Well that went better than expected

Well that went better than expected

A Story by Griffin

I picked up my glasses and walked out of the room before Jack came in. That ignorant drunk invited himself to the party and is now roaming the rooms of my friends small eight room, two bed, one bath colonial home. Ever-so-often I can hear his displeasured grunts in between sips of his own personal whiskey reservoir. That moronic fool appeared to be attempting to flirt with my friend’s sister now; she was obviously uninterested, but I refuse to involve myself.

I try to ignore the wondrous view I had through the large, arched walkway from the living room into the kitchen and pay attention to the awfully monotonous conversation which lays before me.

“Oh come on gas prices can’t get any higher!” The tall, Caucasian man says.

His (I infer) wife looks at him and replies with something about Iran.

At that I lose interest; primarily because my friend’s sister is screaming. No one in the party really seems to care so it seems. He grabs her by the wrist and yells in her face about some sort of deal they made. She makes a quiet retort and he lifts his arm up and smacks her clean across her left, freckled cheek.

My face lightens up immediately but I still don’t want to get involved so my lips remain sealed. I look across the room and no one reacts. I see another man staring at me; he mouth’s “Bathroom”. I make a perplexed face but he ignores it. I guess he wants me to go to the bathroom. He walks in and I start going towards it. He looks at me and shakes his head.

I go back to the boring conversation about Iran’s blockade threats.

“Yeah Iran is going to cause World War Three! Marge you can’t be serious!”

You can tell why I lose interest. When the man walks out of the bathroom I walk into it nonchalantly from across the room; on the counter next to the bleached sink is a napkin folded into quarters. I pick it up and unfold it.

“Wait until 11 PM, lead Jack outside”

The archaic-looking scribbles of a pen that’s obviously running low on ink is quite annoying but the message is clear. Lead Jack outside after 11 PM. I pull out my iPhone and check the time; 10:46 AM. Time to burn 15 minutes.

I flush the toilet in case anyone was listening and walk out. When I get back to Marge and her group of political debaters I’m extremely surprised to see that it’s just her, her husband, and one random guy who was obviously too high to understand what they were talking about.

I sit in the conversation for the next 10 minutes, periodically checking where Jack is. Still he is trying to get in my friend’s sister’s pants; still she is uninterested and being abused because of it. When I check my phone after an eternity of conservatives arguing it was 11:02.

I walk over to Jack and say “Hey man, I got some weed. Want to go out back and smoke it with me?” He (being a bigger pot-head than the guy watching Mr. and Ms. Reagan complain about the world) obviously said hell yes.

When we go out the sliding door together the man who gave me the note was next to the door; Jack hadn’t noticed him. Thing was there was a lot more people than just the man who handed me the note, some people came out of the shadows, there were two by a car in the driveway, and there was one black guy; about 6’ 4”, coated in ink, right behind us blocking the sliding door.

“A- are they-” he drunkenly stutters, “they going to smoke with us?”

The guy who gave me the note takes a crowbar he’d been hiding behind his back and strikes Jack on the side of the head. “Thanks man, we’ll take care of this piece of s**t.”

Well that went better than expected, I thought as I went back to the boring party.

© 2013 Griffin

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Added on January 6, 2013
Last Updated on January 6, 2013
Tags: Dark, Sarcastic Narrator, Death, Party, Short Story



Billerica, MA

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