Roid Rage

Brian Pawn yawned as he stepped off the bus. The crisp early morning air filled his lungs. He blinked and raised his hand to his face, trying unsuccessfully to wide the crust eye-boogers from his face. His head under his hood and his hands tucked in his pocket, he walked obediently in a single file line toward the door of the large brick building. They marched silently like soldiers. Some carried duffel bags full of gear, wearing royal indigo and the finest shade of yellow.

"Are you ready?" he heard a familiar voice whispering behind him. It was Shane Simons'.

"Yeah, are you?" Jacob Baxter whispered back. Jacob was Brian's best friend. They had trained together since they were twelve. Brian hadn't known him as long as his other friends, but he felt closest to Jacob. They had a lot in common.

"Of course," Shane answered back. Brian smiled wearily. Shane was a behemoth. An unstoppable monster. He was older than the two of them, but still a close friend. He'd known Jacob since birth, and met Brian at the same time Jacob had.

They followed Brian through the doors of the large building, into a short tiled hallway, and into a smelly room. The florescent lights flickered over the tall lockers along the walls and stacked in the middle. The others piled in, sitting on benches in an area. Brian leaned against a locker and watched.

"Okay, boys," said Coach Roberts in a soft voice. "We're the first ones here. Everybody get suited up, they're going to start weighing people in in about five minutes. Then you can head down to the cafeteria and grab some breakfast."

They nodded and stood up as their coach turned and walked away. He was short and stocky. His muscles were huge, visible through his shirt. His voice was gruff, and he always reeked of coffee. Wrestling was his passion. He told stories to his team about his father and grandfather and brother and uncles. The essence of the mat were in his blood. He had met his wife at a wrestling tournament in college. It was said his four-year-old son could out wrestle Rulon Gardner. Brian wouldn't have been surprised.

"How's your knee?" he asked, placing his hand on Brian's shoulder.

Brian nodded. "Fine."

Coach smiled. "Brian, thank you for coming along. That was a pretty bad injury, and I know it takes a lot to get up so early in the morning. But it's great that you're supporting your team in this tournament."

"Thanks Coach," he mumbled.

Coach smiled and patted him on the back as he walked out. Brian straightened up and walked over to Jacob and Shane. Jacob pulled the straps of his purple singlet over his shoulders. Shane placed his headgear over his ears and buckled it.

"Good luck today, guys," he said, yawning again.

"Thanks," Shane replied. He walked around a row of lockers toward the room with the scale.

Brian sat on the bench, watching him walk off. A couple other wrestlers sporting orange and black walked by. They were from the home team, the Victoriatown Vulcans. The Vulcans and the Dutchinson Kings were rivals. They had competed for the Tri-Valley League championship for three years. This was simply an individual tournament today. One for the juniors, one for the varsity athletes.

"I'm tired," said Brian. He glanced to his friend at his side. Jacob lowered his arm and gulped. He leaned forward and dropped a small plastic bottle into his bag. "Jake, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

"What the Hell is this?" Brian asked again, leaning over and plucking the bottle from the bag. His eyes bulged as he read the label of the small container. "Steroids?! Jake, I thought you got off these!"

"Yeah, so I got back on, what's the big deal?"

"Jake, you know what these things do to you."

"What do they do to me?" he inquired slyly.

"They make you go crazy!" Brian exclaimed. "Roid-rage."

Jacob snorted. "I'm fine taking those. I have to go get weighed."

Brian shook his head and sighed. Jake had done it twice before. They had a bad affect on him. They made him violent. He was like a loaded gun. Brian was surprised he hadn't killed anyone yet. He stood and reached into his the pocket of his jeans, stroking the green paper dollar bill. He turned and moseyed out of the locker room into the gymnasium.

Victoriatown was a double-A school. Their two gyms were huge compared to Dutchinson's single B class gym. They had three orange wrestling mats laid across the floor in each gym. One gym was for the Junior Varsity tournament, the other, bigger gym was where the crowd would be; seated and cheering for the upperclassmen.

"Hey, Pawny!"Brian stopped and turned behind him. Brian Griffin jogged up to him. Their name was the only thing they shared. They were good friends, but completely different in every way. Brian Griffin was a sophomore at Dutchinson, a year ahead of Brian Pawn. They were about the same height and the same build. Griffin was a spazz. He was insane both on and off the mat. In his four years of wrestling, he'd lost only a handful of his matches. "What's up?"

"Nothing really."

"It sucks about your knee. I know you were looking forward to competing today."

"I trust you'll dominate our weight class," Brian replied.

"Anything for a fellow Brian."

Pawn smiled. "Knock 'em dead," he said, punching his companion in the shoulder and walking away. His stomach grumbled, but he didn't feel like eating. He walked into the JV gym and sat on the bleachers. He yawned again and laid down, closing his eyes, he shut out the world and drifted off into slumber.




The crowd roared. Brian sat up groggily and rubbed his eyes. The gym was populated now with groups of people scattered about. The audience in the other gym erupted with noise. Brian looked around. There were matches going on already. Wrestlers brawled while a few of their JV buddies rooted them on.

"Hey, Pawny, you're up!" He looked down. Shane and Jacob stood on the floor, dressed completely in their competition attire.

He fumbled down the bleachers to the pair. "What's going on?"

"I'm up next," said Jake.

"Already?" Brian gasped. "I slept all the way to the 180 pound class?"

"Yeah," answered Shane.

"Okay, go get him Baxter," he said, shaking his friends hand and tapping his shoulder.

Jacob jogged onto the mat, a stern look across his face. His opponent was larger than him. Taller, and with a better build. His uniform was black with a navy blue stripe running horizontal through the middle. The Lakeville Sharks. Lakeville was another city, not as big as Victoriatown, but still much larger than Dutchinson. Dutchinson itself was only a small village. Their district stretched through several towns, and their high school sill had only 500 enrollments.

The whistle blew. Jacob lunged forward, reaching for his opponents legs. The shark sprawled out, throwing his legs out of Jacob's grasp. His opponent crossfaced him and spun around. Jake instinctively lifted his arm, stopping the giant. He reversed direction. Baxter grabbed his arm and pulled it over is head.

Brian smiled as he watched his friend grab his opponent's leg and bring him over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. Jake Baxter was a good wrestler. He wasn't the best in school, and could be a jerk at times, but he was still a nice guy with great grappling skills. The whistle blew again. Brian grinned wide and applauded his best friend. Jacob stood. The referee lifted his arm into the air.

He smiled and walked off the mat, smacking hands with Shane as he entered for his own match. Shane took his spot and got into position. They shook hands and started their own brawl. They simultaneously grabbed each others shoulders and pushed at each other.

"Pretty good, huh?" asked Jacob, pulling his sweatshirt over him and taking a seat next to Brian.

"Excellent," Brian encouraged.

"See?" said Jacob as he nudged his friend. "Steroids aren't all bad."

Brian sighed.

"What?"

"I really wish you would stop taking those," Brian pleaded.

"Oh come on Pawny it's not hurting anyone."

"Yet," Brian added.

"What makes it so bad?"

"It's stupid, dangerous, illegal, not to mention immoral. It boosts testosterone. It gives you random anger spells and nobody can control you. Plus they um..." his eyes moved from Jacob's face down his body, focusing on his lap. "Stunt your growth, if you know what I mean."

Jacob chortled and stood. Brian shook his head again and watched his friend run to Shane to congratulate him on his victory. The onlookers in the other room roared again. Brian's stomach quaked emitting moans louder than the cheering. He stood and walked out of the gym into the hallway, starting toward the cafeteria, playing with the money in his pocket.

Brian pushed his tray through the line and walked into the cafeteria. Wrestlers, coaches, and the alumni sat chatting with each other. Brian walked to the back and sat at an empty table. He lifted his pizza and bit off the point, chewing it weakly. It was warm, not hot. Probably an hour or so old. The sauce was too light and flavorless, the cheese dry.

"Hey."

Brian lifted his head. Another wrestler sat across from him. He was shorter and skinnier, but toned. "Hey Bobby."

"Is something bothering you?" asked the senior. "I know. You're depressed because your knee injury is keeping you from wrestling, right?"

Brian shook his head. "It's nothing."

"It's something."

Brian closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Baxter is on steroids."

"I see," said Bobby Anchor, smiling comfortingly at the young freshman. "I'll talk to him later."

Brian lifted his gaze. He smiled sincerely. "Thank you."

Bobby wolfed down his slice of pizza and stood. He walked to a garbage can and dropped the styrofoam tray into the trash, leaving Brian to nibble on his piece. The chatter and laughter around him hurt his ears. His stomach felt heavy and sick. He dropped his pizza onto the foam tray and stared at it. It sat, cooling even more. The smell faded, shut out like the others in the room. Brian stared, a gross ball growing in the pit of his abdomen.

He finally stood, after for what seemed like hours, tossing the half eaten piece of pizza into the trash and hustling down the hall to the nearest drinking fountain. He leaned over and pushed it in. Light liquid spewed from nozzle. He lowered his head and opened his mouth, letting the water flow into his mouth. It was warm, but better than nothing. It ran down his throat as his eyes closed dreamily. He moaned and stood up, heading back toward the gymnasium.

"Go Baxter!" he heard, stepping through the door. Shane Simons stood by the edge of the mat, yelling for Jake. Brian ran to him.

"Jake is up?"

"Yeah, he's already in the second period. They're tied, zero to zero."

Brian watched. Jake dropped to his hands and knees in the middle. The other kneeled beside him, wrapping his arm around Jake's mid section and putting his arm on his shoulder. His opponent's singlet was gray, with the word 'reaper' across the back in black letters. The Truman Reapers had a reputation for being fast.

The whistle blew. Jake instantly put his leg up and grabbed his opponent's wrists. The Reaper put on his weight, forcing Jake back down. Baxter sat to his right, shooting his arm out, grabbing at his opponent's leg for a switch. The Reaper spun around, clearing his appendage and sliding his arm under Jacob's leg. He squeezed his head to his knees and pulled him back into a cradle. Brian tensed. He clapped his hands and shouted for his friend. Jake crossed his legs and pushed, breaking the other wrestler's grip.

"Near fall two!" the referee declared.

Jake rolled away and jumped to his feet. The two competitors stepped back into the middle, crouching slightly. The reaper shot in and swept, picking up Jake's ankle and lifting it high. Jake hopped around as his opponent kicked at his other calf. He jerked his leg forward, kicking the reaper in the chin, then turned and dove out of the sweep single.

He stood. The reaper shot in again, grabbing both of Jacob's legs and shooting through him. Jake turned, his chest hitting the mat. He pushed himself back into his base as the other wrestler dropped down. He wrapped his leg around Baxter's and rolled into the dreaded spread eagle. Brian's eyes widened as the reaper pulled his friend's legs apart, stretching the inner thigh. Jake groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard not to give in to the pain.

The whistle blew. The reaper let go and stood up. Jake staggered upward, rubbing his legs painfully as beads of sweat dripped down his face. "Green's choice," the ref announced, looking at Jake. He held his thumb up, still breathing hard. "Green takes top."

No, stupid stupid stupid! thought Brian.

The Truman student dropped down. Jake took his position over his opponent and the whistle blew again. Jake's opponent sat out and reached between Jake's legs, switching him like Jake had tried before.

"Reversal, two points!" cried the ref.

Jake stepped up, grabbing his opponents arms again and powering into a standing position. He pushed on his adversary's hands, breaking his grip. Brian sighed relief as he stepped away, then turned and shot in, giving the reaper a double leg takedown.

"One point escape, two points takedown!"

Jake slid forward, squeezing his victim's leg hard between both of his, and sliding his arm under Jake's head. The referee dropped, watching the reaper's shoulders closely for a pin. The gray attired wrestler pushed himself, bridging on his neck. He spun quickly, breaking the pin.

"Near fall two!"

Brian's heart pounded as he watched the clock. Ten seconds, Jake needed two points. Baxter reached down, forcing his arm under his opponents and behind his head. Brian smiled as he turned him over into a half nelson. The referee counted as Jake squeezed harder, desperately trying to pin the reaper.

The clock stopped. The whistle blew.

"Near fall three! Green takes the victory."

"Yes!" cried Brian. The two stood. They shook hands. The referee took Jake's wrist and raised it in triumph. He walked off the mat, smiling as he unbuckled his headgear. "Nice job."

"Thanks," Jake answered, slapping Brian's hand.

Pounding and screaming broke their conversation. Muffled yells from the other side of the walls drifted into the gym. "I'm going to go watch the varsity," said Brian.

"Okay, I'll come get you when I'm up again," Jake said.

Brian nodded and walked away, out the archway and into the other gymnasium. The stands were packed tighter than sardines. Relatives, friends, and girlfriend's sat hanting, whistling, clapping, and yelling. He leaned against a wall and watched the nearest mat. Brad Groban stood on the nearest mat, grappling with a wrestler whose colors Brian didn't recognize. It was a sickening deep brownish green with red.

Their mascot must be the reindeer, thought Brian.

They were both massive, 250 pounders. They moved slow, powering through each other. A vulcan and shark stood on the other mat, rolling around and hitting moves. They were tied, and both moving faster than lightning. Sweat dripped off their bodies and onto the mat, soiling it under them.

On the third mat, two short, thin wrestlers rolled around. One in green and gold, a Abraham High Hound dog. He tied up with his opponent, another Truman reaper. They pushed and pulled, the reaper picking his ankle and driving him hard onto the mat. Groban and the Santa-man were off the mat now, a dog and a vulcan in their place. The vulcan was interesting, she had a special singlet designed for her body. Brian smiled. A girl wrestler. He'd like to meet her in bout.

They moved slowly. They all moved slowly, the entire crowd's chants deepened. A single drop of sweat ran down Brian's face. His stomach felt heavy, that sick feeling swelling within yet again. He grimaced and clutched his gut, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. His eyelids opened in slow motion. He leaned, staring blankly at the mat as the girl pinned her opponent. As another pair came on and went all three periods.

The whistles blew over and over. The same monotone hum of the crowd fogged up the atmosphere. The pressure in his stomach grew. His body felt heavy, weight on his legs and arms and head. And another on his shoulder.

"Jake is up next," Shane mumbled into Brian's ear. Brian turned and followed Shane back into the other gym. Jake jumped around next to the center mat, shaking out his arms and whipping his head back and forth.

"Come on," said Brian as he approached his friend. "Get ready. If you win this match, you're in the finals." Jacob nodded. Brian stepped back and put up his fists like a boxer, launching two hard punches into Jake Baxter's chest.

"You can do this," Shane encouraged, rubbing Jake's neck.

"Come on, get aggressive," said Brian. Jake bared his teeth, growling and barking like an angry, rabid dog. "That's not aggressive enough!" Brian shouted in his face. He brought his hand up fast, smacking him across the face, leaving a bright pink red mark on his cheek. Jake roared again. Brian smiled. "That's it," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "Go win."

Jacob stepped onto the mat, fastening his headgear. He stood in the ring, shook hands with his opponent, and awaited the whistle. His opponent was a vulcan, wearing orange and black.

The whistle blew.

They both stepped forward, tying up. Jake fastened his hand against the back of his opponent's neck and gripped his arm like a vice. He pulled him closer and put him into a tight headlock. He swung his hips around and tossed his opponent to the mat. The vulcan wrapped his arms around Jake's torso and squeezed, rolling over and reversing the move.

The referee held up two fingers, awarding the vulcan points for the reversal. Jake got to his hands and knees. The orange wrestler chopped at his arm, but he moved it and rolled forward in a Granby roll. The black and orange warrior lunged forward, plowing into Jake and knocking him onto this back.

The whistle blew as they rolled out of bounds. They stood, dancing back into the middle and taking their places again. Jake stared into his opponents deep brown eyes, anger boiling inside of him. The whistle blew again.

Jacob's opponent shot in, reaching for his legs. He kicked his legs back, sprawling. The vulcan twisted up and away, dumping Baxter face first into the mat. He dove onto him and hooked his leg and head. Jacob rocked back and forth, struggling to wiggle out of the cradle. The referee watched his shoulders and counted the seconds, sweeping the mat with his hand.

He pushed. Sweat poured from ever pore in his body as he desperately pried himself from the hold. His opponent let go, and he rolled away. The vulcan got back on him as he reached his hands and knees. He pulled Jake's ankle and chopped his arm, breaking him down.

The whistle blew. Brian chewed on his lip as they both stood at the end of the first period. The ref tossed a small circular disc into the air, one side colored red, one colored green. It smacked the ground, the red side up.

He glanced at the Victoriatown wrestler. He held up his hands, panting slightly. The ref nodded. "Red takes neutral."

Jake took position standing again. He stared into his opponent's face, anticipating. A high pitched screech emitted itself from the ref's whistle. The vulcan shot in, grabbing Jake's legs, instantly getting into a double leg takedown. He slid forward, wrapping his legs around Jake's and pinning his head to the mat beneath his chest. Jake wheezed. Salty liquid oozed from his face. He pushed against his attacker's sides, unable to bridge out of the double-grapes he had been put in.

The whistle blew. The referee smacked the mat hard.

"Damnit," said Shane.

The two wrestler's stood. Jake stuck out his hand, reluctantly shaking that of the one who had vanquished him. The referee held the vulcan's hand while Baxter stomped off the mat.

"You did good," said Brian, following him. "You still have a shot for third place."

"Shut up and leave me alone," Jake barked. Brian froze and watched his friend storm out of the gym and down the hallway.

"Sore loser," said Shane, standing next to him.

"It's those damn steroids. He can't handle them. He can't control his anger, they make him go crazy."

"Yeah, probably," Shane trailed off. "Well I have to go get ready for my match. Wish me luck," he said, tapping Brian on the shoulder. Brian trembled. His eyes closed again, his stomach began twisting and spinning. He took a deep breath as he felt his entire stomach bubble.

He ran. He sprinted out of the gym and down the hallway. His footsteps pounded fast and hard against the tiled floor. He flew past people and around corners, violently throwing open the door to a bathroom. He heaved once as he jumped into the nearest empty stall. He leaned over just as his mouth forced open and thick grimy fluids sprayed from his throat.



Brian walked wearily down the hall, the disgusting taste of vomit sitting on his tongue. He blinked, breathing heavily as everything around him spun in circles. He stopped next to the fountain, standing with his arm rested against the wall, still breathing deeply. He leaned over and pressed in on the sides of the fountains, letting warm water run into his mouth again. He swished the fluid around and spit it back out, letting it take the last of the excretion with it. He wandered dizzily down the hallway back toward the gym. Sweat dripped down his face as he continued to breath in and out.

He stopped just before turning a corner. Two familiar voices shouted at each other.

"I'm warning you, Baxter, break the habit," cried Bobby Anchor.

"I can control myself, nothing is going to happen! They're just steroids!" Jake yelled back.

"You know how Coach feels about those. I'm giving you a week to get off of them, or else I will tell Coach and he will kick you off the team."

"You bastard, you wouldn't."

"Watch me," Bobby said sternly, turning and walking away.

Jacob scowled and turned, strolling angrily around the corner. He stopped, staring at Brian. "You told Bobby. You son of a bitch, you told Bobby! Now he's going to tell Coach!"

"Not if you get off of them."

"Shut the Hell up," Jake commande. "You know what wrestling means to me! They are steroids. They enhance your performance. I've been on them twice before, you didn't care about it then. What's wrong with you now?"

Brian stared back, irritation and anger growing in the now-empty space inside his stomach. "I did care before. I didn't do anything because I was afraid of you. They destroyed your self control, I figured if I did anything you'd kill me. I'm stopping it now before you get that much into them again."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Pawny," said Jake. "I know what I'm doing."

"Being stupid," Brian finished.

"Shut up gimpy. You got a little booboo on your knee and now you can't wrestle. You're a pussy."

Jake pushed past Brian, stomping down the hall. "At least I'm not an inconsiderate jerk," he shot.

"Jackass," said Jacob, further down the hallway.

"Prick," Brian mumbled. He sighed and turned the corner, heading back into the gym. He sat on the bleachers, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face into his hands. The sickness was gone, replaced by anger. He was trying to help his friend, to protect him. He honestly wasn't surprised at Jake's reaction, however. In the three years they'd known each other, Jake was never one to accept what was the best for him.

He sat, the noises and activity slowing down again. He sat, thinking. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lay in bed and sleep away the sickness he had puked out of him. He wanted a large bowl of chocolate pudding. He wanted to close his eyes and shut out all the noises, except maybe the soft voice of Pat Benatar. He wanted his knee to heal itself. He wanted to quit the team and drop out of school period.

He wanted his best friend to get off the steroids.

"Hey Pawny, what's up?" His solitude was broken by a gruff sounding voice. He lifted his head and looked. It was Travis Hamilton, another senior, and a big one at that. Not like Groban, he was smaller, and built. Around the 215 class. Brian opened his mouth to reply, but Travis held up his hand. "Don't worry about it. Bobby told me what was going on, I'll set Baxter straight. Thanks for telling us, that was a good thing to do."

He stood, walking off the bleachers. Brian watched him go, then buried his face into his hands again. He felt horrible. He felt like he was betraying his friend. Travis was the team stud, he didn't take anything. Bobby had made Jake mad enough. Travis would make it worse. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"On deck mat two, Jacob Baxter and Tucker Sherman." Brian opened his eyes. His eyes were heavy, he must have fallen asleep again. Jake stood beside the mat, running in place, getting his blood pumping. Brian sighed and stood up, marching down the bleachers and up to him.

"Hey," he said. Jake looked at him, an annoyed gleam in his eyes. "I'm sorry. You're right, it's not my business. I'm sorry, do what you want. I won't tell anybody else. I..."

"Baxter!" interrupted Travis. Hamilton walked up to the two of them. "Baxter, Pawny here told me everything. I know Bobby talked to you, and he gave you a week." Jake stared at him. "Well I'm giving you three days. I have my eye on you." He turned and walked away, taking a seat on the bleachers to watch the match.

"I'm sorry," Brian said again. Jake growled and turned, stepping onto the mat. Shane stood next to Brian, watching attentively as the two competitors stood in front of each other. Tucker Sherman was a shark, short and pudgy with blonde hair. "Did I do the right thing?" asked Brian.

"Yes," Shane answered.

The whistle blew.

Jake shot in for a takedown immediately. Tucker threw his legs back, pressing his chest against Jake's back. Jake fell, digging his elbows into the mat, struggling to reach his opponent's legs. The shark pushed his arm in front of Jake's face and spun around, closing his arms around Jake's stomach. Jake stood and grasped onto the pudgy wrestler's wrists, peeling off his fingers one by one.

The shark sat back, dragging Jake to the ground. Jake put his arms up instinctively to push himself up. Sherman hooked his leg around Jake's and shot both of his arms under one of Jake's behind his head. He pulled on his head and forced him forward, stacking him into a three-quarter nelson. The referee dropped and slid his hand under Jake's shoulder and blew the whistle, smacking the mat.

They stood. Jake's face shined red. He tilted his head back, yelling a roar like a dinosaur into the air. He turned and stomped off the mat, out of the gym and toward the locker room. Shane shook his head and followed him. The referee held the shark's hand in the air and handed him a yellow ribbon, 'third place' written across in gold.

Brian walked out of the gymnasium, a short distance down the hallway and into the locker room. It still smelled, but the quiet mood of earlier had been shattered by the yelling of Shane Simons and Jacob Baxter.

"He's just concerned about you! It's called friendship," Shane yelled.

"Concerned about what?" Jacob hollered back.

"Concerned about your anger management problem!"

"I don't have an anger management problem! I can control myself perfectly!"

"Oh really? You're doing a really bang-up job," Shane criticized.

The door opened. Tucker Sherman stepped into the locker room, a bag slung around his shoulder. Baxter looked at him. His eyes widened as he huffed, and took off toward the shark. Sherman turned and ran around a row of lockers, panicked. He flung open the back door and sprinted outside, Baxter howling viciously at his heels.

"We have to stop him he'll kill him!" cried Brian, running past Shane and out the door.

Sherman sprinted around outside on the grass next to the road, Jake close behind, ready to strangle him for the loss. Brian sprinted toward them as fast as his legs could move. The wind rushed by his face as he hurled himself forward, throwing all of his body weight into Jake and knocking him to the ground. The shark took off, running back into the locker room for safety.

Jake stood, staring furiously at Brian. He curled up his fist and launched a punch forward, contacting Brian's lip and gouging it against his teeth. The taste of his own blood spurted from his lip onto his tongue and down his throat. The metallic flavor brought back the sick feeling in his stomach. Jake barked like a pit bull, bringing back his fist to hit Brian again.

"Knock it off!" yelled Shane, approaching them. He jogged up to the two, shoving Jake back a few steps. "What the Hell is your problem?"

Jake flung his fist, smacking Shane in the cheek. Shane flung his arm around, hitting Jake square in the eye. Baxter stepped back toward the road. Shane stepped toward him. Jake reached out, gripping Shane's hair and curling his fingers around each strand. Shane yelled as the roots struggled beneath his skin.

He lifted his leg, jamming his knee hard into Jacob's testicles. Jake instantly let go of Shane's hair and stepped back more, moaning in pain. The monster threw his fist forward again, driving his fist into Jacob's stomach. He collapsed, moaning and owing as the pain flowed through him. He coughed and rolled around. Shane growled like Jake had done before. Jake pushed himself to his feet, staring back at Shane, ready to tear his face off.

"Stop!" cried Brian, pushing between them. Jake reached out, grabbing Brian's arm and hurling him into the street. His weak knee sunk. He fell to the blacktop. A sharp pain shot through his leg. He mumbled, slowly staggering to his feet over his wobbly leg.

A loud screeched pierced the air. Brian looked up, watching in sheer horror as a bright red car flew at him. He yelled as the front of the vehicle struck his torso at several miles per hour. His ribs crunched under the impact. He flew several feet back, falling and smacking the back of his skull against the road.

He sat up, coughing violently. Blood exploded from his throat, streaming down his mouth and all over his clothing. He wheezed and laid his head back, closing his eyes. Time slowed for him again. The voices of the people trailed off, disappearing completely. Every event of his life flashed before his eyes. He breathed heavily, reliving the past fifteen years of his life. All the thoughts screaming in his head silenced. He felt himself slipping away from consciousness into a black void.

The last images faded from his mind. The last thoughts quieted. A last moan escaped his mouth. And the last words he'd ever hear echoed through his brain.

"Brian... I'm sorry..."