"LOL Complex" Chapter 1 draft

So their feet were heavy on the concrete. There were three of them that were walking. One of them a girl, looking all pouty and German-Iranian. The other had this scoped beard with all the fine grainy layers of black. He was the one wearing the cool hip 70’s retrograde sunglasses. The like horizontal visor ones. He, upon seeing the yellow beetle speed by would punch his mocha colored friend with the choppy fro in the arm.

            The wincing was incessant and eternal and struck somewhere deep down inside him; a feeling that made him want to want to kill them both. His German-Iranian girlfriend dubbed Stella; for sitting back and letting her boyfriend inflict upon him bodily harm. Him, Derrick; for indulging in the synthetic amusements of a symbiotic cycle of automobiles and hate! Yes. It ran deep in Val Kelver, and those hard black coffee eyes burned with hatred at them and they would soon know blood.

            The blood would come after the digestion of some silicon tacos, and burritos. That was the diet for the comely youth when they had burned off all their calories in the riot. It was a chill spot to eat, with some purple new age art up on the walls that welcomed the technologically vicarious lifestyle you lived nowadays. The apathetic girl behind the counter didn’t condemn you as you walked in with your nineteen year old friends and asked for water but filled your cup up with cola. No. She didn’t do that.

            Her name was Stacy, and she would just watch as you French kissed your foreign looking girlfriend between the sips of stolen cola and the rodent feces suspended inside. Stacy was a girl with dreams and ambitions, but the counter and the register were so restrictive and would keep her from them. She wasn’t truly apathetic at all, she cared about you.

            So she watched other people’s dreams unfold as they walked in. Right now she was watching the trio that just walked in. One a tall lanky black guy who looked nervously around at the people he was with. Yeah he was the interesting one to watch. He had these round bulbous eyelids and eyes that were deep and dark like night and shit. She smiled at him in his awkwardness. He held his shoulders fixed at the neck and shrugged them against the digestive kisses his friends planted on one another. His head would then draw over the straw stuck in his drink and he would suck incessantly.

            Sucks to suck. Stacy thought.

            And she was right. It did indeed. But the giant deranged man looming outside of the restaurant did not suck. He was something both grizzly and gaudy with a misplaced look that landed on Val Kelver. He was an albino giant, with white frosty hair that tinged urine toned at the tips in the harsh light of the summer sun. He was something urban and towering, and wore a white wife-beater and didn’t leave much for the delicate notion of his knees with the khaki shorts he had on. He also wore yellow flip flops.

            Val Kelver sat at the table rather contentedly. His attention was no longer on the overbearing weight of his own sexual repression that was brought out by the disconcerted feelings brought on by the romantics of his friends, but rather; the taste of metal in his mouth. Iron.

            It was then that he saw their eyes widen under the exchange of bits of taco beef that rolled slowly across the width of their shared bottom lip. His eyes grew large in return and his tongue curled upward in his mouth as more iron flooded his esophagus. He gave a faint squeal before looking down to see the poke of his upper lip covered in blood.

            The blood dripped over the fine layer of taco sauce that covered his meat and glazed it a deep crimson. It fell in large globules onto the table and sloshed around in the aroma of a cataclysmic future that hadn’t arrived yet. But when that future did arrive it would bear the smell of burning flesh and the BBQ of that bald guy who thought he’d have a BBQ in the face of Armageddon.

            For Val Kelver the end was already nigh and he would scream and writhe around in it forever. The very sight of it was just too much for him. The liquid already settled in the floury grain of his tortilla and was now climbing its way to the cinnamon churros that lie a few inches west of the largest pool.

            He wouldn’t grab at his nose or attempt to blot it. No. There was too much fear for that. He was too afraid at something so domestic and red he couldn’t even bring his fingers near it. It would just drain from him in a cinematic slow motion that was relayed through the purple tones of the windows behind him.

            Behind him and on the other side of those windows, the giant. The questionably albino Frank would look at him heartedly entertained. He would stare at him through darting lens of his pink eyes. They would travel space between all associated members of the party: Val Kelver and his bleeding nose, Derrick and his German-Iranian girlfriend Stella, and Stacy at the counter who was now rushing over to a spazzing Val Kelver.

            Frank in his own grin was menacingly entertained. His smile spread wide as he jettisoned a number of loose little globules of spittle that bled through his teeth in a contrast that sought to rival Val Kelver’s own dissonant fluids. Frank produced no sound in his laughter, and the hushed musings of his static giddiness couldn’t ever be held in contempt by the environment. Frank knew this. He was one of those cool guys who were an agent of a higher power. Which meant he had higher learning.

            Frank knew that he was at complete liberty to feel happy and smile as long as he didn’t do it too loudly. His happiness could never be at the expense of the flow. The flow at the moment was pulling between two realms with Frank as the delicate intermediary between him. The first plane was the whirring outside, with all the noise of the city strata. Cars, buzzing flies crawling along Frank’s backside, that blonde chick who uses “bitches” and “like” in her sentences a lot, and  an 90’s beat box would all create the timbre keen symphony of that realm.

            A world that ebbed away and diminished the closer it drew to Frank and the large glass windows of the taco place. The space beyond the glass would give rise to the second plane. A world that was crazy and untendered with bodily fluids that dripped into a bathroom as a black man screamed all the way, a mop that sloshed around in the temporal red broth as touch-grey fibers grew hot pink beneath a line of four customers who entered the restaurant to the sight.  

            “What the fuck! Motherfuckers be trifling, blood and shit all over the floor.”

            It was a cool guy in a trendy light pink V-neck who said this, he walked in with an ugly broad and jank crew though. They left with no order taken. Frank saw them enter and leave. Frank assessed from this, that they were a useless group of nomads. - He was a nomad too, but there was a difference. He made an impression. He didn’t idle in transition and quickly abandoned notions settled on. They did. He was sure that the trendy guy in the V-neck who could pronounce “motherfuckers” in a savory but slurred tongue was going to get four “Zesty Besty Burritos”.  But nah, he got caught up on blood that had already assumed the proper janitorial position.