The Midnight ***er
Chronicles Of The Living
A caressing summer breeze interlaced with shy cracking sounds coming from the flaming papers, kept the combustion within a metal trash can alive. The demure moon, embracing a myriad of the shimmering stars, embracing its zeal, purposely and haughtily embraced its guardian role - Sentry of the night sky.
At nearly 2:00 AM, the suburb of Las Vegas was asleep; masking its glamorous yet pompous behavior with its genetically perfect, pious and flawless citizens; with its seemingly neverending queues of identical family houses; hiding its sham from the sinful center of Las Vegas. Nevertheless, the two hearts of the gambling paradise built on the stints of desert sand, still beat the same…
Harrowing trees were dancing in the breeze, dabbing the street lights with their welcoming branches. Grains of sand, traveling through the air and dry leaves jiving to the rhythm of their own rustling sound caused by the gentle puffs of the wind, formed a summer mist.
A crackling sound of paper, resisting to flames, sounded more like clicking castanets. The face of a boy curled up on a freshly mowed lawn was reflecting in the flames. Transparent drops of sweat reposing on his forehead indicated a high, still increasing degree of heat.
His aquamarine eyes, blond shaggy hair, looking sleek; illuminated by the flames, and cheeks tinged with a shade of red unveiled his perfect yet troubled life. A glimpse of his glowing eye, a glimpse to his soul.
With no glimmer of remorse, his blood stained fingers were ripping the white pages of his diary and tossing them in fire. His serene yet staid looking eyes wreathed in secluded thoughts were sifting the fire; blackened smithereens of paper floating in the air. The soot was slumbering on his white T-shirt, smearing the blood stains black. The peaceful surroundings lapsing into sleep was girdled with swaying trees, sand and the swaggering moon.
Old yet recognizable police vehicle on patrol, slouching down the sparse street, let the monochrome windows hide 2 scintillating cops.
The car paused in its sluggish dance. Smartly dressed up man, seething with curiosity, sniggered as he got out of the vehicle; old vehicle lacking in sparkle. Through the glaring flames of fire, the detective’s eyes spotted a baseball bat reposing on the grass; next to the boy. Gliding toward him, detective Malone pointed a flashlight at his glistening face; pointing at his surly appearance, glutted with problems.
“What are you doing, son?” Malone asked sniggering; feeling the globules of sweat trickle down his face.
“Detective Malone”, he continued, letting a polished six-pointed star badge pinned to his shirt pocket speak more on his behalf.
“Setting my life on fire”, the boy retorted, flunking yet another page in the garbage can.
Dry leaves scattered on the grass began to crackle under the officer’s feet as his vigorous silhouette emerged from the car. A whiff of smoke invaded his nostrils. His wary eyes, a vigil role and muscular body wrapped up in light brown police uniform ambled to Malone and the boy.
“Is that blood on your socks?” Malone asked swerving, copping out hot officer’s breaths down his neck.
The boy persisted in sifting the flames; thoughtfully cramming the pages into the trash can. The glints of Malone’s flashlight, colliding with bright sparks of the fire, were dabbing the boy’s freckled skin. The sun and sultry summer have played with him. He cooped up his thoughts inside, absently staring at Malone; staring through him.
“I don’t know”, he retorted, willing to appease Malone’s appetite for information.
The boy clutched an inhaler in his shallow pocket, stifling an asthma seizure. Malone’s gallant yet austere manners were blown in the wind as his eagerness to cop a snippet of information took over.
“Where are your parents, kiddo?” He asked while his aroused suspicion was boiling inside.
As the boy’s sheer confusion seemed to arise, he tossed the last page in the fire saying:
“Shaggin’ in Cabo!”
His snubbing behavior, partially caused by the manners of the two ignorant, merely trite cops, was just a cover up to his inner snivel. Supposedly secret laughter that seeped through was deafened by Malone’s voice:
“I want you to take off your socks, get up and come with us”.
An auburn tuft of hair smudged with a blood spatter was reposing on the baseball bat. Bloody remains of a felony were shimmering under the beams of Malone’s flashlight. Grime and grass began to pile up under the boy’s nails as his sooty fingers kept scraping the lawn, grasping and squashing the very same wisp of grass.
Malone’s left bushy eyebrow transformed into a curved line as the officer returned from the boy’s house with no valid information.
“You have to come with us, you understand that?” Malone said, amiably looking at the boy.
A smirk on the detective’s face and 2 dimples in the cheeks masked his arising concern for that 16 year old.
“Blood, the stained outfit and a baseball bat don’t look like perfect friends to hang out with”, he continued arduously bagging the bloody objects.
Walking slowly and lazily, surrounded by two sprightly cops, his bare feet were making a swishing sound, faltering through the grass. The wane moon brightened up a path to the vehicle. The boy’s bashful mask fell off as he punched Malone in the face. A white handkerchief crammed into Malone’s nose stifled blood from dripping.
Sitting on the back seat of the police car with his hands cuffed on the back, the boy was rubbing his left cheek against the shoulder, letting his white T-shirt soak up the blood from the abrasions. A little cut on his lip and scrapes decorating his cheek and chin were smudged with dirt from the sidewalk, since the officer must have restrained his belligerent behavior by pushing him on the ground.
The moonlight was sprinkling the boy’s face with glitter; reflecting in his icy eyes. Its bright light let the car dance to a slow rhythm of the asleep suburb. Beams of a street light embraced the inhaler that was peacefully reposing on the sidewalk; and two aquamarine eyes that were staring out of the police car.
At nearly 2:00 AM, the suburb of Las Vegas was asleep; masking its glamorous yet pompous behavior with its genetically perfect, pious and flawless citizens; with its seemingly neverending queues of identical family houses; hiding its sham from the sinful center of Las Vegas. Nevertheless, the two hearts of the gambling paradise built on the stints of desert sand, still beat the same…
Harrowing trees were dancing in the breeze, dabbing the street lights with their welcoming branches. Grains of sand, traveling through the air and dry leaves jiving to the rhythm of their own rustling sound caused by the gentle puffs of the wind, formed a summer mist.
A crackling sound of paper, resisting to flames, sounded more like clicking castanets. The face of a boy curled up on a freshly mowed lawn was reflecting in the flames. Transparent drops of sweat reposing on his forehead indicated a high, still increasing degree of heat.
His aquamarine eyes, blond shaggy hair, looking sleek; illuminated by the flames, and cheeks tinged with a shade of red unveiled his perfect yet troubled life. A glimpse of his glowing eye, a glimpse to his soul.
With no glimmer of remorse, his blood stained fingers were ripping the white pages of his diary and tossing them in fire. His serene yet staid looking eyes wreathed in secluded thoughts were sifting the fire; blackened smithereens of paper floating in the air. The soot was slumbering on his white T-shirt, smearing the blood stains black. The peaceful surroundings lapsing into sleep was girdled with swaying trees, sand and the swaggering moon.
Old yet recognizable police vehicle on patrol, slouching down the sparse street, let the monochrome windows hide 2 scintillating cops.
The car paused in its sluggish dance. Smartly dressed up man, seething with curiosity, sniggered as he got out of the vehicle; old vehicle lacking in sparkle. Through the glaring flames of fire, the detective’s eyes spotted a baseball bat reposing on the grass; next to the boy. Gliding toward him, detective Malone pointed a flashlight at his glistening face; pointing at his surly appearance, glutted with problems.
“What are you doing, son?” Malone asked sniggering; feeling the globules of sweat trickle down his face.
“Detective Malone”, he continued, letting a polished six-pointed star badge pinned to his shirt pocket speak more on his behalf.
“Setting my life on fire”, the boy retorted, flunking yet another page in the garbage can.
Dry leaves scattered on the grass began to crackle under the officer’s feet as his vigorous silhouette emerged from the car. A whiff of smoke invaded his nostrils. His wary eyes, a vigil role and muscular body wrapped up in light brown police uniform ambled to Malone and the boy.
“Is that blood on your socks?” Malone asked swerving, copping out hot officer’s breaths down his neck.
The boy persisted in sifting the flames; thoughtfully cramming the pages into the trash can. The glints of Malone’s flashlight, colliding with bright sparks of the fire, were dabbing the boy’s freckled skin. The sun and sultry summer have played with him. He cooped up his thoughts inside, absently staring at Malone; staring through him.
“I don’t know”, he retorted, willing to appease Malone’s appetite for information.
The boy clutched an inhaler in his shallow pocket, stifling an asthma seizure. Malone’s gallant yet austere manners were blown in the wind as his eagerness to cop a snippet of information took over.
“Where are your parents, kiddo?” He asked while his aroused suspicion was boiling inside.
As the boy’s sheer confusion seemed to arise, he tossed the last page in the fire saying:
“Shaggin’ in Cabo!”
His snubbing behavior, partially caused by the manners of the two ignorant, merely trite cops, was just a cover up to his inner snivel. Supposedly secret laughter that seeped through was deafened by Malone’s voice:
“I want you to take off your socks, get up and come with us”.
An auburn tuft of hair smudged with a blood spatter was reposing on the baseball bat. Bloody remains of a felony were shimmering under the beams of Malone’s flashlight. Grime and grass began to pile up under the boy’s nails as his sooty fingers kept scraping the lawn, grasping and squashing the very same wisp of grass.
Malone’s left bushy eyebrow transformed into a curved line as the officer returned from the boy’s house with no valid information.
“You have to come with us, you understand that?” Malone said, amiably looking at the boy.
A smirk on the detective’s face and 2 dimples in the cheeks masked his arising concern for that 16 year old.
“Blood, the stained outfit and a baseball bat don’t look like perfect friends to hang out with”, he continued arduously bagging the bloody objects.
Walking slowly and lazily, surrounded by two sprightly cops, his bare feet were making a swishing sound, faltering through the grass. The wane moon brightened up a path to the vehicle. The boy’s bashful mask fell off as he punched Malone in the face. A white handkerchief crammed into Malone’s nose stifled blood from dripping.
Sitting on the back seat of the police car with his hands cuffed on the back, the boy was rubbing his left cheek against the shoulder, letting his white T-shirt soak up the blood from the abrasions. A little cut on his lip and scrapes decorating his cheek and chin were smudged with dirt from the sidewalk, since the officer must have restrained his belligerent behavior by pushing him on the ground.
The moonlight was sprinkling the boy’s face with glitter; reflecting in his icy eyes. Its bright light let the car dance to a slow rhythm of the asleep suburb. Beams of a street light embraced the inhaler that was peacefully reposing on the sidewalk; and two aquamarine eyes that were staring out of the police car.