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A Summer To Remember-- Prologue

Kiss In The Rain · 2008-03-31T01:53:28Z

Prologue It’s weird to see the streets of this city again. My buddies and I haven’t been here since 1963. During that summer something happened that neither of us will forget. So many of us were lost, both physically, mentally, and spiritually, that it’s dragged on throughout the eight years we’ve been avoiding the place. But as we stood there on the corner of Crystal and Long, everything came flooding back, and the arguments began. It was long debated whether or not to write it down. Nobody’s had the guts to. . . . It’s not exactly a huge surprise because not many of us are left, but we all figured somebody would record it. Not even the news reporters and journalists wanted to cover the story when it happened, so I suppose they wouldn’t want to write it down for keeps, either. Eventually, tensions were drawn so tightly that all it took was for one mistake and we all just snapped. It resulted in a fist fight, and the quietest one among us was the one who stopped it. “Quit!” He screamed, choking back sobs that I knew took a toll on him to let loose. “Can’t you see that’s the problem?! That’s what got us here in the first place?!” As he stood there, panting and crying, nobody moved, and nobody breathed. Finally he fled. Instantly I was on my feet. No. I couldn’t loose him, too. I followed him to a painfully familiar field, and it was only then, as the memories rushed back at him, that I could catch him. My hand gently grasped his shoulder, and he spun around, nailing me with punch after punch into my stomach. I pleaded with him to stop because, even though he had a nasty deck, it wasn’t hurting me as much as how upset he was. Later he just broke down. The last punch he threw at me was so weak I barely felt it, and he just fell and cried into my arms. I can’t say that it wasn’t nice. My brother hadn’t hugged me once in my life even though his anger and feelings had long ago set aside my commanding notions. I knew it was hard for him to cry in front of the guys, but everybody wanted to. The only reason they didn’t was because the conditions in which they grew up caused enough pain to get rid of all their tears. Shadow wasn’t a bad kid; he only followed his role model who happened to be less than fit. Later that night as we sat in the old diner that still served the greasy food we loved, we worked out everything that needed discussing. Shadow sat unusually close to me, and when he smiled it was truly genuine; we didn’t see that side of him much anymore. It was decided that we’d all pitch in to record what happened in the summer of 1963 in Chicago, Illinois. We’d all pitch in our efforts to revive the story that had disposed of our great friends and fellow enemies. We’d all do our part in providing the best details and the truths of what happened. Somehow, we got the most amazing luck; even though it was suspicion laced, the phone call I received was the only one I ever remember being happy about. It was two days after Shadow’s breakdown that we were sitting in a small hotel room listening to the radio and talking that the phone rang. I picked it up, and instantly stiffened at the voice I heard. It was the same as I remembered it. Silky and cold, but the words this person said to me were music to my ears. After a good hour conversation, we had reached a truce with each other, and laid aside our differences. The lieutenant of the gang that pushed us to where we were was going to help write the story that was sure to end the gang era. It was agreed that we would start and end during the next fortnight. That is where we are now; locked in the warehouse that holds unhappy and victorious moments. There’s fifteen of us, including me. My brother, the rest of my gang that’s stuck close and kept in touch, and two foreign men all sat down around the office and stared nervously at the typewriter. “Who’s going to start?” Asked a shaky voiced Wyatt. Everybody looked around, but I knew what I had to do. “I’m going to,” I said softly. Everybody’s eyes snapped to me. “Look, guys. I’m proud to call you all my friends. Especially these new ones,” the unfamiliar men bowed their heads. “I want you all to know that I’m incredibly proud of you. I couldn’t have asked for a better bunch, I just wish I could have been a better leader. . . .” I trailed off and Shadow gave me an encouraging smile. “Let’s just get this down so we can forget about it.” “It shouldn’t be forgotten, Jet,” Ace whispered fearfully. “You know it can’t be forgotten.” “I didn’t say it should be forgotten in general, I’m saying so that we can forget about it. It’ll give us some time to deal with other things that matter more, like me getting back to my fiancé, and Shadow finishing school, and you all getting back to better lives. I just want to write it down so that future gangs know what is in store for them if they keep this up. It’s important to the future of the earth.” Shadow bowed his head, and then looked up with glittering, determined eyes. I nodded and continued. “I’ll start with an explanation on how we came to be writing this all down, and then we all need to pitch in to make sure it’s true and detailed enough that it’ll be the only time this happens. Everybody understand?” Nobody objected, and it reminded me shamefully of how I used to take pleasure in such fear of answering me. “Alright, lets do this.” I sat down behind the desk, and put my fingers on the typewriter. The first few words came out unhappily, but as I continued down the page, it became easier to write. Shadow has sat by my side faithfully since we’ve gotten here, and so as we start on the first chapter of this story, I dedicate it to his innocence and to the future of the earth. I dedicate it to the people who will read it and understand what happened was in so many ways too wrong to be forgiven. We all thank you, and wish you the best of understanding.

meggy86

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Points 1641

Reviews 38

Tue Jun 30, 2009 8:08 pm

meggy86 says... · Tue Jun 30, 2009 8:08 pm

You have a few grammar or technical errors, most of which are mentioned above, but overall I think it will be a great story if you just keep with it. Keep writing!

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I would rather die of passion than of boredom.
— Émile Zola

A Summer To Remember-- Prologue

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