The alleyway in the lower part of Detroit was filled with rotten, dirty stoners lining up to get their fix. There were maybe ten, twelve or so. Males and females alike were scattered across the graffiti adorned walls of the adjacent tenements.
Dalton Reyes crept around the corner to the Alley. He was met by whoops and hollers of the people he had been meeting up with in the same place every Friday night since he was in the eighth grade. He was introduced to these people by his brother. His brother was a junkie, addicted to heroin, and Dalton admired him. One night in cold December, some five years ago, his father was passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of whiskey. His mother was out with her boyfriend-on-the-side and Dalton was sitting in the kitchen. He watched his brother put on his snow boats and coat. “Where are you going?”
“Out with some friends. Wanna come?”
“Sure.” And that was that. That was the night that Dalton took his first hit from a joint and he loved it. But that was then and this was now. His brother had been dead for two years and the world had never felt colder.
A skinny girl, Sunny, who was the epitome of irony considering she had jet black hair and heavily applied mascara, placed a sloppy, wet kiss on Dalton's already moist lips. "I missed you," she murmured into his mouth.
"Yeah. Missed you too." It was a half-hearted reply. Since ninth grade, he and Sunny had been romantically involved. However, over the past few years their relationship had become nothing but late night meetings at either his place or hers in which they'd explore each other's body. Dalton would start at her pink lips and eventually his mouth would make its way down to her most intimate areas: the pressure point on her neck, her breasts, between her legs; and she'd return the process on him. Hours later after they had both been linked below the waist and had rode out their mutual euphoria, they'd clean up, gather their things, and sneak out each other's windows. Nothing more, nothing less. But as their meetings wore on over the while, he found himself getting more and more sick of Sunny, and eventually started pulling away from the Friday congregations.
But tonight, tonight was a different situation…
Dalton slid his back down the wall and sat on the chilly concrete. From down the row of people chatting and tearing themselves up, they passed to him a Bud Lite and a small baggie of tiny, white elements. He opened the bag and with his finger, scooped a bantam amount, dropped the bag, and shot the substance up his nose by tipping his head back, then gave the same treatment to the other nostril. Afterwards, he popped the can of alcohol and took a swig. He lived for that sting. The burn down his throat, the buzz in his head. It was like Heaven.
"So, Dalton, why've you been missin' lately? Too busy fucking Little Miss Sunshine?" Dalton rolled his eyes at one of the guys' comments. He'd had multiple problems with this person, a classmate named Ryan.
"What do you have against that?" Sunny defended, "He gets more than you do." 'Oh!' sounded and echoed through the Alley.
"Prove that he does."
"Sunny, back off. He's not worth it," Dalton interjected. Ryan took a last chug of beer then opened another bottle.
Dalton closed his eyes. He knew Ryan was drunk and how he gets when he is. What Dalton only thought to be a split second to collect himself turned out to be multiple minutes. No sooner did he open his eyes, a fist planted itself on his nose. He knew very well who hit him, but his vision was foggy and with all the chaos ensuing, he didn't know who was who and what was where. All he could think about, if he could think at all, was the sharp pain shooting up to his forehead.
He stumbled to his feet and in a jumbled mess, located Ryan. Dalton laid a bedraggled punch on what he presumed to be Ryan's jaw. Next thing he knew, he and Ryan were going back and forth with kicks, hits, slaps, and pretty much any other physical activity that could cause pain. Other people attempted to pull the boys apart, but it was useless.
With one final swipe, Ryan knocked Dalton off his feet and he hit the ground with a thud.
Dalton's head banged on the cracked cement and as his brown eyes fluttered closed, sticky blood pooled around his skull, seeping into his dark hair. He wished badly that he could grip the wound to stop the flow, but his muscles wouldn't oblige.
He could make out the distinct sounds of people running out of the Alley frantically. Dalton felt Sunny's frail body buckle onto his torso. She was sobbing hysterically.
He wanted to reach up and pat her back, tell her it was going to be okay. But he couldn't, he couldn't guarantee everything would be alright and he didn't have the strength to say so.
So instead, Dalton slipped into eternal rest…
Please drink responsibly. It's not worth a life.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
