The ever delightful sound of a stream of urine hitting the ground some five or so feet behind me snaps me out of my mentally drained state of staring blankly at the road ahead of me and makes me remember just why we came out here in the first place. My left hand's grip on the handle of an aluminum baseball bat tightens as my right hand adjusts the black ski mask covering my face. No matter how many times I tried to rationalize this situation to myself however, it still didn't sit well with me. It was too late for me to back out now, though. I was already here, wasn't I? The winter gloves that matched the shade of the mask make my skin itch like they were made of pure wool, not polyester. The fabric especially messes with the still healing scabs on my knuckles. I hear footsteps behind me, coming from where the now nonexistent sound of splattering piss was originally. A gloved hand comes down from out of seemingly nowhere and clamps onto my shoulder. Startled, I look straight upwards while preparing to pull the bat back until the barrel hit whatever it was behind me, until I see the masked face of the ever so comfortingly moronic Jacob Wood staring down at me. His eyes wide with what I assume to be anticipation despite the fact that he's supposedly done this before.


"You good?" he asks, either assuming me to be as nervous as he, which wouldn't be too far from the truth, or less likely, wanting to get some small talk in to slightly lighten the mood because he's anxious to the point of spewing out his dinner across the same lifeless patch of concrete he dispensed his Mountain Dew laden egesta onto. Because, you know, that's what we're going to need.

"Are you?" I shoot back, looking back down at the formerly silver, now painted black barrel of the bat in my hands. Both of my hands tighten their clutches on the handle until I'm sure that underneath the gloves, my knuckles are paler than bleached snow. "You know, urine can be traced for DNA."

"Who are they going to match it to?"

"Holy Christ!" I won't lie; her sudden interjection freaked me out, probably moreso than it should've, but I don't care. She laughs as I try to stop my heart from racing, her figure slips out of the shadows cast by the building on the right side of the alleyway. Just like Jacob and I, she's donned the black ski mask that we bought at a Walgreens on the way here (the irony of this, in relation to what we have planned is not lost on me).

"You ready?"

"Yeah," I say breathlessly, before coughing into the crook of my elbow. Through the eye holes of the mask, I can see that she's rolling her eyes at me, something I would normally comment on but right now, I'm much more focused on what they have planned rather than the subtle idiosyncrasies they're exhibiting while we're busy waiting. "Tell me though, why are we doing this again?"

"Because it's fun...?"

"And I'm the sociopath?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Why? Don't wanna admit that I have a point?"

"Okay, fine. At least I can cover it up better than you can."

"Okay, now you shut up." My voice took on a tone mockingly similar to hers when she uttered the words a few moments prior. I stand up straight, twisting and turning in place to crack my back while the bottom of the bat drags against the concrete ground. It emits a screeching sound that plays Hell on my ears, forcing an abrupt halt.

I lift the bat off the ground, and Kara nods to Jacob, who's been silently observing our conversation since we began to talk. It seems really stupid (because it is), but I actually forgot that he was there, despite the fact that I was just talking to him before Kara interrupted.


Kara leads the way out of the alley, a bat similar to mine in hand that I hadn't seen until just now. Granted I knew she had one as well, so did Jacob, but I didn't see his or her's until we finally got out onto the street. My grip around the handle continues to tighten, until I finally get to the point where I feel as though my veins are about to poke out through my skin. The other two seem much more confident; going so far as to hold their weapons in one hand, letting the bottom of the barrel hang a few inches from the ground. I don't think we'd be able to see anything, were it not for a combination of neon signs hanging on the outside of liquor stores.


That's about the time we happen to stumble upon our first victim of the night; a hooptie. It looks like anything we were planning on doing to it would make it prettier, but it was a start. Seeing as though we're in the "ghetto" (more or less), I don't think this will be the last one we find either.

Oh, look. Rims more expensive than the car itself. Talk about fiscal responsibility.

Jacob beats Kara and I to it, and gets the first blow in before we even get within swinging range.

One swing, and just like that; a huge dent appeared.


Kara silently implores me to go first and I oblige without a word. Pulling the bat as far back as my arms would allow, I focus on the headlight. Only, there was no headlight for me.


I'm not sure if I went through with swinging the bat in spite of the hallucination, or if I was motivated to swing harder because of it. Either way, it connects perfectly with my intended target. The headlight cover cracks, with some pieces crumbling to the ground at my feet. I don't even think before I swing again, wanting nothing more than to break the cover all the way off and break the light itself into millions of tiny shards. However, right as I connect with my second blow, I start to wonder something:


It hasn't gone off yet. It's luck. Probably broken or something. I don't know how possible that actually is, but considering that this car is already in poor condition, it wouldn't surprise me if that were actually the case. It's funny, I could almost feel my anger washing away with both hits. Maybe they were right; maybe this was a good release.

I cock back again, before I feel a hand on the back of my bat.

"Hey, don't get so greedy!"

Kara laughs and I relax my grip a little, backing away from the car but keeping my eyes fixed on the headlight. I almost didn't even notice her swinging until the sound of aluminum hitting some metal that I couldn't identify if my life depended on it that was the door. I say was, because now it's dented in to the point where I'm not sure it'll even open anymore.

"Whoops! How much do you think it'll cost for this poor shmuck to fix this shitheap?" she asks, to no one in particular.

"Too much," I blurt out without thinking. Then again; I'm going around with my obviously sociopathic roommate and her spineless boyfriend, beating the ever loving shit out of cars because they looked at us funny. I'm doing a lot of things without thinking right now, so naturally I'd speak without first considering what's actually being communicated.

"Touche," she says, dislocating the driver's side mirror with another swing for emphasis or something. For some reason, I can't help but smile.