{Sucky start, but it'll get better soon. Within the next few parts it'll get more surreal and interesting hopefully.} ••• Count to Ten ••• It's up to you to decide what's real and what's not. ••• The speakers pounded relentlessly in the warm evening air, basking in the abruptly fading light whilst letting out repetitive pulses of the sound of indie music. The speakers were balanced on top of a blue backpack, half unzipped, with contents of which milling beside it. A torch, a lighter and a plastic bag of something impossible to see in the darkness. It was getting dark quickly now, and the field was beginning to come alive; singing hoots of night creatures and dancing shadows spontaneously appearing. They observed the fire, whilst shaking to the beat of the wind and music. The fire sat in the centre of the field; the main income of light which fought off the darkness lurking precariously nearby. It appeared to be made up of burning newspapers - the ashes of which scattered across the grass bed - and litter which by this stage was no longer recognisable. It burned obliviously, unaware of it's approaching fate. The fire itself was relatively large, made up of numerous colours. If you looked carefully, you could see how the orange blended into the yellow which at first appeared to be the only colour, and how the fiery red flickered softly behind it, almost unnoticed. Around the fire were four adolescents. One lay sprawled out in the grass, worn trainers tapping the floor lightly. Hazel eyes stared upwards at the sky, matching the colour of his hair — normally swept across his face. Instead it was flattened wildly against the overgrown grass, almost like a miniature afro — if it wasn't straight, anyway. He was still, apart from his feet. "Well this is fun," a girl remarked, a sarcastic edge to her voice. The statement was addressed to neither of the other three individuals in particular, but Frank stopped his foot tapping performance to look over at the girl. She looked to be sixteen, similar to the others. She sat cross-legged, close to the heat source. Her arms outstretched as she put pale hands to the fire, the warmth gradually burning her hand. After a few seconds she pulled away with red palms, but a seemingly contented smile lingering across her features. She looked up as she returned her hands to the ground. "What time is he meant to get here?" Her grey eyes caught Frank's, looking at him since the others were paying no attention. Who 'he' was wasn't apparent, but to the boy it appeared to make sense. "I dunno," the boy said with a shrug, using his hands to push himself up into a slouching position. "But that's like the tenth time you've asked me Miya. Be patient young one; you don't want to seem overly eager," Frank replied, his tone purposely condescending. He grinned at the roll of her eyes. Miya looked around the field, as if expecting the anticipated boy to suddenly appear. Unsurprisingly he didn't, and so she turned back to Frank. "Are you sure he'll even come?" She ran a hand through her hair in an exaggerated fashion, blonde hair cascading past her shoulders in organised waves. "I mean, he's not exactly trustworthy." Frank looked uncertain, but he simply responded by pursing his lips and nodding. He too looked around in hope, but at the lack of the man appearing he turned back to Miya. "Yeah... He needs the money anyway..." The boy trailed off but looked around the dark field uncomfortably. On the opposite side of the fire, a boy and girl sat cross-legged. They appeared to both be staring intently at the fire, whilst anxiously fiddling with cigarette wrappers between thin fingers. Both were quiet, the girl swaying her head gently to the fast music whilst the boy appeared half asleep. That was until Frank flicked an empty beer can at his head. Blue eyes opened at once, blinking in dazed alarm. He turned to look over at the other boy, before grunting something unintelligible and flipping him off. "What was that for man? Assh—" Frank sniggered. "For being boring," he interrupted. By this point he was sat upright, acknowledging the other two friends. "I have fucking dregs in my hair you—" The boy was cut off once again as a dark shadow loomed over the group, having appeared unnoticed. He fell silent, looking down. "Which of you is Mikey?" The shadow's voice drawled. His face was concealed by the darkness. Illuminated by the fire light's shady glow, the shadow's left hand revealed a knife, and in the right was a a handful of small plastic bags.
thanks! i think i might write more over Christmas break. c: i haven't really had chance lately though.