OOC: no sir, you are doing just fine. Really well as a matter of fact, keep it up In fact, teeheehee (Brandy knows those 9 letters mean trouble)

Will Thomas - Stardate 12/22/2012 3:59a

Being drunk while being a survivor of what seemed to be the most idealistic attack on 'MERICAN soil in the history of 'MERICA was a twisty fit! Feigning sobriety was harder for some reason, as I listened only to the pavement as I hit it rapidly with his feet. Maybe it was because my body was rushing to release that toxic fluid out of every pore on his body. Maybe it was because it was still dark and cold. Maybe it was because I hated running in the cold because the chilled oxygen made my lungs seize up.

It didn't matter the reason. I didn't make it very far before I had to stop. Kneeling to catch my breath, I took these moments to truly evaluate my condition.

"Ok.*pant* I'm almost home. Prolly another quarter mile...and I'll reach the..." I looked up, to see buildings that I never seen before. Well not exactly. They looked sorta like my place...but I was positive that they weren't, because my place was painted a nice shade of forest green-and these were all that strange suburbia color that's not quite white but not quite tan. The Homeowners coalition hated me solely for that-but to hell with them, I paid for it.

No..these homes were completely different. I stood back up, leaning against the Honda Civic I took the time to kneel behind. Cars were still deserted, and the streetlights barely flickered on as I walked down the hallowed street.

"Man, I must've blacked out while I was running, and clear ran a different path. I shoulda stayed unfocused, I would have made it back home eventually." Damn my luck. Running up to the nearest house, I repeatedly rang the doorbell. Nothing. Of course. Who'd answer the door for a drunk at this time of night? Morning? I still didn't even know!

"Ok ok ok. Just look around, and see what you can." Fixing my glasses so they stopped hanging on by a thread, I looked around. There was fire on a few lawns from rogue pieces of metal, and smoke not too far away. Aside from that, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Guess I'll head toward the smoke." Burping audibly, I shook off the feeling in my chest, and reached for my handy dandy pocket knife. It was then that I got a bad feeling. I quickly dove behind these folks perfectly manicured bushes. Looking through the bushes, I noted two perfect beams of light shooting down the street. A car. A moving car. I waited to see if someone would stop. But no. The fellow drove slowly, avoiding the abandoned vehicles.

"! Someone's alive. HEY! HEYYAAAARRR!!" I probably should have rethought that call for help, as I sprang from the bushes and hightailed it after the vehicle, knife in right hand. I think I may have startled the poor fellow, as I sprinted across the lawn behind the car, eager to catch up to whomever was prowling the streets.

I say this because not 5 meters from the back of the bumper, the fellow visibly saw me and sped up-urging me to run faster. I was down for the race-what can I say? Besides it was someone ELSE! PEOPLE! Well...a person.

Wait, before I go on-did I mention I was drunk? When you are drunk running, you tend to use up energy alot faster because you are doing stupid things with your arms. Me? I'm flailing them around as I cut across lawns to try and keep up. I lunge over a few bushes and slide across a parked car as this fellow winds through the littered streets!

"HEYYA! GETBACKHEREWHATTHEHELLMAN!" is all I manage to say, but I have a feeling that's not what he heard. After about 5 good minutes of running, I have to quit, because my lungs are on fire-and my head is spinning. Just my luck too, as we reach a clear straightaway. He visibly speeds up and I push myself to the absolute limit. That was 30 seconds of ridiculousness. I slow down, as the red lights continue to shrink, and then vanish as he rounds a corner a good distance down.

"That's what I call a mindfuck." I snicker to myself as I pant in the street. But I can smell fire. and its really close. I look up, to see a hefty plume of the smoke billow skyward.

"That's coming...down the street where that person turned." But, I was too tired to get up just then. Chasing cars is best left for parkour professionals-or for red lights. After a few minutes, I get up, and shift gears.

"Whoever was in that car might come back. I better take the side streets." I quickly push off the ground, and walk towards the nearest home, walking along its side and heading through the backyards toward where that smoke seems to originate from.

(XD Sorry Jeff.)