Constant Motion

The Bite

This is a long one... about 8,600k words. Have fun.

./.

Part 1:
The Bite

Warren stormed out the front door, ignoring the cries of his mother behind him begging him to come back in the house. He never got this angry, so angry that he argued back to his parents and walked out of the house, but his father had done it this time, belittling him and his health. It was another typical argument on whether or not Warren really "needed" counseling, and of course his father thought it was an idiotic idea, saying that all he needed to do was "man up" and "there's no reason for him to be depressed." They'd had this argument before —- his mother was a little more sympathetic but his father always had the last, albeit rude, word in the argument —- but this time was the last straw for Warren. His legs were rattling with fury, but he kept moving forward, not knowing where he was going; anywhere was fine as long as it wasn't home.

The earlier afternoon's rain still drenched the sidewalks and hung in the air, giving a chill to each breeze that brushed by. Warren kept his head down, stomping in the small puddles in his path. Already his anger was beginning to diminish, although not by much; he wasn't a person to hold a grudge for long, if at all. Maybe he would call a friend and see if he could stay there for the night.

Warren reached for his phone, and realized that it was gone. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to check all of his pockets, but they were empty. He must have left it at home; he wasn't exactly thinking straight when he walked out.

He sauntered onward, the moon before him rising and the temperature decreasing in the night. A cold wind swept over him, sending shivers down his spine. He didn't grab a jacket, either. He considered heading back -- mainly because it was getting colder and not because he didn't want to worry his parents, at least that's what he tried telling himself -- but he figured his father would still be furious, and it'd be best not to go back too soon and upset him even more.

His father was a stoic man of little words, and even fewer words of encouragement. He handled everything thrown at him with silent regard and did it independently. He was more of a looming figure than a father figure in Warren's life, and it was hard to connect and talk with him when their personalities were on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Warren's mother always told him that he just needs time to get to know him; his father is a genuine, honest man underneath his cold exterior.

The full moon hung in the sky, like a sparkling jewel on a dark canvas, and gave him guidance as Warren turned the street corner. He was staring up at the moon for quite a while, leisurely paving the streets, when he heard a deep, guttural growl come from his right.

He jumped and spun around. He found himself at a public park, swing sets and monkey bars and all. He expected the growl to have come from a stray dog, but when he whipped around and looked through the playground, he saw a group of men, three of them, all about in their mid- to late-twenties, staring at him along the entire length of the park. Warren's stomach dropped at the sight of them; he automatically assumed they were in some sort of gang based on how they stood together, and the way they were staring at him, like he was a diseased bug that landed on their sleeve. He quickly looked away, ducking his head and averting eye contact before anything could be said or done.

"Hey, kid. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Warren reeled around again, this time so quickly he lost his balance and fell to the ground. He looked up in horror at the three strangers that were dozens of yards away before, but were now about ten feet away and steadily approaching him.

He stared up at them, too stunned and terrified to move; they were standing directly above him now, menacing and sneering down at him like a dumb child. How did they get to him so quickly? And how did he not hear them running after him? His mind was racing a mile a minute, and his heart felt as if it was going to rip through his rib cage. One of the men -- the one off to the right, with a bandanna around his head and missing two of his top teeth -- made a scoffing noise, casting an irritated glance towards the other two.