The City Is At War

                                                                     Prologue

Never thought it would end this way, but it did. Wondering what I'm talking about? So do I. It all started with high school, making its way up college, where it really started getting serious.

The gangs became bigger, cops started disappearing, and politics were decreasing. The government held no control over the town. Only the toughest gangs ruled over the others. You only survived if you joined, or if you were rich and wealthy. Drugs, alcohol, and guns were a normal thing on the streets. Pimps controlled herds of prostitutes in every corner, and everyone walked the streets fearing their lives. 

James Darkraine, or J.D. for short, was the leading man in the whole city; he ruled the streets, stores, and drug joints all over the city, he even had an army that secured the perimeter so no one infiltrated the city. And he didn't just have a few tough guys, he had modern guns, snipers hiding in strategic spots, and even imported black market tanks ready to fire at anything that presented a threat to his own personal, messed-up paradise. No one was allowed in or out, without J.D.'s permission.

I, for one, was one of the few people who disaproved of his actions. Hell, I disaproved of the whole fucking city. I missed the old times, when things were less violent -- even though violence and war has always existed in this world -- and the bad guys always lost. 

But, like everyone who wanted to stay alive, I had to act bad. Or at least, follow the bad guys and just be a back-up. 

 __________________________________________________________________

I used to be a writer, spending my days in my apartment, writing poetry and stories that satisfied me more than anything. I had a girlfriend, we'd met at the start of freshmen year back in high school, in what I liked to call my "Computer Nerd of The Century" phase, whereas I considered myself to be the next Steve Jobs combined with Albert Einstein. Which, for one, was horribly wrong, and all of my friends seemed to shake their heads at my crazy notions from time to time. 

My girlfriend's name was Bonnie Angelica Rizzo, who was another nerd, only cuter and much more sociable than I was. We met when the school made their first Sports Festival, an event in which every nerd and loner dreaded, including myself.

I, being the much-too-cocky nerd that I was, decided to go --  even though it didn't call my interest by a longshot -- and try to mix in with the crowd. And then, just as the cheerleaders started cheering, I saw her. Her beautiful, long, flowing red hair flared at the back of the metal bleachers, just beckoning me to follow, like a moth to the flames. 

I knew the consequences of following her would cause me, but, oh boy, I didn't care if Satan himself showed up, I had to see where she was going. 

Shoving my way through the packed crowd filled with sweaty, over-excited jocks and girls in their much-attention calling clothing, I had finally reached the high-standing bleachers and noticed she was still behind them. I crawled through the back slowly, trying not to scare her before I could say something. I had stepped on a puddle of water, causing me to slip backwards and land on my butt. The girl turned at the sound of my body landing on the polished gym floor, and tilted her head to the side, unsure of what to do. 

Eventually, she helped me up and sat down where she was previously sitting, next to where a book and a strange box were sitting on the floor. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I decided to speak up. 

"Hi... I'm, uh, Clyde." I stuttered at first and held my hand out. Yeah, I know, real dorky. But she only smiled and shook it softly. I took a moment to register her movements, just shocked to see that she didn't seem disgusted by me. Oh, and her smile. That brilliant, almost glittering, smile of hers, that seemed to light up her whole expression. 

"Hi, I'm Bonnie." Her voice was -- no joke -- the most delicious, Italian-accented voice I had heard in my life. Not the weird, foreign type accent; it was subtle but still noticeable.

I looked up once more, and saw her thoroughly. Her hair the same color as the flames of a bonfire; her eyes a deep and light brown that seemed like melted chocolate and caramel; her face was structured and defined, but not skinny or bony, just the perfect texture; her skin seemed to glow naturally, yet it was fair and even. Lastly, her lips, her most noticeable feature; they were plump -- but somehow they looked thin -- and had a gentle, rosy pink color to them. 

 I didn't know whether it was fate or just pure coincidence, but my heart told me that my life would change because of Bonnie.