[Tonight's the night - October 30th: Devil's Night. At midnight, it'll all finally be resolved. Let's get going, Bryan. Your hair doesn't have to look THAT good!]
Bryan looked around his room, trying to memorize what it looked like and hoping that everything would be the same when he returned. He shut off his light and left his room, making sure to close the door behind him and went downstairs. His intended path ran that-a-way, toward the front door but he veered off into the kitchen, stopping for a moment to reach into the fridge for a drink and the last of his ammunition. He then slipped into his most comfortable runners and headed outside.
[Don't forget to shut the gate, Bryan!]
He paused with his hand on the cold, wrought-iron fence entryway as it softly clicked its locking mechanism behind him and took one long, slow, deliberate breath – I N and O U T - and watched the condensation of his breath melt away, before stepping away from his house and turning left out onto Decker Street. He hadn’t yet walked three blocks before he saw Pete coming around the corner with an overstuffed canvas bag on his back; Bryan could only imagine the arsenal that Pete was packing in there. They said nothing to one another but nodding a greeting, they fell in line and proceeded toward Victory Park – the Town Square in which the battle would take place.
Crossing the Town Hall gardens, Bryan began to feel slightly anxious. Every shadow seemed deliberately placed, every rustle of a tree’s leaves conspired against him to do their best to make him jump just a little and feel a bit more on edge. He cautiously entered the park and ducked behind the stone fountain at it’s head, squinting in the partial darkness, trying his best to determine where his enemies lay and from which direction the attack would come.
[I spy with my little eye... something that is...]
Suddenly – a movement. A glinting of the street light, reflected from something metallic… a coin, a key… a tooth? Bryan stuck his head out just an inch more to try to determine what it could have been. Without warning, something whizzed by his head and struck just behind him with a thud and a crack. A voice from across the park yelled, “ATTAAAACK!!” and the battle was on. The minutes felt like hours as volley upon volley was flung at and around him, striking his comrades and missing others. Bryan ran from spot to sweet sheltered spot, trying desperately to avoid being hit by a projectile and still fire shots with deadly accuracy. He took a hit in the leg just as he was about to dive behind the safety of a bush. Losing his footing, he slipped, landing hard on his right shoulder and rattling his brain around in his skull like a tiny peanut in its shell.
As he lay dazed on the ground, he looked up to see a boy striding toward him with a weapon in his hand. Bryan began to fret; thinking, prone as he was, that this was to be his end. Now his enemy was standing right above him, staring coldly into Bryan’s eyes as if searching his soul but finding nothing worth redeeming. As the boy cocked his arm back and took aim, Bryan opened his mouth as if to say something – anything – that might stop this madness but the sound was choked and stopped abruptly as his enemy began to speak. “It’s nothing personal,” he said to Bryan with an eerie calmness and a glint in his eye. “It’s just revenge.”
[Swing low, sweet chariot... coming for to take me hoooome...]
The fog swirled around him. It danced like a gypsy, swaying toward him, then away – scattering now, only to coalesce anew in fantastic luminescence. Slowly, s l o w l y, it began to clear from his head and he groggily looked around, noticing for the first time since the battle began, the gooey substance practically blanketing the ground all around the town square. Boys lay scattered everywhere, some groaning in pain, others laying still. Strugling, Bryan rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up, using first his arms and knees, then finally up and onto his feet and began to shamble home.
[A few more steps now and you'll have escaped that scene entirely Bryan and with naught but a few pieces of spent shells in your hair and that welt on your forehead. Watch out for the cops!]
Bryan’s ears perked up as they caught the faint auditory whiff of approaching sirens. Rounding the corner onto Helm St, he picked up the pace. The gruesome view of the park finally slid out of sight, being obscured and replaced by Mrs. Wesley’s Flower Shoppe. Chuckling softly, Bryan mused to himself, “Man! This is SO gonna go down in history as the Greatest Egg Fight EVER!”
Victory Park Sketch
