Status: finished being typed. just needs to be updated! ^^
No One Cares About What Happens to Teenage Killers
Quint
My eyes fly open. I know that dream and that’s not what happens. I’ve lived that dream and that’s not how it ends.
I look at the clock. 4:12 a.m. BANG! My head snaps around and I stare at the door.
I live in a one room apartment that’s just the right size for me and whenever Quint stays over. I’m am emancipated minor because of some family differences.
What I cant do for myself Quint and his family do for me. I each over and wrap my fingers around the Bomber ZR9: High Tech Pocket Pistol. I slip out of bed and walk towards the door. It doesn’t have one of those holes so I open the door and point my gun out.
“A-azy, don’t shoot. Its me “I look out and see Quint standing there. He’s got blood on his hands face and shirt.
“Quint! What happened?”
“Nothing happened Az, just let me in” I step aside and he heads for my bed and collapses.
“What happened Quint?” I pad over to him with the first aid and a wet washcloth and start cleaning,
“Nothing” he says again. I lift his hands and clean his fingers one by one.
“Quinton Michael Jones” he looks at me. He knows I’m serious “What the hell happened” he opens his mouth “And if you say nothing again I’ll call pop.”
He closes his eyes as I clean the sharp gash above his eyebrow. “If you call my dad I’ll tell him you pointed you gun at me” he retorts.
“ I’m sorry about that. I had the dream again and this time it ended with two gunshots that happened to be you at quarter after four in the morning without even calling!” I explain.
“Azy, I’m so sorry” he sits up gently and pulls me to him. “GAH! Geez, I think he got my ribs.”
“Quint who are you talking about? Who did this to you?”
I look at the clock. 4:12 a.m. BANG! My head snaps around and I stare at the door.
I live in a one room apartment that’s just the right size for me and whenever Quint stays over. I’m am emancipated minor because of some family differences.
What I cant do for myself Quint and his family do for me. I each over and wrap my fingers around the Bomber ZR9: High Tech Pocket Pistol. I slip out of bed and walk towards the door. It doesn’t have one of those holes so I open the door and point my gun out.
“A-azy, don’t shoot. Its me “I look out and see Quint standing there. He’s got blood on his hands face and shirt.
“Quint! What happened?”
“Nothing happened Az, just let me in” I step aside and he heads for my bed and collapses.
“What happened Quint?” I pad over to him with the first aid and a wet washcloth and start cleaning,
“Nothing” he says again. I lift his hands and clean his fingers one by one.
“Quinton Michael Jones” he looks at me. He knows I’m serious “What the hell happened” he opens his mouth “And if you say nothing again I’ll call pop.”
He closes his eyes as I clean the sharp gash above his eyebrow. “If you call my dad I’ll tell him you pointed you gun at me” he retorts.
“ I’m sorry about that. I had the dream again and this time it ended with two gunshots that happened to be you at quarter after four in the morning without even calling!” I explain.
“Azy, I’m so sorry” he sits up gently and pulls me to him. “GAH! Geez, I think he got my ribs.”
“Quint who are you talking about? Who did this to you?”
♠ ♠ ♠
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