Young Writers Society

(I'm sorry about the poor grammar, English is not my native language. Also I'm sorry that this is a very uninterresting excerpt since nothing really happens. I'll upload something better soon! I'll be so happy if you comment or review! )

Alexander Schneider gazed to the grey sky, as he lit up another cigarette. The sounds of dogs barking and cars honking were since long a part of what used to be his peaceful mornings. No birds chirped anymore, nor did the kids play outside. The dullness of the life he now lived had forced him to loose his spark. He was once a vivid young man, now all his feet were good for was marching. He sighed as he gently inhaled the soft smoke.

"It's just another day. I can get through this."he thought, as his eyes peered through the mist outside the window. His dark locks were tangled up in a complete mess after another sleepless night. And he was still only wearing his night linen, although he was already late to meet up with Yannick. But he knew that didn't matter. When Yannick noticed someone was late, he rushed to their hous-

"What on earth are you doing, you bloody maggot! You were supposed to meet me at the bridge half an hour ago!"

Yep. That was Yannick alright, screaming from the hallway. His footsteps in the wooden staircase came in closer and so did the stench from his clothes. Alexander discretley held his breath to get away from the stench of rotten wood, strong medicine and mold that Yannick was always carrying.

"Oh hi there." Alexander said, mischieviously with a big smirk. Yannick was not at all amused, but tapped his feet with his hands on his sides.

"Good grief, you need a comb." Yannick sighed and went into the bathroom door just beside him to look for one. Alexander laughed.

"I had no idea you were so shallow!" he yelled from his seat, enjoying the last strokes of smoke from his cigarette. "I thought you'd be more upset upon the fact that I didn't meet you at the Aerian bridge!"

"Indeed I am." Yannick replied quickly, coming out from the bathroom with a sharp metal comb in his hand. He was now also dressed with a smirk. He knew how much one single stroke with a metal comb hurt.