Our Group -Random short story-

It was a dark and stormy night, when I thought of this over used cliché to describe the weather. I tapped away at the wooden frame of my bed to make a more soothing beat to the pounding rain, booming thunder and the whipping of tree branches that promised to lash out at any living or non-living thing that dared go out on a night like this.

I'll be damned if it didn't sound like Camp Town Races.

I came to the conclusion that lying awake at who knows what time in the pitch black of early, early morning wasn't the best pass time, so I slowly sat up on my sorry excuse of a bed that's creaks were drowned by the roaring storm just outside. I swung my feet over the edge and let them hover just centimeters from the ground before settling down on the cold, packed down and stained carpet floor and the rest of my body gradually rising up to its full height. Stretching gingerly, I rotated my shoulders, curled my fingers, and bent my neck to one side, waiting to feel a sudden tension being relieved. A yawn passed through my dry lips, making them sting slightly with the cracking of skin. I brought a cold hand to flick away my long bangs that shadowed my eyes, only to have them once again fall to the same exact same place. I nonchalantly scratched my bare chest, and ignored the sharp but short pain of breaking the first layer of skin over my angular ribs.

I stood waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, which didn't take long. I glanced down at the floor and saw to my dismay the chaotic condition my bedroom floor was in. Clothes, books, and other useless material were littered mercilessly along the ground. A sigh mixed in with a yawn escaped my throat. I strongly dislike cleaning for many reasons, one of them being I suck at it and can never find anything after doing so. Maybe I can make Tech do it? Nah, that was a onetime thing and he owed me one anyway.

Damn it.

I lazily walked though the only clear path to the unhinged door, hanging dangerous by a few rusty screws. I passed through the door way, thinking of what in God's name to entertain myself for a few hours, because you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out I won't be able to fall into the sweet embrace of sleep again tonight. I had to notice how awkward it was walking though the short hall way to the kitchen/living room, and silently cursed myself for promising myself to clean this shit hole.

I unconsciously shivered as my bare feet slapped against the freezing tile floor of my kitchen. I blindly groped at wall to my left, searching for the switch that'll burn my eyes, but I was tired of looking through black. I hissed as the yellow white light pierced harshly into my eyes, burning my sensitive retinas. Blinking rapidly, I stepped forward a single step to only meet a cruel fate of a stubbed toe. Now, crumpled pitifully on the grimy kitchen floor, cursing under my breath, I glanced around my eating space. Baby blue walls with multiple holes surrounded the kitchen space, along with the living room just to the right. Cabinets that were hastily painted white were now peeling and a few were on the verge of falling to the nasty tiled floor. A single square table sat lonely in the middle of the small space, imprints of circles for drinks being left there to long had stained the once chocolate brown wood. Slanted awkwardly and under one leg was a few books to keep it even, seeing that that one leg was randomly shorter than the rest. But, I guess it's expected when you find it on the side of the road. In between cabinets was a massive hole where there was supposed to be a dishwasher, but I sold it for a good 20 bucks, because it's not like I have enough dishes to fill it up. And lastly, a sink with one or two mini piles of bowls and glasses stood around some dark, brown-green slung that I wasn't up for finding out what it was or how it got there.

I swallowed the throbbing dull pain embing from my toe, and stood shakily. I squinted through the harsh light that flickered in a steady rhythm. I walked about 2 feet to the right to once again meet disgusting carpet, my living room's base. I flopped down on to the worn down couch that sat directly in the middle of the medium sized room. This light brown piece of furniture is my pride and joy. Unlike my other belongings, this baby didn't get crappy from age, simply more snug and homely feeling. It amazes me why I don't sleep here instead of the piece of shit bed, that's probably to blame for my bad sleeping habits. I guess it's just one of those things called 'pet peeves' or whatever, also like I don't trust benches. I mean, who know what the hell someone's done on it? It's public for bloody hell's sake. Maybe when I purposefully try to sleep, I have to try to sleep normally, in a bed. It's hard to explain, I can understand why, but I couldn't for the life of me explain using words to anyone.

My eyes prayed at a small radio that stood proudly on a music stand I used as a small desk.

I outstretched my pale arm to skim across the dusty switches. Once finding the appropriate button, I applied a heavy pressure to my middle finger to activate the device and cause it to play music from whatever station it was previously set to.

Beethoven's Symphony no. 9.

I grunted at the chose of music, not in distaste or anything, but how many times I've heard it and could already predict all the notes in perfect format.

A certain source of entertainment caught my eye. I smiled a relieved grin, and fell along the scratchy but snug sofa for my entire body to stretch along its baring's. An arm that was slung over the edge of the long, short, and slim couch was brought up with an annoying heavy object weighting it down. I rolled around to my back and let the thick, dictionary like book drop to my still bare chest. It was cold but I didn't mind, it woke me up some. My hands propped it up enough for my eyes to fondly trace along the familiar letters, spelling out much appreciated words.

I might not seem like the type if when you first meet me, but I am a reader at heart. And a fairly intellectual person, even for my outer appearance that screamed, 'Touch me and you're gonna get shanked.'

Reading will always have a special place in my heart, soul, and mind. From fantasy adventure fairytales, to how to take care of your tomato garden, as far as dark, physiological graphic novels, and finishing at shampoo bottles. This particular book would bore most people my age out of their skulls, but fascinated me to no extent. The Origin of Species was a great read that made me rethink over and over how this universe came to be. Never ending trains of thought broken only by another fact or intriguing hypothesis. My eyes would race down the page, drinking hungrily at the information down in front of them, speeding as if it's their last chance to see anything at all.

Oh, how I could sit and read until my skin dissolved away and my bones denigrated. And love every minute of it.

I opened the book carefully but hastily, shoving my nose as close to the pages as possible without breaking a bone. I zoned out on the violent storm that was slowly but surely dying down outside my window. The yells of pissed of women and their annoyed boyfriends, along with their screaming child, begging for attention. Even the famous sounds of Beethoven's work were mute to me. Just me, my book, and my mind working wonders to analyze and understand the words laid out in perfect format in front of my eyes at lightning speed. I began to comprehend the work of Charles Darwin, at 2:22 in the morning.

When I finished the hearty read, I sighed happily and let it once again drop on to my 'bumpy' chest and relaxed and sunk into the warmth of my beloved sofa. I soon had to face reality, though. I opened my heavy eye lids and saw out the window to only be blinded by the newly raising sun. Ah, I thought to myself, another sleepless night, and looking forward to a tiring day. I once again sighed, but this time out a pure annoyance of my unhealthy sleeping habits. Sleepless nights and random naps in the day, sleeping in until 6 pm when rarely managing to fall asleep at a decent time of night. As you can imagine, it's a bitch.

I glanced at my analog clock on the other side of the room, almost falling off its ways, like everything else in the shitty apartment. 8:58 a.m. it read (I had always been a fairly fast reader, finishing such a long book in 6 and a half hours). I momentarily wondered if the boys were going to drop by, but just in case I swiftly stood up, walked to my messy room and found a semi clean tank top to pull over my torso and my signature black hoodie. I didn't bother to put on pants, because the hoodie was long enough to go to my mid thighs and they've known me long enough not to care about my fashion sense. Nor my half nudity.

I would think so at least.

I just stood there for a while, letting the chilly morning air sweep against my skin. The cool air made goose bumps erupt on the once smooth skin, and shivers shaking my limbs made my hoodie twitch and brush against my legs. The sun began to shine through the cracked and dirty glass of my single window, it only enhanced my annoyance, considering it brightened up the fact that my room was messier than a barn. But, its warm rays soothed the freeze out of my skin just enough for it to be tolerated.

I thought about how annoyingly scratchy my hair was, resting on the back of my neck. I walked slowly out of my room to go through a doorway just to the right of my own room, with amazing intact hinges. The fuzzy rug i had placed the bath room was soft against my feet, worming through my toes. My eyes swept over my just-got-out-of-bed appearance in the mirror. My long and thick dirty-blond hair shadowed my face and parted to run down each side of my clothed chest. Once slightly sun kissed skin showed a ghostly pale in my current condition, almost with a tint of gray. I contemplated taking a shower, but went against it because I knew there would only be cold water, and I could always use Shady's. I snatched at a brush on the linoleum counter and began the pain of combing through my hair, which took at least 10 minutes to sort through knots and smooth out the rat nest that had formed at the back of my head. I brushed my hair, my teeth, washed my face and hands, and aplied some eyeliner (which I only did when I had time to spare, or just bored) that caused my green-blue eyes to pop dramaticly against my mostly colorless features. I groaned at my effort, which was a rare thing.

I'm so damn tired now a days.

I took my sweet time walking out into the kitchen, and opening the fridge, to only be graced with the sour stench of bad food. Expired milk, a coupled of browned apples, a new root beer, a half empty thing of ketchup, and an empty carton of eggs. I need to go shopping.

I searched the rest of my kitchen, driven by my growling stomach. In one cabinet I found a unopened box of Frosted Flakes, a roll of crackers and a third a loaf of bread. I ate a couple of the crackers, but the salt in them drove me to opening up the singular root beer. I savored the sweet liquid and salty crackers over a good hour, leaning against the counter, slouching as usual.

I tossed the now empty bottle into the sink, hearing a sharp crack of shattering glass. I sighed, not that I cared at all though. I drug my legs over to my broken-in couch and sat there, staring at the clock that now read 10:14 am. Tick tick tick went the device, a constant reminder of how slow the time was going by. I waited for something eventful to happen, to give me an excuse to stop unconsciously wanted the ticks to forever stop.

Suddenly, a series of loud bangs came from my front door. I stood to open the door, when I heard a familiar voice yell, "Ya' up Mia? I brought some left over Chinese from Joe's! So answer the door ya' lazy bum!" yelled the deep and rough but cheery voice. I finally gradually made my way to the chipped door, for the simply pleasure of pissing Grimmy off some. He basically attacked me with a bear hug when I opened the door.

"Hey, Mia! What took you so long! Oh, here's that Chinese I was talking about, and Jesus Christ!! Did you lose some wei- HOLY CRAP MIA PUT ON SOME PANTS!" He cried out, directly next to my ear. I stepped away from Grimmy's grasp, with the big lug still nagging about the nudeness and body shape, to peck behind him. Sure enough, he'd brought the others.

Tech's arms were cradled together and twitching slightly as usual but when he saw me looking at him, he raised a hand to wave timidly at me. I nodded at him in greeting and signal he should come in. He kindly swerved away from Grimmy, and ended up sitting on the end of the couch, pressed desperately close to the arm as if his life depended on it. When I saw Shady, who was behind Tech, I quickly told Grimmy to shut his trap and swiftly stepped around him and knuckle punched Shady. "So, how's life been?" He said casually with a smile, "Haven't seen you in a while, dude! I know the old man asked for ya, but damn it was so boring without you....dude, why no pants?" I shrugged in response, pulled him in and shut the door behind him with a slam.

For the next hour and a half we all gobbled down our Chinese food in our respectable spots. Me on the left side of the couch, back against the arm and legs stretched out onto Shady's lap, who sat in the middle, slouched and with arms crossed behind his head (once he was done eating). Grimmy with sitting in the ripped up red leather beany bag chair that was actually his, but he gave it to me as a present, but hates it when anyone but him sits in it. And lastly Tech squished up against the right side of the couch, in chose, not because he had to."...so then the trucker says, 'No, that just the frost on my moustache!" We all laughed at Grimmy's horribly dirty joke.

"Ohhh, Mia, you gonna eat that last eggroll?" Grimmy said, drooling over MY eggroll. He was a large kid, for 18. A good 6 foot 5 and built like a bull, muscular in a beefy way. He had dark skin; he was mix of a lot of things I can't remember. When he gets mad, you could mistake him for a shaved bear. That's what Grimmy was like. Impulsive, violent, and downright murderous if you rub him the wrong way. That's why we called him Grimmy, he could kill a man with a flick of his finger. But, the thing stopping us from just calling him 'Grimm', and not adding the cute little long e at the end is the other part of his personality. Bubbly, funny, and playful, but only when he is around with our little group alone. You could say he has this little reputation of being a hardcore badass. If any of his many enemies saw him as we see him, he'd be a laughing stoke and be treated as a joke. So, like now he's carefree and playful, but when he's around in the streets, he turns into this badass, gangster with an aura that could kill you.

I slapped his hand sharply, the one reaching for my eggroll. "Don't even think about it. I already called dibs and you know it! So unless you got a death wish, I'd back the fuck off." I hissed out. Grimmy did that little thing where you make your eyes grow huge and watery and stick out your lip through puffed cheeks and whimpered softly to the point of extreme cuteness.

This hardass pouted at me.

I simply gave him a hard stare and munched away at my Asian delicacy.

I heard both Tech and Shady laugh at Grimmy's heartbroken face and the helpless puppy act. "Aw, don't worry Grimmy, you can have my extra teriyaki." I heard Tech say in between giggles. That's how Tech is, kind, gentle and giving. A mop of shaggy chocolate brown hair lay on his head, and light brown eyes that practically bleed emotion accompanied the rest of his features. We called him Tech because of how damn smart with Machines and technology he was. I once remember him making a microwave out at the junk at the junkyard we go to sometimes. It's really amazing how smart this scrawny, 5 foot 3 kid could do with a blowtorch and a few hunks of scrap metal. It's also amazing how smart he could be with mechanics, and barely know how to read and write. Seriously, he could construct a fully functional microwave or something but ask him who America was named after, he'd say the queen of India, and be dead serious.

Grimmy let out a girly squeal and gobbled down the remainders of Tech's food. I took one look at the sight and closed my eyes shut and groaned. Damn was he a pig.

Shady turned to me and we started a conversation about how the past few days went for both of us. Shady and I have been best buds ever since we were 7. And ever since we meet we've been inseparable. He tall and lean, being 6 foot even, a couple of inches taller than me. Shoulder length black hair half covered his face, so only one watery blue eye was visible. In my opinion, he was perfect. Kind and protective, funny and trusting. More than anything, he was street smart. That's how we worked, I was book smart, and he was street smart. I was a pessimist, he was optimistic. I was blunt, he beat around the bush. I was sarcastic, he was sincere. Being exact opposites, we attracted each other instantly. I needed someone to show me the brighter side of things, or I'd be lost in the darkness. And without me, Shady would have died by now, seeing how he never analyzes a situation before reacting rather harshly.

"Yeah, the old geezer had me working my ass off for him, enough said." I breathed out. Shady chuckled but patted my shin reassuringly.

"Well, look at it this way; maybe he's just making up excuses for you to visit him! I mean, he is a lonely old guy after all, maybe he just needs companionship, but can't approach it like others." He said with a smile. I didn't want to admit it, but it made a lot more sense than my conclusion. Once his wife died, he made me come over even more often, even if it was it pick up his damn napkin off the ground.

"Right, I just can't imagine a senile old fart like him being shy of all things." I replied. It really was the truth, even if I said it cynically. The short, old, and wrinkly man never failed to annoy the day lights out of me. The guy says he remembers me when I was just a little girl, all baby fat and diapers. I used to live right next to them, when my father was alive, and would escape the drunk by coming next door and they'd feed me all the cookies I could stuff down my throat. Once my dad was murdered, I moved out and into Shady's house because I couldn't stand the lingering smell of blood.

I guess we were always close though, because they always caught up with me. Hell, I went to old lady Missy's funeral, which was extremely awkward considering I was the only one under the age of 50.

It was raining that day, but I could still see old man Larry's tears streaming down his stone hard face, but those stone gray eyes of his showed pure pain and sorrow. I didn't visit him for a while after that, but when I did, the poor bastard was a mess. Sitting on that floral printed couch in his boxer briefs, surrounded by old and half eaten food and the television just static wasn't the best sight I've seen. I visit him frequently now, to help him survive and all. Shady said how kind it was of me to help the guy, and I said I only did it because Missy had a stash of fudge somewhere, and I'd find it, even if it meant taking care of the senile bag of wrinkles.

I knew it was a lame excuse, but I felt like Larry needed my help now, like he and his late wife had helped me back when times were rough for a 5 and a half year old.

Oh, by the way, we call Shady Shady because of how good of a liar he is. He could convince you he's making a tomato salad and not killing people with a deep red stained knife and surrounded by dead bodies. Wait, I didn't tell you why they called me Mia. Yeah, none of us use each other names for the sake of trustworthiness. If anyone else called us by our group's nicknames, some serious shit would go down. They call me Mia for a sadly dark reason.

Not one of them has ever seen me sleep.

Even when I'd stay at Shady's house as a kid, I never slept unless I would suddenly pass out for a half hour at night, but he never saw me because he himself was sleeping. I've always had trouble sleeping, maybe because I'm nervous, or my mind has to over active of an imagination. Or maybe I just got used to not sleeping in fear as a child, and it turned into a habit.

Who knows?

And yes, I know it's spelled 'Insomnia' and my name should be 'Mnia', but it just looks weird.

Grimmy had quickly finished off Tech's generous offering, and finally announced we have to do something fun today. That's also free. Tech suggested the junkyard as usual, but Shady stated sadly, "Sorry dude, no way I could be there right after that wild storm last night. Everything will be wet and muddy, and if I get too dirty, my Mom'll kill me."

Ah, Shady's mom, good old Elizibeth. She was a young woman, 32 and still more beautiful than any model in her twenties. It was odd, she and Shady looked nothing alike, than their watery blue eyes. Her hair was a sleek and shiny strawberry blond, but in the right lighting, it was a deep orange-red. Her nicely tanned body only complimented her beauty. Almost invisible freckles danced on her face like spots on a robin's egg. Her smile was an inviting and sweet bow, only slightly crooked but white teeth weren't imitating or bad, making her approachable. Altogether, she was wonderful, to her cooking, personality, looks, and slight Irish accent.

Other than Shady's mom, none of us had family. Tech and Grimmy stayed together for some unknown reason. I had my own place and Shady was with his mom in an apartment a bit more up town. We were all each other's second family, or first if you didn't care for blood ties.

"Mama's boy." I heard Tech murmur under his breath, but agreed it wasn't the best idea. We all decided to go to Shady's place, hang around and maybe play the lame board games he had laying around.


~~RANDOM ENDING~~