The Cobras Aftermath

The Drunken Father

The Cobras Story: Eyeball's House

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Eyeball's POV: I woke up to the sound of my hungover father yelling at Chris. After returning to get the body and having it stolen away from those little brats, Ace decided to tell our father that Chris had went to the BackHarlow road and lied about where he was going with his friends. Part of me felt bad for Christopher, knowing this is just the first part of Ace's revenge. The other part didn't care. Christopher and his little dumb ass friends were getting what they deserved for stealing that body from us.

I laid in my bed for a while hoping the yelling would stop so I could go downstairs and leave. I had debated going out the window, but knew if my father caught me, I would end up like Chris. Ace and I had planned on meeting up later with the rest of the Cobras and exact our revenge on Christopher and Gordie Lachance. Ace had some very detailed and very brutal plans, which some brutality I was okay with, but I didn't want Chris to die for it. A few broken bones, or a kick to the nuts would teach them a lesson, but I didn't want my 13 year old brother to die, no matter how much I hated what he did.

Once the yelling had stopped, I decided to sneak downstairs and see the damage. I walked down to the stairs to find a passed out father and a beat up Chris.

"Are you guys done? You are ruining my Saturday." I said sarcastically. I gave Chris a smirk. "Was that all he did to you? Figured you would have at least a couple broken ribs or something exciting."

"Shut up you pile of shit," Chris yelled at me. "This could be you one day, or has it already happened? That would explain why you are whipped by Ace, your basically Ace's b..." I punched Chris in the face before he could say anything more.

"So do you need any help cleaning up the bruises or anything?" I asked him, being sincere.

"Seriously Eyeball? You just punched me in the face and then asked if I needed help? What are you doing, PMSing?"

That last comment didn't anger me. Being friends with Ace, you hear a lot more than what any thirteen year old could give you. "I am actually trying to help you before Ace gets to you. If you think this is bad, just wait. You got a major beat down coming your way," I said while grabbing the first aid kit out of the cabinet in the living room. "Here," I tossed the box to Chris. I walked out of the house and heard him mumble something that I chose to ignore. I had bigger tasks that day, and worrying about a thirteen year old had said to me wasn't on my list.