One of my neighbors has a dog that my brother hates, but I think he's is just pissed he's partway allergic. We have one ourselves and he fucking hates him even more, but Mom wanted a dog, so there's that.

This is Bailey Downs. When my parents moved into the suburb, he and I were barely a month old. It's a coincidence that his middle name is Bailey, though.

"Mom, it's a girl's name!"

Lots start at $175,000. It's a "safe and caring community." At least, that's what the sign says over the plot of land to the north of us. Moss grows on the north part of trees; I don't know why that might be important. Anyway, there always seems to be developers every six months or so, building another expensive ass house.

-

Under the calm, gray clouds of the early afternoon, a young mom rakes fallen leaves. They are leaves of deep orange, dark and light brown. Underfoot they are crunchy and crisp, like the richest top of a fall pie. She drops the rake and it lands gently on the ground. Surrounding the backyard is wood a light color, just like all the other houses in the neighborhood. The slight wind moves her dark, straight hair. With her bare hands she lifts the leaves, trudging to the black trash bag that she has placed in the middle of the yard. A few yards away a swing moves gently back and forth. Glancing up, she smiles at her toddler son who is in the sandbox just past the set.

In the distance, a crow calls loudly. Caw, caw, caw!

Everything seems so peaceful; he reaches down with clumsy, little hands and scoops a handful of thick, moist sand, and dumps it back again. He pauses, wiping his mouth, and then goes still.

With a loving smile, she walks up to him. Bending down, she is at his shoulder.

"What have you got there, sweetie?"

Her smile, as though it was never there, fades instantly; gasping, her hand strikes out. Quickly, she picks up what her son had been holding.

It's the paw of a dog.

The severed paw of a dog; the ankle bone is a pure, grisly white. The tendons have been ripped, the fur covering the paw is a sandy color. And she can feel the once smoothness of its black pad.