Aaron (Or also known as Vampire in the Rye)
by oronoda
Note: This story is just an account through my Vampire the Masquerade character in a chroncile that I played in. I liked it very much. My character, who started out as mortal, is a Brujah. Anyway...on with the story.
Chapter One: I hate angst
I hate to sound like a fucking Holden Caulfeild but I can't help but admit that I relate to that angsty loser even if a tiny bit. Wait, no, Caulfeild's life is in no way worse than my life. However, who is to judge who's life is worse than another? I am so sick of these teenagers who whine about how bad their life is. Boo hoo...your mother grounded you for the weekend. Boo hoo...you couldn't get your fucking CD. To me, that is all what Holden Caulfeild is. He's just a whiner who has no idea that his life could be so much worse. He comes from a rather rich family and goes to a private school. His parents at least cared about him for crying out loud. He was living the fucking American dream.
Let me ask this...did dear old Holden have to basically take care of himself since he was 8 years old? Sure...he had to deal with the sudden loss of a brother. However, did he have to be thrust away by someone he cared about not once but twice? Sure, his parents were clueless...but did their cluelessness cause physical and mental anguish to others? Holden Caulfeild had nothing to complain about.
I hate when people complain about their problems...maybe that's why I never do. To most people at school, I am the quiet smart one in the back of the classroom. To those who I delivered papers to, I was just the reliable child. I seem to be just the quiet shy kid that usually never speaks unless spoken to. This was me for a long time. I seemed normal and well adjusted. However, inside...I am just screaming in a room of breakable objects. Occassionally between my screams, something is thrown and something shatters. I was just a series of facades...perhaps its hereditory.
My problems just got bottled up. It isn't something healthy, I'll admit that. I hate angst...I hate people who use it as a device to get attention...which is just used constantly in today's youth culture. I hated angst so much I never wanted to participate to the lows of my whiny peer group. However, bottling it up does nothing. All it does is delay the inevidable. I was due for a fall...
What exactly are the contents of this bottle? Too much...so much pain and betrayal and hatred. And all this started to brew from basically the moment I was concieved. My mother...stupid Linda Dwyer was the sort of woman that never grew up. I refuse to call Linda by the word of mother, that bitch. She threw herself into a persuit to shallow pleasures such as sex and drugs and alcohol and just plain permiscuity. Linda was known for being easy and she slept with many. So who my real father is anyone's guess. My grandmother, Moira, lost track of Linda. Grandma was the sort of person who allowed her daughter to make her own mistakes and will guide when necessary. I think deep down, she really did regret how she raised her daughter. When my grandmother came across Linda clearly pregnant, she forced her daughter into rehab. She stayed until she gave birth to me on March 1st. I was underweight and doctors pretty much assumed I would always be small and could have heart problems later in life(*snicker*). A couple weeks later, she took off again. Grandma gained custody of me and pretty much kept the door open for her daughter but wouldn't search for her anymore. There was only so much she could do. This is all what my grandma would say to me when I was 13...only a few months before she died. I demanded the truth out of her. Its not like it was all a surprise...I knew most of it anyway. Waterville is a town in Maine...small enough for rumors to circulate. However, I deserved to know the truth.
8 years with my grandma were bittersweet. I love my grandma more than anything. However, I remember the whispers. I've heard the word bastard used a few times...and crackwhore. I never knew my mother in person...but I certainly heard enough about her. I remember the looks of pity...those were actually the first things that would get me angry. It isn't pleasent to hear when you are 5 years old, "Oh, Moira, what a cute little redhead...he's Linda's right? Did the drugs affect his height? He is awfully small...looks more like a toddler than a 5 year old!" Of course, adults are stupid to think that children can't understand what you are saying...but they can.
I never liked school much. I was just the small kid everyone liked to pick on. Never really had any friends. After an incident on the playground in second grade involving a few 4th graders, I came home with a black eye very upset...and angry...that I couldn't over power them. Grandma...the sweetheart she is, stuck me in karate lessons at that point. This toned my muscles and gave me something else to do besides school. My teacher said that generally martial artists rely on flexibility rather than blunt strength. Therefore, I was perfectly built for it.
However, my life all changed one day when I was simply eating dinner with Grandma when I was 8 years old. Linda came knocking at the door with that son of a bitch Stephan...her new husband at the time. This is the first time I ever saw the crackwhore in my whole life. You couldn't imagine how confused I was. This thin skeletal woman reaching out to me...saying I was her mother. I was numb and didn't say anything...not like that is anything new...She wanted to take me back...grandma didn't want me to be taken with her. Linda tried to convince Grandma that she had changed and she had a positive influence in her life; a fucking psychologist named Stephan Peterson. Apparently, they had married. Anyway, Grandma didn't believe it. But the stupid psychologist used his large fortune to buy this fancy lawyer who basically handed custody of me to my fucking mother.
My first day arriving, the shrink's house looks to be the fucking American wet dream. It had the white picket fence and the little garden. Every morning Shrink would go to work in town and Linda would go to her waitress job. This was all a cover...just like everything else in my life. However, I remember quite a few times Linda and Stephan shooting up together in their room...or drinking excessively. Their relationship was clearly a marriage of convenience. Linda had the connections and Stephan had the money. Otherwise, they would argue...and sometimes it would turn physical. I spent most of the time hiding in my room until I was about 10 years old and just jumped on my bike and fucking bolted away for a couple miles. Only did a few times did they turn violent on me. Once was when I was about 9...and I discovered Linda making crack in the basement. I threatened to call the police...Stephan backhanded me and I learned to keep quiet. The second was when Stephan was yelling at my little sister, Lydia. I said to him at least she isn't a crackwhore like her mom! That was another backhand. Not bad from what I heard...but it was more reason why I wouldn't say much.
Ah yes...Lydia...my little half-sister. She was born when I was 8. Linda was already pregnant when she married the shrink. I bet Lydia isn't his either. Lydia is the only reason why I stayed in that hellhole. If I ever felt like the house would turn into one of those nights in which Linda and Stephan wouldn't stop fighting, I would make sure she was far away from the house.
I guess my inner angst has caused me to become an avid reader...especially of horror and fantasy genres...the more morbid the better. I think the reason was because there was so much pain...and anger in my life, I found an outlet in reading horror and karate.
Also, my tendency to escape would sometimes be quite literal. My typical day would go something like this. I would wake up about 4:30, shower, and run my morning paper route. I had that job since I was 12. I needed some sort of responsibility. I needed money that wasn't made by analyze pathetic teens or making crack deals. I would go to school...only thing it was good for...to keep me away from home. I would do my homework out of boredom after school in the library, not that I needed...but I did get straight A's...but who cares? Then, I would do my job at about five. After that, consisted of me either keeping Lydia away from home, or just riding my bike around town. I wouldn't come in until passed 2...in which my guardians would be wasted anyway or just plain sleeping.
My bottled up temperament caused me to want to fly...fly away from it all. I would ride my bike further away from home...miles and miles. All that would race through my mind was how much I hated my life...hated the world...I hated alcohol...I hated drugs...I hated school...I hated how some people had it so easy...I hated complainers...I hated posers...I hated people who lied to themselves...and most of all...I hated the fact that I was so young that I was tied to my guardians...I hated how I was so powerless to stop it all...all that made me so angry. However, just by looking at me, you couldn't notice such a thing. I covered it rather well...of course...this made me just another liar. That also made me angry.
I could usually keep stable because of two factors; my grandma and my sister. However, at the beginning of my freshman year, grandma's health was fading and she soon passed away at the end of September. I was basically about to fall. I could take the world if grandma was there...even if I could only see her every other weekend. But she was dead...she was basically rotting in the ground...that sweet grandma body and that sweet grandma smile being eaten out by maggots and other vermin. There is no spirit...no God...you die...you're dead. However, as much as there was nothing after death, I wanted so very much to die...to get away from the pain...to perhaps be with grandma...even if just in commonality.
It was basically a few day after grandma died that I just hopped on my bike and rode and rode until I somehow made it to Portland. That was a shock. It was late at night so the club scene was hopping. I found myself with the shallow underlings of the night world. However, as much as I can't stand stupid idiotic people, I couldn't help but feel comforted by this. These people...they could be dying and they wouldn't care. They would just continue to fucking dance until they drop dead. I felt somewhat comforted in the shallowness. Of course the first few times, when I arrived on my bike, I was laughed at. After that, I would just take a cab there instead. People accepted me...unlike at school. I figured maybe because they were older than my own peer group. They did the drugs and alcohol...but I wouldn't let it bother me...I would just make fun of them if they did anything retarded.
The fact that I was small 14 year old just reaching about 5'1'' and have grown very little facial hair, didn't seem to bother them. They seemed to like my cynical remarks. Then again, they do go to Goth clubs. Pretty soon, I was invited to parties on the weekend. And it's a good thing my parents are so out of it because they never seemed to really care. Once I got a tongue-lashing but that was it.
The oddest party had to be the one that was on Halloween. This one was sacrilegiously held in an abandoned church. It seemed to have a vampire theme to it. There was this guy Jonathan there who was blood letting on a couple of girls. I wouldn't even look at the two guys nearby...ewe...*shiver*. It was here I met Kevin and Ralph...this became yet a second turning point in my life.
Kevin and Ralph were punk looking sorts. They asked me why was one so young here. I replied cynically, "Age is just a state of mind." Odd smiles formed on their lips. They just answer, "Indeed it is..." Afterwards, they asked if I wanted to have some fun. I said of course. They picked me up by my collar and threw me in the back seat of their convertible. That was a blast! They were going 90 on the highway! We somehow ended up at a frat house which they crashed dragging me in. All around me...stupid idiotic people...all drunk...all smoking pot...and all wondering who brought the fucking kid in. I started to shake angrily and growl. Kevin and Ralph asked, "You have an issue, Aaron?" I said yes I did...they asked, "Is it the people." I said it was. Before I knew it, they had a drunken frat kid in front of me and asked me to punch away. Idiot frat kid just made remarks about my age....and I am not sure what happened. I couldn't take it anymore! I was sick of people like frat boy...on Monday he would be all sober and go to some pre-law class or something but act like a complete idiot on weekends....people probably praise him too...when all he was an asshole, son-of-a-bitch, drunk! RED. Red flashed before my eyes and the next thing I knew, I was punching the guy with Kevin and Ralph cheering me on. All the karate I learned up to purple belt...I was using against the drunk. Once I started...I realize I couldn't stop. My mind kept on making connections on why this complete stranger deserved to be beat up. He was intolerant of age...a drunk...a pot head. He is probably a pre-law student and will grow up into a scummy lawyer. It was at the moment I took a beer bottle to the guys head, Kevin and Ralph pulled me away and took me back to the car. My heart was pounding as it almost felt like a great release. My fists hurt, but that didn't matter. It was just a great release!
However, I would pay for it the next morning for my paper route. I felt rather sore and I woke up late. And to top that off...my stupid bike broke. However, as a godsend, I had a letter from Ralph and Kevin when I got back. It told me I could get better work. So I called the number. The lady knew so much about me, which I felt I should have accepted. That evening, some fuck in a suit stopped by and handed me a folder of places I needed to pick up money to and deliver packages. Can anyone say Godfather? I came to the conclusion that Kevin and Ralph must work for the mafia at that point. I needed some excitement...and it would help to have the mafia on your side if my parents started to act like jerkoffs. Besides...I would get $750 a week plus extras. I would be a fool not to take it.
This job was pretty self-explanatory...however, once I caught one of the clients making a deal. He gave me a bunch of shit so I called Ralph. Ralph told me to subdue him..., which I did. That was dealt with thanks to me. Then Ralph and I ran an errand and ran over a cat, which squirted blood all over me. I had to get new boots because of it.
In late November...a month and a half after I started my new job, I was invited to a party near a hidden cemetery. Once again...I thought Goth sorts. There was a live concert there...not bad at all. Kevin and Ralph offered me a drink...and for once it wasn't beer. It was a strange tasting V8 juice. However, they once agreed that alcohol ruins your mind. I swear, I feel more at home with them then with Linda and Stephan.
After some moshing, Ralph and Kevin approached me again asking if I wanted to have fun. I said of course I did. They once again brought me to three people; a 40 year old man, a 20 year old guy, and a 18 year old woman. They asked, "Which one would you have more fun with?" I smirked thinking if they were going to set me up...after all...the Goth culture is very bisexual at times. However, I selected the woman. She was actually pretty hot...until Ralph threw knives to us saying fight to the death. This little bitch then proceeded to say derogatory comments about my age and my size. I proceed to kick her sorry little ass...once again...I couldn't control myself...I didn't stop beating on her until she was pretty much dead.
When I came to the realization that I killed her, I suddenly felt like I was lifted off the ground...intense pain on my neck...then...just...ecstasy...it was probably the best I felt throughout my whole life...better then when I held my little sister for the first time...better than when I got my purple belt...just the greatest feeling...then suddenly...I was in a completely calm blackness. I thought I was dead for moment. I wanted to stay that way...nothing to worry about...no hate for my life...This calm...was interrupted by voices saying, "I can't believe a fucking child could do that." Whatever it was, it made me angry...a sort of fury I never felt before. The beast had awakened. Not only was this beast angry...but the beast was thirsty. When my senses refocused, a red liquid was poured all over me which I found myself just lapping up like a puppy...not even comprehending what exactly this red liquid was...much like how a newborn infant sucks on everything not even caring...well I technically am a newborn. When the beast once again subsided, questions ran through my brain. What just happened? Is this red substance...? What's going on? What was that calmness? What was that ecstasy? However, before I can say anything, Ralph just replies, "Aaron...I don't think you are going home for a while..." My ears perk. What now? Were they going to kill me...molest me...? Who cares? I'm not going home. I manage to ask, "What happened?"
Ralph just answers, "You are coming with us...we have many things to discuss..."
My small bloody hand is found in Kevin's larger one as he booms out, "Welcome to the clan, brother."
by oronoda
Note: This story is just an account through my Vampire the Masquerade character in a chroncile that I played in. I liked it very much. My character, who started out as mortal, is a Brujah. Anyway...on with the story.
Chapter One: I hate angst
I hate to sound like a fucking Holden Caulfeild but I can't help but admit that I relate to that angsty loser even if a tiny bit. Wait, no, Caulfeild's life is in no way worse than my life. However, who is to judge who's life is worse than another? I am so sick of these teenagers who whine about how bad their life is. Boo hoo...your mother grounded you for the weekend. Boo hoo...you couldn't get your fucking CD. To me, that is all what Holden Caulfeild is. He's just a whiner who has no idea that his life could be so much worse. He comes from a rather rich family and goes to a private school. His parents at least cared about him for crying out loud. He was living the fucking American dream.
Let me ask this...did dear old Holden have to basically take care of himself since he was 8 years old? Sure...he had to deal with the sudden loss of a brother. However, did he have to be thrust away by someone he cared about not once but twice? Sure, his parents were clueless...but did their cluelessness cause physical and mental anguish to others? Holden Caulfeild had nothing to complain about.
I hate when people complain about their problems...maybe that's why I never do. To most people at school, I am the quiet smart one in the back of the classroom. To those who I delivered papers to, I was just the reliable child. I seem to be just the quiet shy kid that usually never speaks unless spoken to. This was me for a long time. I seemed normal and well adjusted. However, inside...I am just screaming in a room of breakable objects. Occassionally between my screams, something is thrown and something shatters. I was just a series of facades...perhaps its hereditory.
My problems just got bottled up. It isn't something healthy, I'll admit that. I hate angst...I hate people who use it as a device to get attention...which is just used constantly in today's youth culture. I hated angst so much I never wanted to participate to the lows of my whiny peer group. However, bottling it up does nothing. All it does is delay the inevidable. I was due for a fall...
What exactly are the contents of this bottle? Too much...so much pain and betrayal and hatred. And all this started to brew from basically the moment I was concieved. My mother...stupid Linda Dwyer was the sort of woman that never grew up. I refuse to call Linda by the word of mother, that bitch. She threw herself into a persuit to shallow pleasures such as sex and drugs and alcohol and just plain permiscuity. Linda was known for being easy and she slept with many. So who my real father is anyone's guess. My grandmother, Moira, lost track of Linda. Grandma was the sort of person who allowed her daughter to make her own mistakes and will guide when necessary. I think deep down, she really did regret how she raised her daughter. When my grandmother came across Linda clearly pregnant, she forced her daughter into rehab. She stayed until she gave birth to me on March 1st. I was underweight and doctors pretty much assumed I would always be small and could have heart problems later in life(*snicker*). A couple weeks later, she took off again. Grandma gained custody of me and pretty much kept the door open for her daughter but wouldn't search for her anymore. There was only so much she could do. This is all what my grandma would say to me when I was 13...only a few months before she died. I demanded the truth out of her. Its not like it was all a surprise...I knew most of it anyway. Waterville is a town in Maine...small enough for rumors to circulate. However, I deserved to know the truth.
8 years with my grandma were bittersweet. I love my grandma more than anything. However, I remember the whispers. I've heard the word bastard used a few times...and crackwhore. I never knew my mother in person...but I certainly heard enough about her. I remember the looks of pity...those were actually the first things that would get me angry. It isn't pleasent to hear when you are 5 years old, "Oh, Moira, what a cute little redhead...he's Linda's right? Did the drugs affect his height? He is awfully small...looks more like a toddler than a 5 year old!" Of course, adults are stupid to think that children can't understand what you are saying...but they can.
I never liked school much. I was just the small kid everyone liked to pick on. Never really had any friends. After an incident on the playground in second grade involving a few 4th graders, I came home with a black eye very upset...and angry...that I couldn't over power them. Grandma...the sweetheart she is, stuck me in karate lessons at that point. This toned my muscles and gave me something else to do besides school. My teacher said that generally martial artists rely on flexibility rather than blunt strength. Therefore, I was perfectly built for it.
However, my life all changed one day when I was simply eating dinner with Grandma when I was 8 years old. Linda came knocking at the door with that son of a bitch Stephan...her new husband at the time. This is the first time I ever saw the crackwhore in my whole life. You couldn't imagine how confused I was. This thin skeletal woman reaching out to me...saying I was her mother. I was numb and didn't say anything...not like that is anything new...She wanted to take me back...grandma didn't want me to be taken with her. Linda tried to convince Grandma that she had changed and she had a positive influence in her life; a fucking psychologist named Stephan Peterson. Apparently, they had married. Anyway, Grandma didn't believe it. But the stupid psychologist used his large fortune to buy this fancy lawyer who basically handed custody of me to my fucking mother.
My first day arriving, the shrink's house looks to be the fucking American wet dream. It had the white picket fence and the little garden. Every morning Shrink would go to work in town and Linda would go to her waitress job. This was all a cover...just like everything else in my life. However, I remember quite a few times Linda and Stephan shooting up together in their room...or drinking excessively. Their relationship was clearly a marriage of convenience. Linda had the connections and Stephan had the money. Otherwise, they would argue...and sometimes it would turn physical. I spent most of the time hiding in my room until I was about 10 years old and just jumped on my bike and fucking bolted away for a couple miles. Only did a few times did they turn violent on me. Once was when I was about 9...and I discovered Linda making crack in the basement. I threatened to call the police...Stephan backhanded me and I learned to keep quiet. The second was when Stephan was yelling at my little sister, Lydia. I said to him at least she isn't a crackwhore like her mom! That was another backhand. Not bad from what I heard...but it was more reason why I wouldn't say much.
Ah yes...Lydia...my little half-sister. She was born when I was 8. Linda was already pregnant when she married the shrink. I bet Lydia isn't his either. Lydia is the only reason why I stayed in that hellhole. If I ever felt like the house would turn into one of those nights in which Linda and Stephan wouldn't stop fighting, I would make sure she was far away from the house.
I guess my inner angst has caused me to become an avid reader...especially of horror and fantasy genres...the more morbid the better. I think the reason was because there was so much pain...and anger in my life, I found an outlet in reading horror and karate.
Also, my tendency to escape would sometimes be quite literal. My typical day would go something like this. I would wake up about 4:30, shower, and run my morning paper route. I had that job since I was 12. I needed some sort of responsibility. I needed money that wasn't made by analyze pathetic teens or making crack deals. I would go to school...only thing it was good for...to keep me away from home. I would do my homework out of boredom after school in the library, not that I needed...but I did get straight A's...but who cares? Then, I would do my job at about five. After that, consisted of me either keeping Lydia away from home, or just riding my bike around town. I wouldn't come in until passed 2...in which my guardians would be wasted anyway or just plain sleeping.
My bottled up temperament caused me to want to fly...fly away from it all. I would ride my bike further away from home...miles and miles. All that would race through my mind was how much I hated my life...hated the world...I hated alcohol...I hated drugs...I hated school...I hated how some people had it so easy...I hated complainers...I hated posers...I hated people who lied to themselves...and most of all...I hated the fact that I was so young that I was tied to my guardians...I hated how I was so powerless to stop it all...all that made me so angry. However, just by looking at me, you couldn't notice such a thing. I covered it rather well...of course...this made me just another liar. That also made me angry.
I could usually keep stable because of two factors; my grandma and my sister. However, at the beginning of my freshman year, grandma's health was fading and she soon passed away at the end of September. I was basically about to fall. I could take the world if grandma was there...even if I could only see her every other weekend. But she was dead...she was basically rotting in the ground...that sweet grandma body and that sweet grandma smile being eaten out by maggots and other vermin. There is no spirit...no God...you die...you're dead. However, as much as there was nothing after death, I wanted so very much to die...to get away from the pain...to perhaps be with grandma...even if just in commonality.
It was basically a few day after grandma died that I just hopped on my bike and rode and rode until I somehow made it to Portland. That was a shock. It was late at night so the club scene was hopping. I found myself with the shallow underlings of the night world. However, as much as I can't stand stupid idiotic people, I couldn't help but feel comforted by this. These people...they could be dying and they wouldn't care. They would just continue to fucking dance until they drop dead. I felt somewhat comforted in the shallowness. Of course the first few times, when I arrived on my bike, I was laughed at. After that, I would just take a cab there instead. People accepted me...unlike at school. I figured maybe because they were older than my own peer group. They did the drugs and alcohol...but I wouldn't let it bother me...I would just make fun of them if they did anything retarded.
The fact that I was small 14 year old just reaching about 5'1'' and have grown very little facial hair, didn't seem to bother them. They seemed to like my cynical remarks. Then again, they do go to Goth clubs. Pretty soon, I was invited to parties on the weekend. And it's a good thing my parents are so out of it because they never seemed to really care. Once I got a tongue-lashing but that was it.
The oddest party had to be the one that was on Halloween. This one was sacrilegiously held in an abandoned church. It seemed to have a vampire theme to it. There was this guy Jonathan there who was blood letting on a couple of girls. I wouldn't even look at the two guys nearby...ewe...*shiver*. It was here I met Kevin and Ralph...this became yet a second turning point in my life.
Kevin and Ralph were punk looking sorts. They asked me why was one so young here. I replied cynically, "Age is just a state of mind." Odd smiles formed on their lips. They just answer, "Indeed it is..." Afterwards, they asked if I wanted to have some fun. I said of course. They picked me up by my collar and threw me in the back seat of their convertible. That was a blast! They were going 90 on the highway! We somehow ended up at a frat house which they crashed dragging me in. All around me...stupid idiotic people...all drunk...all smoking pot...and all wondering who brought the fucking kid in. I started to shake angrily and growl. Kevin and Ralph asked, "You have an issue, Aaron?" I said yes I did...they asked, "Is it the people." I said it was. Before I knew it, they had a drunken frat kid in front of me and asked me to punch away. Idiot frat kid just made remarks about my age....and I am not sure what happened. I couldn't take it anymore! I was sick of people like frat boy...on Monday he would be all sober and go to some pre-law class or something but act like a complete idiot on weekends....people probably praise him too...when all he was an asshole, son-of-a-bitch, drunk! RED. Red flashed before my eyes and the next thing I knew, I was punching the guy with Kevin and Ralph cheering me on. All the karate I learned up to purple belt...I was using against the drunk. Once I started...I realize I couldn't stop. My mind kept on making connections on why this complete stranger deserved to be beat up. He was intolerant of age...a drunk...a pot head. He is probably a pre-law student and will grow up into a scummy lawyer. It was at the moment I took a beer bottle to the guys head, Kevin and Ralph pulled me away and took me back to the car. My heart was pounding as it almost felt like a great release. My fists hurt, but that didn't matter. It was just a great release!
However, I would pay for it the next morning for my paper route. I felt rather sore and I woke up late. And to top that off...my stupid bike broke. However, as a godsend, I had a letter from Ralph and Kevin when I got back. It told me I could get better work. So I called the number. The lady knew so much about me, which I felt I should have accepted. That evening, some fuck in a suit stopped by and handed me a folder of places I needed to pick up money to and deliver packages. Can anyone say Godfather? I came to the conclusion that Kevin and Ralph must work for the mafia at that point. I needed some excitement...and it would help to have the mafia on your side if my parents started to act like jerkoffs. Besides...I would get $750 a week plus extras. I would be a fool not to take it.
This job was pretty self-explanatory...however, once I caught one of the clients making a deal. He gave me a bunch of shit so I called Ralph. Ralph told me to subdue him..., which I did. That was dealt with thanks to me. Then Ralph and I ran an errand and ran over a cat, which squirted blood all over me. I had to get new boots because of it.
In late November...a month and a half after I started my new job, I was invited to a party near a hidden cemetery. Once again...I thought Goth sorts. There was a live concert there...not bad at all. Kevin and Ralph offered me a drink...and for once it wasn't beer. It was a strange tasting V8 juice. However, they once agreed that alcohol ruins your mind. I swear, I feel more at home with them then with Linda and Stephan.
After some moshing, Ralph and Kevin approached me again asking if I wanted to have fun. I said of course I did. They once again brought me to three people; a 40 year old man, a 20 year old guy, and a 18 year old woman. They asked, "Which one would you have more fun with?" I smirked thinking if they were going to set me up...after all...the Goth culture is very bisexual at times. However, I selected the woman. She was actually pretty hot...until Ralph threw knives to us saying fight to the death. This little bitch then proceeded to say derogatory comments about my age and my size. I proceed to kick her sorry little ass...once again...I couldn't control myself...I didn't stop beating on her until she was pretty much dead.
When I came to the realization that I killed her, I suddenly felt like I was lifted off the ground...intense pain on my neck...then...just...ecstasy...it was probably the best I felt throughout my whole life...better then when I held my little sister for the first time...better than when I got my purple belt...just the greatest feeling...then suddenly...I was in a completely calm blackness. I thought I was dead for moment. I wanted to stay that way...nothing to worry about...no hate for my life...This calm...was interrupted by voices saying, "I can't believe a fucking child could do that." Whatever it was, it made me angry...a sort of fury I never felt before. The beast had awakened. Not only was this beast angry...but the beast was thirsty. When my senses refocused, a red liquid was poured all over me which I found myself just lapping up like a puppy...not even comprehending what exactly this red liquid was...much like how a newborn infant sucks on everything not even caring...well I technically am a newborn. When the beast once again subsided, questions ran through my brain. What just happened? Is this red substance...? What's going on? What was that calmness? What was that ecstasy? However, before I can say anything, Ralph just replies, "Aaron...I don't think you are going home for a while..." My ears perk. What now? Were they going to kill me...molest me...? Who cares? I'm not going home. I manage to ask, "What happened?"
Ralph just answers, "You are coming with us...we have many things to discuss..."
My small bloody hand is found in Kevin's larger one as he booms out, "Welcome to the clan, brother."