Young Writers Society

a rather tall black man emerged from a rust colored stucco building just past mcdonalds on third street.

gleefully, he began walking across the road when his cellphone rang.

"girl, you look good - won't you back that ass up?" sounded throughout the block until he answered.

"Where the hell are you?" the irratable voice of his girlfriend half yelled.
"Relax baby," he said calmly as he swaggered down the street. He knew he was late, but he also knew it didn't matter much. He was always late.
"They're here," she said. The tone in her voice was fearful, making him speed up.
"Who?"
"Your friends," she said in a strange voice. "They seem to think you've been avoiding them, so they came to give you a short visit."she said this slowly, as though trying to hint at something.
"Tell them I'm coming," he said as he broke into a run.

He stopped to catch his breath just a few streets away from his home, he crouched over and placed his hands on his knees gulping in the air looking rather like a goldfish does in a fishbowl. What could they want? He thought running a hand across his sweaty forehead, he waited until he had caught his breath before he resumed running towards his house. How long had they been waiting? Why were they waiting? What were they waiting for? Faster and faster he went, his heart thumping rapidly against his chest - more from the fear than the strain of running. When he reached his house he fumbled in his jeans pockets for his keys, he dropped them and knelt on the floor to pick them up as the door swung open.

"Nice place ya got here, Johnny," came a voice from above him. Johnny looked up to see who was talking, but quickly looked down as cigarrette ask fell on his cheek.
"How com ya didn't invite us to come stay wit'cha? Did you forget all we've got is a shack in an old alley way?" The voice raised to a near-bellow at the last words, but then smoothed out as he stepped on Johnny's hand. An audible cracking noise was accompainied by a pulse of pain.
"Nice ta see you again, too, Carter."
"Nice? Yeah, real nice," a large hand reached down, grabbing his collar and draggind him to eye level.
"But you know what would be nicer? If you got your cand-ass over to old man Roland's place and told him this was all a setup. That you shot his boy, not me."
"Cart, you shot Merv--,"
"You was there, weren't 'cha?"
Johnny nodded.
"Then what difference does it make who shot the bastard?"Carter said, flinging Johnny from his grasp.
"Johnny?" Came a soft voice from the doorway.
"In here, baby," he said smoothly, trying not to sound flustered.
"I hope you don' mind me lettin these boys in. They said they were freinds'a yours."
"Naw, sugah, me and the boys here're just makin a deal, that's all."
Carter swivled around to see the woman standing behind him, then turned back to Johnny.
"Or I could just take a piece of that and we could call it even."

"i thought you were off of blood!" said Johnny alarmed.
Carter was a vampire.