My eyes fluttered open to reveal the golden, bright sunlight filtering through rifts in-between the aged, and frail planks of wood, barely sheltering me and my friends from the vulnerability of night.
The dust particles around our close nit of ancient sleeping bags and makeshift beds swirl and float around creating a light as well as gentle atmosphere, completely different from my nightly torments.
I wouldn’t call it a nightmare though, nightmares are figments of tainted imagination and your darkest fears crawling and slipping to the surface of your conscience; no, what I experience to my utmost dread is not nightmares at all, they are in fact the devastating reality that happened 3 months ago.
Yes, my Frankie, Ray, Mikey and Gerard were kidnapped. I don’t know by who or what, but I have a strong feeling that it involves BL/Ind.
Hot tears are brought into the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over like precious drops of crimson wine falling from a glistening golden chalice. The deep anguish that fills the yawning pit of guilt where my heart used to be, gets heavier, if that’s even possible and you want to know why? Well I’ll tell you motherfucking why - It’s Franks birthday, It was Ghoul’s birthday: the day that our most treasured promise was broken by us being cut apart that fateful day -
“Together and forever.”
Oh Frank, I miss you with all my heart, I miss all of you. Party with his gentle protectiveness, Jet Star and his light-hearted self that always had something good to say about you, when you’re feeling lonely, forgotten and in self- hatred, Kobra with his quiet, shy personality that would explode into a colourful stream of bubbly and enthusiastic smiles, like a brilliant firework lighting up the night sky. But you Frank, you were, are my hero and I swear to myself that I would see you one more time in this lifetime.
When I say MYSELF I mean it, I personally don’t believe in God, if he was real than surely the world wouldn’t be in as state as bad as this? Sure it was pretty bad before, what with the global warming and political shit but this, THIS is WRONG.
Children lost and scared, all alone with only their fragile hopes to find their loved ones, fires burning constantly and incessantly within the cities since 2012.
Problems like this were due to national services like the fire rescue service and NHS going on strike because of lazy ass governments not bothering to sort out the already uncontrollable problems happening out in the streets, there were also major shortages in food and drinking water, then to top it all of BL/ind decided to show it’s ugly face to try and stop all the chaos by BRAINWASHING?! Brainwashing and kidnapping?! Brainwashing, kidnapping and killing while taking HAPPY DRUGS?! Drugs that rids you of all natural feelings except happiness and artificial comfort?! That’s not even natural anymore! Not when you experience it every FUCKING DAY and its NOT TO YOUR OWN CONTROL! They have taken countless lives and they still think it’s okay to ruin the remaining survivors already fucked up lives too?
Anger and frustration bubbled up inside me as I thought of their reckless and totally inconsiderate missions to try and make it a BETTER LIVING environment for us - yeah right, they can go and fuck themselves for all I care. THEY took Frank, THEY made the world an even crueller place.
And I only swear when I’m really REALLY angry. Once again the tears were there ready to fall, only this time out of red hot hatred.
“Hey,” a soft voice whispered interrupting me from my bitter and distressed thoughts,
“Hi,” I replied. The hushed voiced belonged to none other than Artistic Accident, one of my favourite friends and all round awesome killjoy. In truth I was quite glad that she had interrupted; sometimes I would wallow in my thoughts and the minutes would drag.
“I miss them too,” she sighed, her cherry red fringe hanging down and covering her pale heart shaped face. I forced myself to smile; I needed to get through this for her, for Fun Ghoul, myself.
The most shy and sensitive in our group, and yet she had the strength to comfort me when Accident had both her mother and father betray her by becoming a drac at the young age of 13 before moving to here to California.
Hollie, (Hozzie) Nicole Bareham. That was her real name. Such an innocent name yet spoiled by the evils of BL/Ind.
“C’mon, Artistic Accident, don’t cry. We’ve got each other ‘kay? I know It’s not much but in this fucked up world, it’s what we’ve got that counts, not what we don’t have,” I reassured her, looking up from strands of messy, blonde and chocolate brown hair I tried to send her some more comfort from my grey eyes.
Accident exhaled deeply, while showing some reluctance she gave a small half-hearted smile. It wasn’t much but it was enough, I reached in and enveloped the small girl in my arms giving a soft but firm hug.
“Let’s wake up the others, yeah?” I asked, Artistic Accident bobbed her head up and down trying to put some enthusiasm but not succeeding very well,
“No need for that Neon,” A familiar voice smirked. I turned, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight pouring from the open door to a figure with bright purple hair, hazel eyes smiling too.
“‘Sup Blood Bunny, where’s Cherri Kid?” I ask, admiring her shiny, red leather jacket even if they were ripped in more than several places.
I liked the rips though, they gave the jacket an edge, quite like her badass personality, she was sweet though, “like chilli’s and chocolate” she admittedly said, of course no one could blame her.
Her troubled childhood was probably one of the reasons why she doesn’t really open up her boundaries, her brother committed suicide when she was 12, her parents hated her (now currently dracs) AND her friend Silent Static was killed over on zone 6.
Her name was Rosie Walton.
Isn’t it funny when her name commonly reminds people of flowers and happy little puppies but contradicts nearly everything about that girl?
I laugh inwardly, rambling again Neon? Urghh, sometimes I wish my brain could at least do some of the things that I wanted it to do but I learned that you can’t have everything.
“She’s out surveying the perimeter, should be back ‘round…noon? Uh, yeah, noon,”
“She gonna be okay?” I comment, furrowing my eyebrows.
Cherri Kid was my best friend, although I do love my other friends she and me had some sort of connection. Maybe it’s was because she too has lost both her Sister and Mother, or simply because she was always the logical choice of person to go to whenever you have a problem. Even then she would always stop what she was doing and put you first instead, no matter how small the problem was.
Her long black hair with purple highlights framed her ivory skin perfectly while her blue fringe was an excellent curtain to hide behind when introduced to new strangers. Bright, buoyant, and innovative, she was hard not to like.
Cherri’s outfit consisted of white green day band shirt, lilac skinny jeans, a purple and black studded belt (almost the same style as Blood Bunny’s) as well as the silver miniature music note kept around her neck on a dainty chain.
It’s easy to see why I was worried.
You could spot anybody with that kind of outfit.
Although I guess we all look the same. No not EXACTLY the same, everyone’s different in this world (besides BL/Ind workers), what I mean is, is that all the killjoy’s clothes consist of loud, rebellious clothing; me with my gaudy green zip up hoodie, (covered in glitter of course), bright pink shorts along with lively yellow knee high converse, and blood bunny with her gleaming white jeans and the purple version of my shoes.
My point is that Cherri Kid could easily be taken away.
“Hey Neon Glitter, She’ll be fine. Cherri can take care of herself. She’s stronger than she looks ya know, right now it’s you who needs help. Both emotionally and fashion wise.” Bunny joked, reading the frantic expression probably stuck on my face. I stuck out my tongue while Artistic Accident snickered at my response.
Finally I got up from my tattered sleeping bag stretching, while the other two open up 3 cans of that awful ‘Better Living meal in a can’ stuff.
Seriously, I don’t even know what it is - it’s just stuff. Murky, foul and muddy coloured with grey blobs floating about on the surface… eew. I shivered both mentally and literally as I forced it down my throat, trying to ignore the repulsive taste slither down my taste buds and down my throat.
I forced the rest of the gristly food into my mouth, careful not to taste it while watching the old, sharpie – vandalised clock on top of the rickety walls tick the seconds by.
11:33…11:38, my eyes glued to the dusty clock face, barely keeping track of the other to killjoys bustling around doing the typical chores around the hideout like honey bees in the hive. An example of a good little bee in THIS particular hive was Artistic accident; she was delicately polishing one of our ray guns, being extremely careful around the trigger (since she has a sort of habit to accidentally pull the little device and send a couple of rays around the room) whereas Blood Bunny was taking out the frequently used Battery city map to check out the zones which we would be visiting today.
11:43…. 11:47. ..11:50……FINALLY noon! I tried not to bounce in my chair as I kept an eye on the trap door leading upstairs to the plains of zone 4 open.
“Neon? Can you please stop bouncing, I think that’s the second to last chair we have,” Cherri piped up.
“CHERRI KID!” I squealed excitedly, grabbing her slim figure into a bear hug. She laughed delicately in my ear while the other two grinned at my gleeful state.
“Oh god Neon, It’s like you’re having these massive mood swings every day, seriously, you looked pretty depressed a while ago and now you’re grinning and shrieking like some wasted gerbil on crack,” Blood Bunny giggled.
“At least I’m not related to the gerbil on crack blood BUNNY!” I threw back at her.
“Rabbits aren’t related to gerbils!”
“Yeah they are!”
“They’re in the RODENT section, last time I looked gerbils are rodents and so are BUNNIES!” I said the grin still plastered on my face.
“Uh guys?” Cherri kid asked tentatively.
“What?” We asked, stopping briefly our stupid argument about whether bunnies were related to gerbils.
“I thought bunnies were related to kangaroos?”