Okay, here's lame-o story.
July 12, 2002. 19-year-old Greg sits alone in his room, chatting on the internet from his home in New Jersey. He lived with his father, and his younger brother Matt. The mother, who left some years ago to live with her other family, was pretty much forgotten in their family.
“Hey Greg, can you go get some Chinese?” his dad asks from the doorway of his room. “I know you drove to get it last time, but Matt is busy with a school project.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” Greg sighed. A school project? Sure. It was probably just another lame excuse from his younger brother to get him to go get food and not use his own gas.
“Oh, and I want that shrimp stuff... the one with the... actually, just get what we get all the time, and get whatever you want... and go to the place on the corner of Cherry and 3rd. I forgot what it’s called,” his father added as he handed him thirty dollars. Greg grabbed a jacket, slipped a grey beanie hat over his brown hair, grabbed the keys to his beat up ’95 Toyota Tacoma and set off.
About 10 minutes later, Greg arrived at “that place at the corner of Cherry and 3rd,” as titled by his dad. Chinese food wasn’t exactly his favorite, but it’d do. He was pretty hungry. He pulled into a parking space and entered into the building. Immediately, he thought noticed a familiar looking figure sitting at a table, but he shrugged and went to order his food.
“Hey,” a young man called out to him. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked. Greg turned around and he immediately blanched—he did know him from somewhere.
“Uh, yeah... hey... Hayden” Greg said, avoiding eye contact with the larger young man standing in front of him. Though they were about the same age, Hayden towered over Greg’s height of six feet, and most likely had thirty pounds more body weight than he.
“You’re Greg, aren’t you?” Hayden asked, staring him down. “You’re the one that—“
“Hey, look, that was five years ago I swear I—“
“You are the one. You’re the one that ratted me out, huh? I ended up going to Juvi and my mom killed herself. Remember?”
“If I knew that your mom was so emotionally unstable, I wouldn’t—“but he was cut short by a punch to the face. Greg staggered back, and as soon as Hayden set up for another punch he ducked and gave Hayden a knee to the stomach. As Hayden doubled over, Greg saw him pull out a black, metallic object from the back of his pants scrambled to get away. He heard a gunshot and then the world faded to black.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Greg woke up to the sound of beeping monitors and quiet chat coming from others in the room. He looked around at his surroundings... light green walls, a curtain dividing the room, monitors, IV poles, random tubes poking out of him... duh. A hospital.
He looked to his right to see his dad sleeping on the recliner near his bed. Greg began to sit up, but immediately regretted it, let out a loud groan of pain, and laid back down.
“Hey,” he heard someone call out. He turned to see his dad walking up to his bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“Uh... my side hurts... and my arm.” Greg said weakly.
“It’s no wonder. You got shot. Twice. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Greg coughed. “What day is it?”
“It’s Friday,” his dad answered.
“I’ve been out for three days...?”
“Mhm. But you’re alright—that’s all that matters,” his father added. “The bullets didn’t hit any organs or major veins or arteries. You’re a lucky kid, son,” he stated as he patted his uninjured shoulder. And with that, there was an awkward silence... His dad decided to break the silence by informing him about his assailant.
“The shooter got away. All the witnesses have a good description of him, but no name. They said you mentioned it once—what was his name?”
Greg thought for a moment, and for some reason he couldn’t recall the name. He knew that he knew his attacker’s name, but he couldn’t find it in he disorganized state of his mind right then.
“I... I can’t remember,” Greg admitted. His father sighed.
“Oh, it’ll come back to you soon,” he smiled.
“Where’s Matt?”
“Oh, he had a presentation he couldn’t miss that was worth more than half of his grade. He said to tell you he was sorry,”
Oh, so he wasn’t lying... Greg thought. Suddenly, he felt compelled to ask his father about someone they rarely talked about.
“Hey, Dad... when was the last time you talked to mom?”
“When she left, son. Seven years ago. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Oh...” Greg sighed. That didn’t enlighten him much. “Oh, dad, I remember the name of the guy who shot me... it was a guy I ratted out for drug dealing. His name was Hayden.”
“Hayden? Hayden who?”
“Hayden Smith.” Greg said nonchalantly. His father suddenly turned a shade of grey, shocked.
“Hayden Smith is your half brother, Greg. Your mother left us to be apart of his family.”
Realization slowly dawned on Greg—He was a catalyst to his mother’s death.
EDIT: lmao, I accidently called that hayden dude Rick. It's fixed, haha. :laugh3: There's nothing too it, rick--i was just talking to you while I typed that.