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Tribal Disease

Novel By: Haku Belmont

Peter, a new college student, never really has any "fun". One day, out of nowhere, his roommate, Timothy, calls and asks if he can make it to the famously known Game Arcade. Peter agrees, but then a call wakes him up, and makes him aware of a deadly disease that is going around... View table of contents...


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Submitted:Nov 12, 2006    Reads: 158    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   

Peter locked the front door of his small dorm room in the Princeton College in Princeton. He removed his keys from the lock, and walked down the hallway, subconsciously counting the golden numbers that were neatly nailed to the white doors. ����������

� He had reached the elevator when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his tight pocket and stared at the screen. It was his mom calling, probably to see if he was okay. She did almost once a morning. ��������

��� Peter decided to ignore the call, and he tapped the down key on the wall. The elevator was on his floor, so the doors opened instantly, making a 'ding' to signal that it was okay to enter. ����������

�� Once he had made it to the ground floor, he got out and checked his schedule with the receptionist. He had no classes until two that afternoon; it was ten o'clock then, so he decided to take a small break for a while, have lunch, and make it back. On his way out the door, his phone rang again, and with the same routine, he dug the phone out of his tight pocket, and saw it was his mom again. This time he answered.

�"Hi, mom."

"Hello, Peter!" she said happily. "How's college been going?"

"I dunno," Peter answered, sighing. "I'm bored most of the time."

"Do you have any roommates?"

�"Uh, yeah," he thought for a few seconds, leaving a pause. "one. His name's Timothy. He's real random,"

"Well, great!"

"Yeah, mom, I gotta go; I have some classes to get to." he lied.

"Oh, great! What class are you going to?"

"N-natural sciences." he stuttered.

"Great! Well, I wont continue to stall you… have a great day, Peter!"

"Thanks, mum,"�����������

� Peter walked out off the staircase and up to his small Toyota Corolla that sat, parked nearby Timothy's Nissan 350 Z. He unlocked his clunky Corolla, and relaxed his neck to allow his tall body to sit in the dusty, brown seat. Starting the engine twice (for the first time it had turned over), he pulled out, checking his watch. It had taken him five minutes for the call and two minutes to make it into his car for a grand total of 10:07 AM. Peter sighed again, and set his car into drive. ���������

�� At the exit of the parking lot, he changed his gear to one and looked both ways. He was bored waiting for the highway to cool down. He switched on the plastic radio. One of his favorites was halfway through once he made it out of the parking lot. He nodded his head to the music, and looked both ways before he illegally ran the red light on Noodle Avenue, the least used street he knew of. ����

������� He was headed to the Arcade to catch himself a couple games before he had to make it to lunch and then back to school. He hadn't been to the arcade himself since he was ten. He was 18. Eight years, it had been. Almost, eight. �������

���� He pulled into the Gam� Turtle Arcade parking lot, got out of his car, and walked hastily towards the two tinted doors. �����������

�Yet again, he checked his watch before he pulled open the light doors to the arcade, and then marched in, halfway determined to defeat Red Alert III. ��������

��� He stuck a dollar into the slot, and almost instantly, twenty coins poured out of the machine and into the tray. Peter dug them out with his hand, and stuck ten of them into his pocket. He grunted when he saw another person playing his game; but almost instantly, they lost, for Red Alert III was the toughest game in the arcade.�����������

�The man left, and Peter slid up to the stand. He entered two Gam� Coins, and then pulled the gun from its holster.������������

� He barely had time to finish lunch before he had to arrive back at the school. Hurriedly, Peter picked up his soda can and dodged out of the building. He got in his car, and just before he pulled from the parking lot, his phone rang again. It was Timothy.

"Hey," Peter said, letting his Corolla roll out into the street before hitting the gas.

Timothy let a short pause go.

"Hey, dude, Peter," he said. That was always how he started. "You wanna go to the Gam�?"

Peter sighed.

"Sorry, dude." he stopped at a traffic light. "I gotta get back to class at two fifteen. Anyway, I was there already."

"When?" Timothy asked, obviously eating something.

�"I basically just pulled out of the driveway. I just had ten minutes to stop at Mickey-D's."

"Oh, damn!" Timothy said. "Well, hey, you know! I got it! I'll meet ya there after classes! What time 'cha get out?"

Peter turned the car into the college parking lot.

"In half an hour. Then, I have to go to the university… 'gotta finish a paper… mmmph," he mumbled to himself. "I'd say in two hours. Meet me there in… at four thirty. I'll grab us a burger. My treat."

"Tight! See ya!" Timothy said as Peter got out of his car and jogged back to class. ����������� ��������

���� The time was finally there, and yet again, for the billionth time in his life, Peter sighed, as he got back into his car and was off to see Timothy.����������� When he pulled into the Gam� Arcade parking lot, Peter didn't spot Timothy's car. He checked the dim, green-lit clock beside his dashboard and above his radio. It was four ten, so Peter stopped his car, and looked around. Suddenly, he remembered he needed burgers. �����������

�He backed out, and drove to the Mc'Donald's up the street from the arcade. He picked up two large cheeseburgers, two medium fries (which he got enlarged to a large size fries with the special meal), and two Mountain Dews. Then, with about ten minutes left, Peter parked his car, and waited.����������

� After eating half of his fries, Peter noticed that Timothy was ten minutes late. Rather unlike him. He called Timothy's cell phone. No answer. He called the dorm-room. No answer. He was rather scared, now, for Peter was a nervous, quick lad.����������� �����������

�He pulled, yet again, out of the parking lot, and on his way back to the college, his phone rang. Peter answered.


"Hello," said a deep, man-like voice. "is this… Peter Jo�que?"

"Yes, who's… who's speaking?"

"This is the JJK Medical Hospital. We're afraid your friend… Timothy Mamahnas, is dying."�


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