Goblin

Chapter 1

  "Hey, Ezekiel, you goin' to Devon's party tonight?" Devante asked me. 

  "Nah, man." 

  "Yo, man, what's up witchu? Why you ditchin' these parties? All the bitches gon' be there. Shit, man, don't pussy out on us like Tyler, tryin' to go all sober and shit." Devante snickered. "What's up witchu white boys tryin' to be white. You ain't white if you live here; your skin white, but your head ain't-neither of 'em." 

  "Shut the fuck up, I ain't gettin' sober. I got a few grams of blow at home to snort, and I don't want to share it with your mooching ass," I snapped, turning away from him. My torn Vans scraped against the cracked patio of our high school. 

  Valor City High School was a piece of shit, not much else to say. It was brick, and some of those bricks were missing. The windows were old and a lot were cracked. Some were even busted out. A lot of the walls on the south side of the school had been tagged by some wannabe gang running around, snorting what they thought was authentic crystal. 

  Most of the population at Valor City High was black and Latino, but hey, us white trash kids had to go somewhere. (A white kid is a minor? Must be the rapture.) There's at least three fights a day, and at least twice a year there's a gun pulled on someone, resulting in an arrest. I wouldn't be able to count how many drug deals there are in school, so I won't even try. Most of it's molly, bud, and L; the streets are for the hardcore drugs. 

  "Shut the fuck up, bitch!" some black girl screamed, punching some other black girl in the face. Girl Two probably slept with Girl One's boyfriend. 

  I pulled out a pack of Marlboro Blacks.  

  Fuck, only three left. 

  Lighting the cigarette, I inhaled deeply and let the smoke and tar fill my lungs. A small buzz erupted in my head as I exhaled, and every problem felt a little more insignificant. Cigs don't give me much of a buzz anymore, maybe I should invest in buying something stronger. 

  I shrugged at my question. Once I hit eighteen, my life will become a little more easy; I'll be able to buy my own cigs. Shit, that'll be the day. 

  The sidewalk to get home was all cracked, weeds poking out to feed off of the sunlight, which was blocked out by smog most of the time. But they're doing the best they can to live, so kudos to them. 

  It sounded like a tornado was ripping through the shithole of Valor City as the train ran through. Loud noises freak me out, that might be part of the reason why I hate this city. Every night, there's a gunshot, a crash, a train, a bunch of screaming. It makes me want to kill myself. 

  My hand touched the knob of the front door to my home. The "gold" paint was chipping off, revealing rusty metal underneath. I opened the screen door and then the off-white wooden one behind it, and the lovely smell of stale beer, marijuana, and sex filled my nose. 

  "Close the door, you little shit," Mom snapped, looking up from the magazine she had probably gone through at least a hundred times in the past month. "Hurry up!" 

  Home sweet home. 

  There was a crack pipe lying next to her on the stained couch, an empty baggie next to that. Well, looks like someone couldn't help themselves. 

  "I'm working tonight," she stated, placing the magazine down on top of the crack pipe and baggie. Standing up, I noticed she was wearing tiny leather shorts and a small white jacket. Mom was young, only 33, and luckily for her, the crack hadn't ruined her yet. She danced at the strip club down the street, and occasionally didn't come home for a few days.