Meet Ray Toro. Half the boy you would (with no regret) call a yobbo, half the boy you would extremely notice to be lavishly introvert. With a keen eye and ear passion for rock and roll, his frame ...
Meet Ray Toro.
Half the boy you would (with no regret) call a yobbo, half the boy you would extremely notice to be lavishly introvert. With a keen eye and ear passion for rock and roll, his frame clearly announced the title and more. Held in captivity of Newark, New Jersey, he hibernated within the plaid, flannel sheets on the mattress lying on his bed.
The room was oddly darker than you would expect, yet un-oddly darker for the deep basement it was. For how large it expanded, you could still feel the un-balanced aura to it. Though it was strange all together, it was normal in the state of New Jersey.
Strands of curly, tan, tight, ringlets poked out of the pages of Annihilation Conquest #1 that lay chaotically across his larger-than-normal afro. It was slightly grimy and greasy, but hard to tell the difference because it wasn’t brushed. No one brushed their afros, it was a crime. Ray Toro was no different. He had tried once—a non ending battle between his muscles and knots seemed to be equally matched. Then the pain came in, and it conquered.
A small drop a drool began to slide from the corner of his mouth and onto the pillow that was under his head, the only noise in the room was his heavy, low snoring. It was a Friday morning, the one and only weekday that he had managed to take a liking to. But instead of all normal Friday’s (which he usually wagged because it was close enough to the weekend for his comfort), there was the event he had been waiting for what could be exclaimed as forever. At 9 PM, one of the best bands in the universe would be playing in his hometown—Iron Maiden.
And guess what?
He didn’t have tickets.
Though he didn’t have tickets it still didn’t stop him from getting the idea that he could somehow get in. Instead of thinking outside of the box, he tried to think inside of it (which of course was an insane amount of trouble, Ray barely thought at all). The bad news was, he didn’t have any idea on how to get in. He only settled on the fact of bringing some money and hoping to pass by someone who was selling their tickets. It was either that or sit out in the parking lot and listen to the live performance. Either one sounded fine to him, but he really leaned closer towards bringing money.
And much to his distaste, joining the sound of his snoring came the ear piercing alarm. It connected to his surround sound system (which he forgot to turn on low the previous night), making it sound more like a house alarm than what it really was.
Then jolting upright on his mattress out of his heavy sleeping like trance, he hit the back of his head against the solid wall of the basement—groaning in agony as it throbbed with pain. With eyes barely open, he felt the comic book slide off of his head slowly as he rolled off the mattress on the ground.
Morning’s were on his hate list with no doubt, and it made it even worse for the fact that the alarm was on the opposite end of the room from where he slept. He only resisted to move it was because it was put there for a important reason—to be protected from being smashed by his hard fist. He had many broken alarm clocks in the past, and normal enough, his parents got sick of buying them over and over again.
So understandably, he did this for his well being, and lazily scrambled up from the hardwood floor and began to saunter his way over to the alarm clock—the sound buzzing through his ears and making them ring.
Today he decided not to wag.