1 // Sir Step Away From The Vehicle and Stop Flexing-1

WHEN I finally blinked awake into the morning, the first thought that crossed my mind was murder. And not just any murder, really. A specific murder. A murder that had anything and everything to do with the music that was ruthlessly ripping to shreds any hope of my well-deserved sleep. "Please, no, no, this cannot be happening," I groaned into my mattress, pulling my pillow tight over my head in a pathetic attempt to block out the awful sound. "Not again, not today." It did not work. Nothing worked. Everything was awful. I drew in a deep breath to soothe the swelling fury that was growing inside me, but it was hopeless. Hope had officially been tied to cement blocks and drowned out in a river of steady beats and guitar riffs. In through the nose, and out through the mouth. We are calm, cool, and collected. We will not murder anyone today. When I squeezed my eyes shut, forcefully willing myself to fall back asleep, I almost managed to convince myself that it was actually working. Until I had to admit that the irritating thump of bass was still very loud and still very there and still very much tempting me to commit homicide. "Go away, please, if there is any good in the world, please, I promise I'll never illegally download anything ever again," I tried to bargain with whatever entity that would listen, burying myself deeper within my blankets. The next thought that crossed my mind was where I'd be able to find any medieval torture tools on short notice. I bet a spiked mace could fix my problem. Craigslist, maybe? Groaning for the umpteenth time, I flung my pillow across the room, hearing it crash into my desk chair but paying it no mind. My eyes were trained on the ceiling in a glare, because that was all my body could muster. Moving seemed like a terrible idea, but sadly, inevitable. The racket of outside continued to bleed in through my shut window, the glass creating no protection from my sanity, and I cursed him. Him who I knew was the reason for this awful happening, like most of the unfortunate events that had cursed my life as of late. Him who, one way or another, was going to end up with a mace in his face. Because I was as determined as I was eBay savvy. Someone was going to die, and the asshole next door was first on my list. I ripped off my thick duvet, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with the heel of my palm as corrosive rage burned in the pit of my stomach. My retinas were burning against the light, and like clockwork, another groan spilled past my lips. With only pure hatred motivating my body, I dragged myself over to the window, pulling the blinds up to be met with the familiar sight of my neighbourhood. All green lawns and elm trees in the heart of suburbia. This, unfortunately, included my new next door neighbour- also known as The Antichrist, or the person who was blaring his music unspeakably loud on a Saturday morning. I usually just called him the worst person alive. Shoving my window open, I stuck out my head. My bedhead and polar bear pajama t-shirt were just afterthoughts to the meticulously planned homicide unfolding in my mind. And there, unsurprisingly, I found Reese. In all his light brown hair and tanned skin infamy, aviators perched amongst the pretentiously tousled waves of his hair, stood Reese. He had these infuriating dimples digging into his cheeks, and all I wanted to do was carve them out. With a sharp object. Preferably a machete. "Hey, what the fuck?" I snapped, glaring daggers at the boy who was nonchalantly wiping down the hood of his candy apple red car. All the doors were flung open, releasing a torrent of sound some might call music, but I would call the soundtrack to his eventual murder. He paused, looking up and greeting me with that signature Powers grin. All mischief and teeth, spread way too wide. He waved, standing ever so casually in front of his stupid car he always had to stupid clean so stupid early while listening to his stupid music. "Good morning to you too, sunshine!" he called back. I flipped him off. "It's seven in the morning, have some goddamn respect and turn that awful racket down!" I barked, hoping that I could access some long lost telekinetic powers and make Reese's head explode. I narrowed my eyes. Not today, at least. But there was always tomorrow. "Hey, calm down, Stella," he said, but the smirk curved on his face only served to infuriate me more. "We don't want you to break a hip or anything, grandma." "Oh, how original, I'm Reese Powers, and I'm so funny!" I sneered, dripping with sarcasm as I threw my arms around melodramatically, because it was the morning, and logical thought process was a job for afternoon Stella. His grin seemed to inexplicably widen. Reese only waved mockingly in response. I could feel my blood vessels on the verge of breaking, so I slammed my window shut, if only because I knew the rage bubbling inside could not be good for my health. And I was half-considering flinging myself towards my death in the only hope that I could fall on him and take Reese down with me. Despite everything, though, the music was still there. The bass was punctuated in the air, and I couldn't bring myself to fight it. Instead, I heaved a frustrated groan and stalked out my bedroom door. Not today, and maybe not even tomorrow, but one day- oh, one day, Reese Powers was going to pay. How I ended up even living next to the most insufferable person to ever curse the earth, I did not know. Maybe I was a mass murderer in a past life and this was my cruel and eternal punishment to endure. Or, well, until I moved out next year for college, but really, that seemed like an eternity away. I managed to drag my body downstairs into the kitchen, seduced by the smell of bacon, and came to be not disappointed. My older brother stood in front of the stove, bobbing his head to the music only he heard in his head, wearing boxers and a tank top. His dark brown hair was merely a shorter version of the chaos that made up my own. He was humming an all too-familiar tone, also victim to Reese's disrespectful shenanigans, and I groaned again. Because that was all my life was made up of. Groaning and bacon. "Oh god, stop it," I complained, slapping a hand across my forehead as I sat down at the marble kitchen nook. "I'm getting war flashbacks. If you keep going, I swear to all that is good in the world, you will die." He arched an eyebrow at me. "What? It's catchy. And glad to see that mom's zen training is really working out for you. I see you're definitely using the ten second rule by the way you were screaming like a lunatic to the entire neighbourhood." "Sounds like you're no longer a twenty year old leaching off your parents and playing video games in the basement all day! Oh wait," I paused, waiting for a response, but Chris only glared. I grinned, triumphantly. "Sucker." The sour look on his face dropped as he turned his attention back to the frying pan, shrugging. "Sounds like someone doesn't want bacon." "Hey now, let's all be rational adults here," I cut in, flashing him a cheeky grin. "We wouldn't want someone telling mom that her scratched up bumper isn't from some asshole at the grocery store." Chris's lips thinned and he shot me a sharp stare, as if it could have any effect on me after two months of holding the scratched bumper over his head. Still, he put out two plates anyways with a pointed roll of his eyes. Mid-way through breakfast, I heard the front door open. "Hello, my lovelies!" sang the familiar voice of Savannah, with it striding in my best friend. Her light blonde hair was curled to perfection as always, virgin sacrifices were involved I was sure, and her pale lips were set into a soft smile. I instantly felt my mood brighten, and Chris grinned, waving at her. "This morning was horrible," I whined, patting down the seat next to me for her to sit. Savannah chuckled, setting her ridiculously large teal purse on the counter and planting herself next to me. "So I've heard, Chris texted me that you were already up and wreaking havoc on the neighbourhood, so I thought I'd come over before you hulked out."