Scream

Enzo King

"Hey, I didn't know they allowed senior citizens into the party," some ugly imbecile says with snide. I turn to see some guys jacked up on steroids. On the inside, I smile at the fact that use of steroids makes your balls smaller. Also on the inside, I wonder how this party got set up. I mean, Adriano is dead, after all. This is all the killers' work, and if you're the killer and you're reading this: the party is pretty amped.

"I didn't know the mental disability asylum let you guys out for the night," I calmly note, trying to hide my sneer. If I show them that I hate their guts within .0001 seconds of seeing them, then they'll just keep on going. I wouldn't mind showing these guys up, but there are more important things to focus on... i.e. multiple killers.

"Hey Brock," the first guy says to his friend. "The geezer thinks he's funny." 

"Hey old man," Brock speaks out, puffing his chest out like a bird. Nonchalantly, I lean on a snack table and sip my beer. "Hey!" he yells, slapping the beer out of my hand, which shatters on the floor. "Duke and I don't appreciate your oldness being here."

Contain your anger, Enzo, my uncle's voice says in the back of my mind. Picture the meadow and the willow tree, little one.

Let. It. Out... Let. It. Out... Let. It. Out... the other side of my chants.

 Bottling it up, I grab another beer and pop the top off on the side of the table. "I'm only twenty-two."

As I take a swig, my ring clinks on the glass, grabbing Brock's attention. "Oh, look. He's so old that he's married. Where are your grandchildren?" 

"Not around yet," I say through gritted teeth. My jaw clenches and I stuff my free hand into my shorts so the idiots don't see it turn to a fist.

"Awh," Duke says to his partner. "No one likes old guys nowadays." 

Now I'm more than aggravated. These guys are just a bunch of drunken and high teenagers whose glory days are on the football field in high school. They'll never go pro and they will most likely end up living with their parents in the attic, where they'll jerk off and grow 5 o'clock shadows.

"Poor little bastard," Brock remarks. "He even looks weak. Sir, do you need an escort out?"

 "Look," I start, finishing my beer and placing the empty bottle on the table with measured care. "I recommend you shut your mouth before I shut it for you. Even a monkey would know to leave by now."

 "You want a fight, old man?" Duke butts in, smirking at the opportunity to flex his false muscles.

Quaintly, I smile. "I've been looking for a fight for a long time now. I'll give you the first hit; make it a good one." 

Brock starts to back up. He's confused about what I've said, and by being even an ounce logical, he knows that anyone giving out free punches means trouble. Duke on the other hand is just plain stupid... and just plain altogether.

He gathers all his strength up by rearing back and taking a deep breath – his startingpunch is way too predictable. While he gets a breath, I deliver a quick jab to his lungs, allhis gathered air disappearing. 

"Hey!" Brock yells, swinging for my head.

"'Soup? I taunt.

Now, we've caught the attention of the crowd. I must admit, I don't even bother containing my smile. I haven't gotten into a fight since before World War One. This feels fantastic!

Duke gathers himself after 100 years and makes a football tackle for my waist, knocking both of us to the ground. While Duke is over me, I knee him twice in the balls and punch him off of me. Brock's leg comes in quick for a kick, but I snatch it and yank his own foot out from under him, causing him to fall on the ground. As I stand, Duke sidekicks me – he made a faster recovery than I expected.