They Were All Good Kids

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic


The second and a half between the man's holler and the car's alarm was a visual symphony in slow motion. The man dove into bushes screaming and with his hands covering his head as the initial plume
of white dust clouded the proch. Envelopes and papers flew through the air. The United States Postal Service was momentarily exploited and raped to the fullest extent. There was a distant shriek
from within one of the neighboring houses. Credit card bills. Water bills. Electric bills. Coupons. Delinquency letters. Everywhere. Who's? Why? It didn’t matter.

Chapter 5 (v.1) - Nice Socks

Submitted: August 14, 2019

Reads: 114

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Submitted: August 14, 2019

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Mark’s head popped up above the fence line, took an investigating gaze across the neighborhood, then disappeared.

 

Marty’s head popped up above the fence line, took an investigating gaze across the neighborhood, then disappeared.

 

The twins crouched in the dark on the industrial side of a fence that separated a shipyard from a high end residential gated community. They were dressed from head to toe in camouflage including their floppy flat brimmed hats.

 

“7th house,” Mark said.

 

“On the left.” Marty finished.

 

“I’ll bomb the mailbox,” Mark said cracking his fingers and neck.

 

“I’ll bomb the car,” Marty added taking a swig from a thermos.

 

“Rich fucks-,” Mark said opening up his back pack.

 

“Get fucked!” Marty finished, as he started unbuttoning his pants.

Mark shuffled through his bag checking off a mental checklist, then pulled out a roll of toilet paper and tossed it to Marty. Marty simultaneously threw Mark a rolled-up pair of Camouflage cargo pants. Marty was on his feet, pantless, and stretching. The sleeves of his camouflaged jacket looked to be as though they were cropped from an eight foot soldier’s jacket but the torso, for some reason, stopped just below his naval. He was naked from there down till the whites of his socks that stuck out of his brown and green combat boots.

 

“Dude, you’re wearing white socks?” Mark asked with hushed excitement.

 

“Yeah. Did you really have to ask?”

 

“Why?” Mark asked excitedly.

 

“Do you have any socks other than white socks?” Marty questioned in return.

 

“No.” Mark answered.

 

“I wear the same fucking clothes as you, what makes you think I would all of a sudden have a pair of black socks?”

 

“Good point. First mission mishap,” Mark concluded.

 

“Yeah, we’ll steal some black socks before our next mission.” Marty added.

 

The two hopped the fence simultaneous, landing in a tactical looking three-quarter erect stance, and darted into the darkness that was between the pour over from the street lights and the front porch lights of the houses. When they came up to the 7th house on the left Mark ran up to the front door and placed a shiny rectangular block at the bottom of the mailbox. He looked back to see Marty in a squatting dash from car to car in the drive way, flashing a flashlight into the windows, looking for the proper car. He chuckled at the ridiculous sight of his brother running around like that with his cock and balls hanging out. After soaking in the moment he put his attention back to his task, wedging small metal rods across the top of the rectangular box to make sure it would stay put whenever the trip line was pulled. “And now for the trip wire,” Mark said to himself quietly as he primed himself for the dangerous part of the task.

 

“Hey!” Marty was suddenly in Mark’s ear.

 

“What the fuck!” Mark hush yelled and hopped in place, surprised by his brother.

 

“The cars are all locked and have alarms.”

 

“Deal with it, motherfucker! I’m wiring this bomb! Don’t scare”

 

“Shut the fuck up! You’re going to get us busted,” Marty cut him off. “I’m about to pop, man. I think I took too much. I can’t fucking think, man. He was shifting his weight from one leg to the other like a four-year-old who has to use the bathroom. What should I do?” Marty asked in a hurry.

 

“I don’t know, motherfucker! My job is to”

 

“Just shut the fuck up,” Marty cut him off again. “I’m going to check across the street.”

 

Marty watched his brother run, bare assed, across the street. His stance was no longer tactical and calculated, but now a panicked straight leg run with strides half the size of what he was usually capable of. “Fucking dumbass,” Mark said in a whisper.

 

“And now-, for the trip wire.” Mark said, continuing where he left off. He pulled out a thin strand of aircraft cable. He connected one end to the bomb and the other end to the handle of the glass door. From his bag he pulled out a huge stack of mail and placed it on top of the bomb. “And now, the cherry,” he whispered. Mark pulled a big white bottle out of his bag. He unscrewed the lid from the bottle and emptied it into the mail box. He carefully closed the lid, checked the trip wire tension and turned around to see his half naked brother squatting on the hood of a snow-white luxury car that was parked in the driveway.

 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Mark hissed at Marty.

 

“Uhhh,” Marty moaned. “Shut the fuck and finish the mailbox.”

 

“The mailbox is done, motherfucker! Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

 

“It’s too late.” A trickle of piss started dripping on to the hood of the car.

 

“You crazy motherfucker,” Mark called to Marty, “Hurry the fuck up!”

 

A jet of diarrhea shot from Marty’s ass and on to the windshield of the car. Marty let out a moan mixed with relief and pain.

 

“Oh you nasty motherfucker!” Mark said in discuss as he began to chuckle.

 

“Uhhh,” Marty moaned, “It fucking hurts!” His words were long and suffering.

 

“Oh my God that’s gross!” What the fuck did you eat?”

 

“Ex lax,” Marty said quickly in between his deep moans that seemed to be the driving force for the liquid shit that continued streaming out of his ass.

 

“How much, motherfucker?!”

 

“Ohhh, please god” the moans were genuine, “All of them.” The shit stopped but now loud hair was violently venting from Marty’s asshole.

 

“All of them?! You stupid motherfucker. That ain’t just ex lax. What else did you eat?” Mark asked.

 

“Milk.” Marty said as his head dropped and he began to drool.

 

“Milk!? You lactose intolerant sick fuck. What the fuck is wrong with you?

 

“It tasted,” Marty’s words were interrupted by a violent retch, “It tasted like chocolate milk,” Marty rushed to say before another laughing retch.

 

 “Oh God, it fucking stinks! Anything else, dip shit?” Mark yelled in his hushed voice. He was completely disarmed now and standing up right, covering his mouth and laughing under his breath.

 

“A pickle.”

 

“A pickle?!” Mark said through his hushed hysterical laughing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“I want them to suffer,” Marty said. With that he growled, then retched, then vomited all over the hood of the car.

 

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, motherfucker.” All seriousness shot through Mark as Marty’s last thrive at anarchy could very likely blow their whole mission.”

 

Marty retched loudly and a stream of diarrhea started trickling down Marty’s leg.

 

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Stop that shit!” Mark was jumping up and down nervously, and looking around to see if there were lights coming on in the surrounding houses.

 

“I can’t stop,” Marty was still moaning when he wasn’t vomiting or talking. “I have to slow down first,” he finished chuckling with snot and sweat and drool dripping from his face.

 

“Hurry the fuck up, you fucking Spaceball motherfucker! If you get us caught, I’m fucking your face! You hear me, you stupid motherfucker!?” Mark was serious and scared!

 

“Well do you want me stop or do you want me to hurry? I can’t do fucking both?” Marty asked sarcastically.

 

“Oh please god, just fucking hurry,” Mark pleaded. Marty laughed and lifted his head, “Anarchy, motherfucker!” He threw Mark the finger and smiled.

 

“What the fuck are you doing out there?!” an angry man’s voice yelled from inside the house.

 

The second and a half between the man's holler and the car's alarm was a visual symphony in slow motion. The man dove into bushes screaming and with his hands covering his head as the initial plume of white dust clouded the proch. Envelopes and papers flew through the air. The United States Postal Service was momentarily exploited and raped to the fullest extent. There was a distant shriek from within one of the neighboring houses. Credit card bills. Water bills. Electric bills. Coupons. Delinquency letters. Who's? Why? It didn’t matter.

 

“Oh shit!” the twins yelled amidst the symphony of chaotic anarchy.

 

Mark darted. Marty took one step and slipped. He fell back, his head hitting dead center of the windshield and at the peak of the chocolatey streak of shit. A spiderweb of a crack appeared where the windshield had cushioned Marty’s head. He let out a muffled grunt on impact and froze. He rolled over and over till he fell off the hood of the car. Once he was on his feet, he tried his best to run but a stabbing pain shot through his abdomen when he stood upright. He kept on his staggering trot and made it to the sidewalk. He kept doubled over with his arms squeezing his stomach. It wasn’t the best form but it was working.

 

He was five houses away before he thought to turn back to see if his brother was behind him.  He jumped and slide behind a tree and peaked out to see his brother running down the sidewalk. His steps were short and choppy and it looked like he was hunched over and looking down at his belly. His arms were tight against his body, holding his gut. Despite the real danger of the situation, the way Marty’s ass rocked from left to right and the entire sight of his brother, half naked, in combat boots and an oversized camouflage jacket, waddling down a high society residential sidewalk, made Mark chuckled.

 

Suddenly Marty stopped. He vomited a little then continued with his high-speed waddle towards the shipyard. The man appeared behind him with his own attempt at running. He was obviously fat and bald. “Come back here you asshole!” he yelled.  Mark got into his stance. He didn’t reveal his position to Marty. He waited till Marty was in front of him then he jumped out and grabbed Marty, throwing Marty’s arm over his neck and supporting him about his rib cage. It looked like a scene from a war except in this case rather than a soldier carrying his wounded brother out of the field of battle, it was a teenage pre-anarchist carrying his shit, piss, vomit covered brother who was possibly in the process of overdosing on an over the counter medication, out of a rich neighborhood. “Oh God, you fucking stink!” Mark told his brother. He began to spit and dry heaved once, then sucked it up and got his brother to the fence.

 

“Okay brother, up and over,” Mark said compassionately, looking back at the man who was still a ways back. Marty made an attempt to jump and flung his hand up. He feet didn’t get but inches off the ground but it was enough for him to get a grip on the top of the fence. He hung there for a second then threw his other hand up to grab the top of the fence and started kicking his naked legs and combat boots in a pathetic attempt to climb the fence. Mark just watched for a second. “You’re fucking worthless!” he said as he squatted and grabbed his brother by his thighs. “Oh Christ, you fucking stink.” He lifted his brother up and vomited a little but swallowed it. Marty did his best to pull himself up but was just a feather less than dead weight. He got his arms over the fence and hooked on and stayed hanging with his legs curled up. Mark made a makeshift step with his hands right under Marty’s foot. “Stand up, fucker.” Marty stood putting his waist just above the top of the fence. He leaned over the fence and a spurt of diarrhea shot from Marty’s ass, falling on Mark’s ear.  “You! Sick! Fuck!” Mark yelled as he wiped the side of his face. When he saw the brown on his hand he vomited. He heard a grunt behind him, looked back quickly, then got himself over the fence to find his brother laying in the dirt and moaning.

 

“Put your fucking pants on,” Mark ordered, throwing Marty his pants. Marty made no attempt to catch them, instead just stayed tucked into a fetal position and continued to groan. Mark kept looking at the top of the fence, expecting the old man’s head to pop up at any second. Slowly but surely, Marty managed to roll over to his knees and got to standing full erect. “I don’t feel good,” Marty said. “Oh?! No shit?! You just shit and vomited every ounce of liquid out of your body and you feel sick? Imagine that!” Mark teased. He looked up from the bag he was packing to see Marty’s eyes go dead. Marty started leaning to his right, then his left, then his right again but this time he didn’t stop leaning.

 

Marty hit the ground with a thud. “Oh fuck me,” Mark said shaking his head in disapproval.  He grabbed Marty’s pants and put them in the back into the bag and threw the bag onto his back. He looked up at the top of the fence again. “Come on, you big pussy.” Mark got behind his brother and sat him up. He got his arms around Marty’s chest. He lifted and start walking backwards, dragging Marty down into the darkness of the shipyard. He kept his eyes on the top of the fence the whole the time but the man never appeared.

 

“I got you, brother,” he assured Marty. Mark pulled a bottle of water from the bag. He spilled a little into his hand used to wash Marty’s glistening face. “Alright, sip on this.” He poured a little water into Marty’s mouth. Marty smacked his mouth then coughed up the water. He grabbed the water from Mark and poured it into his mouth, almost drowning himself. He coughed and choked but managed to get some water down his throat which brought him back to life. Mark handed Marty another bottle, “You dumb, motherfucker! You almost got us busted!” “Anarchy, bitch!” Marty replied, throwing him the finger.  “Put your fucking pants on, asshole,” Mark said.

 

Mark looked around the corner of the warehouse they were hiding by.  He looked up at the fence. Still no sign of the old man. He stayed in the shadows and ran up to the fence. Rather than risking being seen peaking over, he looked through a small hole in one of the planks. The second he looked through, the glow of distant sirens came into view. Mark fled.

 

“Come on, man. The cops are coming.” Mark grabbed the bag and didn’t bother with his brother.

 

Marty kicked into a reserve of energy that came from the instinctive primal reaction to the fear of death. His pants went from his ankles to his around his waist in midair as he leaped up off the ground. He grabbed the empty water bottles and booked it. He was just two steps behind his brother and they both kept that pace till they made it to their backyard.

 

Marty dove straight to the water spigot. He was gasping and his eyes were mere slits in a red swollen sweaty face. He started unscrewing the water hose. He groaned and brought his knees up to his chest. He got the hose disconnected and turned on the water. Marty lied on the ground in a fetal position catching his breath and cooling his body, taking in sips when he could.

 

Mark let his brother lay there for only a couple of seconds before pulling him out of the gush by his ankles. “Get out of there, stupid,” Mark was still winded from the escape, “You’ll go into shock.” He went to the faucet and killed the water. “I need,” Marty was quivering and hugging his own chest, “Gatorade,” the twins said together. Mark laughed and Marty smiled. “Get your clothes off, you’re fucking filthy. I’ll go get you some Gatorade.”

 

Mark stripped down to his underwear and white socks before going through the back door. He went to the sink and used dish washing detergent to wash his hands and face. After getting the suds off his person he watched the water and suds spiral down the drain. It started in his chest before making its way out of his mouth where it dripped into the spiral of water. It was over in one heave. Mark went to fridge. He noticed the shake of his hand on the door’s handle. His head dropped and tear rolled down his check.

 

“Here, fuck face,” he handed Marty a Gatorade. Marty was sitting on the floor in his underwear and white socks. “Thanks, man,” he replied to Mark. “I’ll go get some shit to wash up and some clothes,” Mark told his brother. “Cool. I’ll be here chilling, brother.” Mark turned and walked away. When he got to the door he turned back and looked at his brother who had his back turned. “Marty,” he called out. Marty turned his head but only to where he could see Mark in his peripheral. “I love you, fuck face,” Mark confessed. Marty chuckled and nodded in approval and turned his head back to relax.

 

Mark open the door slowly, nodding his head and smiling. “Mark!” Marty called out from behind him. Mark popped his head out from the doorway, “What’s up, man?” he replied with a smile. “Nice socks, you little bitch,” Marty answered.


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