Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A Chapter by david jones

Chapter One


Raul Wingate felt as if he were strapped to the chair, unable to move. His was having all these thoughts going through his head�"No, no, no, it can't be�"but it was. A woman was standing in the front of the room, going toward him, handing out a piece of paper, and piece of paper that could probably resemble death in any other sort of circumstance�"

Raul looked down at the paper, looked down at the test that was just sitting in the middle of his desk, and he picked up his pencil, reading through some of the questions. I'm not ready for this test, I'm gonna fail, Raul thought. He usually did. Now he did well enough in school�"mostly A's and B's in most of his classes�"but this class was history, the class he was piss poor at. He did his homework and turned in most of his assignments, but when it came to tests he didn't prioritize a whole lot. A day before a test he would go and hangout with his friends, and leave his study guides and work in his backpack, sprawled across the bed. That was just history though. His other classes he did perfectly fine in. He didn't study for those classes and he passed the tests each and every time.

Raul read through the questions and just decided to mark random answer. Much of the test was on the vampire wars of 1895; vampires had come to a small, Transylvania town at that time according to history, vampires that were unlike the vamps of Count Dracula. They started a war against humans, and that lasted a few months, until Dracula himself signed a treaty, the Pact of the Blood Rite, so vampires had been living among humanity for one hundred years.

Raul put his head up from the paper and looked around the classroom; he spotted a couple of pale faced kids with long, dark bangs that seemed to cover his eyes. That was one of the vamps. That's what they were called in school�"not many people liked them, they deemed that the vampires were different.

He stood up from his desk, clutching the paper in his hands, and set it down on the teacher's desk.

“Did you check your work Raul?” asked the teacher.

He nodded. “Yes. I did. I did the best I could with this test.”

“Alright, sit down,” the teacher said, though she looked unconvinced. Raul turned back around and sat down, looking at a couple of the students who were giving him snarls and weird looks. He sat back in his chair and fumbled around in his pocket until he grasped his cell phone; he turned it on and silently typed on it, texting one of his friends who was in another class. A lot of times he didn't care a lot about school�"he cared about doing his work. His parents would get at him if he kept getting bad grades, but he didn't care about sitting in class, doing nothing. He tended to casually bring his phone out when he had nothing to do, and he would text on it, though he never really got caught. A couple times he did though, and when his parents had to come and get it, they would go home and kick his a*s, saying that he didn't value education.

It was partially true. He didn't feel like school was as important as his parents said it was. He just did his best to get good grades because they had said so. And failing to obey his parents would result in beatings every now and then. Other than that though, he had a good home and a good life with his parents. He typed away speedily, but silently at his phone. People all around him were scribbling away at their tests and actually taking their time taking them, unlike Raul who just didn't care. An hour later he was still tapping at his phone, not getting in trouble though a lot of the students knew what he was doing, when the bell rang, interrupting him in the middle of a text. He decided to save it and finish it later, so he flipped his phone off, put it in his pocket, and stood yo from his seat. As the other students filed out of the classroom the teacher stood up, and said, “Raul, a word.” He groaned. Having to talk to the teacher after class was never a good thing, especially when his parents found out and they usually did. That never looked good.

“I am very disappointed in your lack of work and your lack of effort put forth in this class. Is there anything I should know?” the teacher asked.

Raul responded, “There is nothing wrong. Can I just go home now?”

“No, this is a really serious matter,” the teacher said, giving him a scrutinizing look above her dark rimmed glasses.

“Nothing is wrong at home. Honestly. I'm just not good and fluent with history and this class. You should know what I mean. Everybody struggles with something,” Raul said.

“I know but you can have help. We have many resources available to you for you to stay a half hour after school each day to get some help with the stuff you need help you. But you don't take advantage of the help given to you,” explained the teacher.

“Sometimes I just don't care alright? Is that such a big deal?” Raul turned around and before the teacher had any time to say anything else, he was gone. I need a smoke, he thought. He went to his locker, opened it, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and went outside, walking off of school grounds with a couple of his buddies.

“What was that all about?” his friend, Billy, asked.

“Winters wanted to talk to me about school and the reason why I am not doing well,” Raul said, taking a pack of Marbolo Reds out of his back pocket. He pushed one out of the packet.

“Man f**k that, what's important about school anyway? Just sittin there, doin useless work and s**t? Street smarts are much more valuable,” Billy said, producing a lighter from his pocket.

“Hell yea,” Raul said. He placed the cigarette between his lips, grabbed the lighter fromBilly, and lit the smoke. Embers burned at the end of it.

“It's some bullshit. Why don't you just drop out?”

“Parents would kick my a*s,” said Raul, “that's why I am getting good grades in most of my classes. My parents are making me.”

“I don't get that s**t. They should let you do whatever the f**k you want. I mean, you are eighteen years of age.”

“I know. But if I go against my parents, they kick my butt. So it's nearly impossible for me to do bad s**t in front of them.”

“What would they think if they knew you were smoking?”

“They'd f****n skin me alive man.”

“For real?”

“Yea bro. That's something they don't condone.” Raul took the cigarette out of his mouth and breathed out the smoke, coils of it wrapping around his head like a snake, going crazily through the air like a rogue water hose, eventually dissipating and breaking up, joining the clouds that were thousands of miles in the sky. Raul threw the burning stub onto the ground and beat it out with his foot into the dirt, until the fiery embers were nonexistent. He gave a couple of coughs�"he did that every time he had a good smoke�"but then the coughs just stopped, and he felt better about himself. Usually the smoke of a cigarette made him feel alive, even more so than when he was high.

“I'm sorry about this s**t man. You can always crash at my place if you need somewhere to go. I got the coolest s**t around dude,” Billy said, excited.

“Thanks man, I could really use it. I should really get home now. I need to get some food and I ain't got money. Got any gum?”

“I gotchu,” Billy said. He grabbed pack of gum, opened it, and took out a small, white, chalky slice. “Here ya go.” Raul said his goodbyes, popped the piece of gum, chewed it, and continued to walk home. He didn't live that far from his house�"only a couple of miles. Usually the walk was very easy, but today he didn't particularly feel like going home. He had to go home though, or his parents would not be very pleased with him.


It was a bright, summer morning as Michigan cop Brutus Sanchez stumbled out of bed, wearing a sweat soaked and dirt smeared wife beater with boxer shorts stained in ketchup and mustard. He scratched the dark, curly hair under his armpits, and walked toward the kitchen, taking a gallon of milk and drinking directly from the carten. It didn't matter. He lived alone....nobody wanted to live with him. Ever since those b******s, those things, moved into the town.

F**k it, it doesn't matter, Brutus thought as he sat down on the couch. He picked up the newspaper and began reading. Those vampires shouldn't exist anyway. He turned around his head, examining the living room, noticing the shelves that were sitting against the wall, right in front of the nearest window. Crossbows, stakes, canteens of holy water were all sitting on the shelves, stacked on top of each other in some cases.

“Maybe I should just kill them all now,” grumbled Brutus. He hated the fact that the vampires had moved into town; he had told people that, had told people that the vampires were stealing the jobs of the town. And it completely stunned him in a big cluster f**k of emotion that a majority of the people in the town liked them, supported that they lived here. Brutus stood up, stumbled toward the case, and just looked at the weapons.

Damn his head hurt. He was still a tad bit drunk, had had a wild party last night with some of his buddies, and now he had a raging hangover. Brutus had said that he would stop drinking for awhile, that he would just give up the alcohol, but it was easier said then done. This alcohol had caused him to be estranged from his wife and child, and it had caused him to be suspended from the police force. A month ago, the police captain Andre Jones had caught Brutus drunk on the job, sitting in his police cars, and he had said that Brutus should leave. He did. And all of that stuff was one of the main reasons he had started to drink more, instead of giving up as he initially said he was going to do.

When the vampires moved in, that just made it even worse. He remembered hearing on the news how the numerous, hidden, vampire covens were converging to nearby cities and towns. This had been happening for hundreds of year. If only Brutus could stop this from happening.  

© 2014 david jones

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Added on July 31, 2014
Last Updated on July 31, 2014


david jones
david jones

Grand Rapids, MI

I like to read, write, play video games, chill with friends, listen to music etc. more..

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