Crash

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
A few young friends and their paint fueled adventure.

Submitted: April 03, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 03, 2016

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A A A


As I shook the can, the sound of the metal marble clinking, and rattling mixing the paint, pierced through the dark silence of that Thursday night. A subtle hissing noise emerged as my index finger pushed down on the nozzle, releasing a misty blue cloud of paint onto the back wall of the local Block Buster. My arm flowed up, then left, down, and back, and forth, as if in a trance, with such grace as a ballet. I took my time, outlining each letter; “C…R…A…S...H” and upon completion of the final outline to the “H” my left hand reached into my faded green messenger bag, as I grabbed for the can of orange paint. I put the blue away and fastened a phat cap onto the top of the orange and filled in the rest of my piece. As the hissing stopped, I had finished, slowly stepping back and out of the cloud of blue and orange paint that surrounded me, I gazed in amazement, as if I were looking at the beautiful smile of the “Mona Lisa” for the first time.

There it was my first “bombing”, I had an actual tag put up on an actual wall, my adrenalin was flowing faster than the Niagara Falls, and I had never felt so alive. I lit up a cigarette and then sat there for a moment, just staring at the word that I had just painted on that wall, being illuminated by the dim greenish yellow glow of the single street lamp, I imagined all of the other structures and buildings that were in my near future. As I finished taking the last drag off of that Newport 100, I turned around, flicked it to the side, and ran through the ball of embers on the ground towards the wall threw my bag over and jumped up on top and over it, into the backyard bordering the parking lot. I ran through the back yard, and hopped onto the bike I leaned up against the house, and started pedaling home.

The crisp autumn air whipped past my face as I cruised down the road, weaving between the parked cars, up onto people’s lawns, switching between the street and the sidewalk, as if I were in a high speed chase, with not a care in the world, I reared corner and was nearly home. As I popped my front tire up onto the driveway, I threw my body weight to the side, sliding myself the rest of the way up the driveway to a screeching halt. Upon stashing my bicycle and bag in the arborvitae bushes along the side of my home, I tip toed ever so carefully around the back, and made my way to the trellis going up to my room. Climbing my way up the cold leafy trellis, I approached the window, sliding it open slowly, being mindful not to wake any of the sleeping family members, in the rooms around me. Closing the window behind me, I slipped under the covers and closed my eyes, for tomorrow held great expectations for me, I was turning 16, and finally would be taking my road test, and would be able to finally bomb the city with my artwork.

"Stop, Drop, Shut 'Em Down Open Up Shop!” as DMX echoed, blaring throughout my room, as my alarm clock went off, I rolled over and groggily slammed down on the device, with such a force, you would have confused me with the Hulk. Shading my eyes as I looked over toward the window, sun pouring into the room, I knew I had to start getting ready for the school day ahead of me, so I grabbed some clean clothes and hopped into the shower. As the water stopped, my mother’s voice bellowed through the upstairs; “Hurry up birthday boy, I made your favorite; bacon and waffles, and it’s getting cold and soggy.” I flew down the stairs, hitting maybe only four on my way down to the kitchen. As I sat down at the table to smash on my birthday breakfast, I was greeted by the family with all my; “Happy Birthdays” and whatnots. Finishing my meal, my mom tells me that she will be calling me out of school halfway though, in order for me to go take my road test, I couldn’t have heard better news than that on my birthday. I said my thanks and goodbyes, zipped my favorite purple hoodie up, and threw my backpack over my shoulder, and headed out the door to walk to the bus stop. I walked about three houses down the street and lit up a cigarette for the rest of my walk to the bus stop. Making my way to the bus stop, I was about three blocks away, when I heard the nightmarish squealing brakes, that was my bus, I threw the other shoulder strap to my backpack on, and bolted towards the bus flailing my arms, trying to flag to the driver that I was almost there. The driver started the bus again down the street, moving farther and farther away from me, as I was yelling; “WAIT UP, I’M ALMOST THERE!” Thankfully one of the kids in the back seat of the bus must have spotted me, the bus slammed on its brakes, screeching to a firm stop, as I continued to run towards, and up to the side door, as it creaked and squeaked, swinging open. The driver looked at me with a menacing look; “You smell like an ashtray kid, go sit down.” I made my way to the first open seat towards the middle of the bus, sat my things down along with myself, and stared out the window, as we made our way down the road.

The bus bumped and rattled its way into the cracked, broken apart driveway of the high school, and squealed to a stop in the line of buses. All of the teenagers including myself, stood up as the driver yanked on the lever, and swinging the door open, to release our heard of bus riders into the sea of students walking up the path to the front door. As I filed in with the rest of the students, I made my way into the cafeteria to await the first bell. I spotted my good friend Chris sitting at a table, and made my way to sit and chill, he glanced over and shouted;” Happy birthday Crash-Matic!” as I approached with a raised hand to slap him five I spouted back;”Mr. Coniferous Icarus, my main man what’s poppin?” We sat and discussed our big plan for the night, if all was to go to plan; I would have my license, which meant we would be able to sneak his mom’s car out and head to the Detroit train station and bomb that place up with our art. Then out of nowhere, that dreaded sound, the first bell pierced through the cafeteria, like nails on a chalkboard.

I raced through the hallway towards my locker, skidding around the corner and right into my locker, I spun that combination lock faster than a master locksmith, throwing my bag in, I grabbed my sketchbook and headed to the art room. The next three hours were going to be easy as pie, I had art classes for the first half of my day, all I had to do was sit and wait for my mom to come scoop me up and take me to get my license. I sat there the next three hours, coming up with new ideas for graffiti pieces to use that night, the light above my head was shining bright as the sun, and the ideas were flowing faster than they had ever, I was so excited for the night ahead of me, next thing I knew, my teacher was handing me an early dismissal slip. I grabbed my bag from my locker, and raced towards the front office to get released for the day.

My mom waited outside for me in the passenger seat of our pearlescent burgundy 2002 Chevy Malibu, I threw my bag in the back hopped in the driver’s seat and off we were, my mom directed me to the road test location, and next thing I knew we were there. I stepped out of the car and ran into the driver’s education building, to check myself in. waiting in that lobby felt like days, but after a long hour and a half my name was finally called, I was told my instructor was waiting out front in the car. As I hopped into the car I noticed, a heavy onion smell coming off of the instructor, he had very messy hair and a coffee stained tucked in white button up shirt. He sure looked like he has experienced his fair share of fast stops. Off we went, I took that course as if I had driven it a hundred times over, upon completion we pulled back into the lot where my mom was waiting for me outside her car, the driver turned to me as I slowed the car to a firm but gentle stop, took a sip of his coffee and said; “thank you for keeping it in the mug.” I got my signed completion of driver’s education and took off with my mom to the DMV, I waited in a lightning fast line, got my photo taken, and was handed a paper license; I had finished task one in my quest to the best birthday night ever. We went back home and I waited for Chris to get home and give me a call to come over.

Chris called me up at about six o clock, I grabbed my duffle bag from the bushes, hopped on my bike and started the four mile ride to his house. On my way I stopped in at the hardware store on the corner, ran to the paint department and stocked up on a hundred dollars, in spray paint. Chris and I hung out, smoked, and discussed the rest of the plan; we needed to wait until at least eleven, to sneak out and steal his dad’s car. We sat there for the next five hours, drawing up ideas, until it was time to sneak out, we threw our bags out of the window, and crawled our way to the stairway, we slithered down both sets of stairs, into the basement, and tip toed our way to the small removable window. Slowly creaking the window off of its hinges we set it on the ground, and slipped ourselves up and out of the house. We ran around grabbed our gear, entered the side garage door, and hopped in his father’s beat up, rusty, green minivan, we pushed it to the street and started her up, and off we were.

We made the hour drive downtown and parked three blocks away from the train station, and walked the rest of the way, as we made it up to the wire fenced gate sealing the area from the rest of the city, Chris handed me the wire cutters and I cut a small opening for us to enter. We ran up to the building, dropped our bags, and grabbed some cans and started our work, we painted for what seemed like hours, switching sides, periodically looking at each other smiling and shouting with excitement. After about an hour we were done; “CRASH & CONIFEROUS ICARUS” was now a part of the city of Detroit. I looked at Chris; “This is awesome, let’s keep going, let’s go up top.” He reluctantly agreed after several minutes of arguing about safety concerns.

We pried open the old, heavy, cracking wooden door, scraping against the stone floor, making it as if the building was growling at us, for entering its chambers. The building was dark, except for the eerie glow of the moonlight and the cities lights, coming through the grimy windows. We spotted the old winding stairwell in the distance and made our way forward, barely being able to see in front of us, we started climbing up the stairs, when all of a sudden a crack rang through the building as Chris’s foot fell through the stair he was on. We continued to climb clinging close to the wall, as we slowly made the terrifying climb to the roof. Exiting the roof access door from the stairwell, we stepped onto the roof, as we looked around we spotted a chimney like tower, which was calling for me, like a siren, luring me to paint my name on it. I slowly made my way to the tower and climbed to the top, holding on to the guard rail for dear life, I pulled out my cans and started painting. “Be careful up there man” Chis shouted to me.

After a good thirty minutes I had completed, this would be seen from so far away, I sat up on the rail, and leaned back to take a look at my master piece, when a shrieking snap pierced through the night, as the rusty rail shattered under my weight. ”CRASH, NOOO” Chris screamed. As I fell backwards, I glanced over I saw the most terrified look painted upon his face, and at that moment I smiled as I crashed and broke through the roof. The fall seemed to frozen, my whole life flashed before me, my first bike ride, my first day at school, all the times spent with my family and friends, I could then only see above me, through the gaping hole I had just created, I saw Chris and my master piece being illuminated by a single ray of moonlight. Then the darkness surrounded me, as I made my final crash to the old battered, wooden floor of the Detroit Train Station. 


© Copyright 2017 Tom Furchi. All rights reserved.

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