WARNING: THIS IS A HORROR STORY! READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

I'm not the brightest person in the world, emotionally and intellectually and I certainly don't pretend to be the smartest. Probably because my intelligence is a directly equivalent to my unpopularity. Unlike what many would assume, I'm very bright and quick to conjure an easy to understand and operate plan of attack from nothing, with relative ease. However, many underestimate me. They assume that I'll overclock and over-think my plan and actions. I throw them all off my trail by acting aloof at times, making them look at me like I'd screw up a plan. But, they're assumptions are easily the furthest lie from the absolute truth of reality. 

"Hey, loser! Scan my groceries!" The grouchy old female customer yells at me. I forgot, I was at my job. My mind rambles on sometimes. I quickly start scanning the groceries on the conveyor belt and loading them into the plastic bags. Some days I honestly wish that I didn't work at this idiotic store. The rude lady paid for her groceries and left without much more of a fuss. I questioned why I was still here, until my dull boss, Garry, strolled up to me from the wall at the other side of the store, and began his business manager talk. The kind you get when you've done a good job, but the manager believes you can do better than that. "Jay, you've been a good employee, but you've got to stop zoning out while customers are in your line. Keep up the good work, discontinue the bad work." Garry said, strolling away, his dress shoes clicking against the ground loudly. Garry is the boss you want to slap, but your afraid to because of his fragility. I actively ask myself in my head why I'm still here until I suddenly snap back to my reasoning of why. Garry gives some very beefy paychecks, despite the job. Jenny and her pink and purple hair extensions walked past me, at the counter, taking off her work uniform, Garry flipping the sign on the door over to closed. I took off my worn uniform, hanging it in the office, awaiting my paycheck from Garry. Time seemed to slow to that of a snail's pace, oddly similar to two children at the teacher's desk, awaiting punishment. With the exception for this being that the punishment is money, and the teacher is my grumpy, dulled and emotionally lifeless boss.

Eventually, with no form of speed or care for time, Garry gave me and Jen our paychecks before all of us left the store, Garry locking the door behind us, leaving the store deserted for the upcoming weekend. The sky was a bright orange and purple slur, like remnant of a parking lot oil stain. Nearby trees absorbing the odd orange color in the large and vast sky, indicating Autumn is fast approaching. I live in a small town, so no need to drive my car five blocks for my job. A benefit of walking home is that I get exercise. I start my walk back to my house, a two story building with a guest bedroom and a balcony overlooking the massive forest in my backyard. God, that forest is my personal safe place. No hostile animals have ever show up at my house or anything similar, for that matter. However, most of my close friends love to get drunk and enjoy an amazing game we all came up with, we came to a decision on the name about a week ago, "Hunt". The rules are that we all tie a piece of yarn around our wrist and we all collectively choose a hunter. Usually the Hunter is the person who had drank the most. We all start toward the center of the forest. Someone counts to twenty-seven, in the meantime we all run away from that person. That person becomes the designated hunter, tasked with finding all the other drunks, and obtaining their bracelets by dueling the other through physical means, usually boxing or some form of physical attack to incapacitate the others. Last time we did it, we all got caught by Alex, and I got knocked out. He was always a great hunter.

A loud honk of a car speeding by my face snaps me out of thought, realizing that I almost walked in front of the car. I look back and forth between the intersection and the long street out of town. I step out, right before making a mad dash across the street. I make it to the other side, barely in time before another speeding car comes barrelling down the road. This street has claimed at least three lives. An idiot on his phone, a hipster checking a dating site, and a nerd reading books. I carry on, walking further down the sidewalk. This town's history is fairly new. I am a co-founder, my rich friend, John, jump-started this entire town. Or, at least his parents did, he runs it. His parents bought the ruins of the town, which had an astounding population of over two-hundred, if accounting for the rodents. Around ten or so, only accounting for humans only. They completely bought out and cleared the land, as a farewell gift for their son. We were always fast friends, my hidden intelligence shocked him. And, if it wasn't already obvious, I became friends with the rich kid, because he was rich. We have always had one another's back. He'd always crash at my place after a round of beers or a game of Hunt.

I finally arrive home, climbing the twelve stone steps up to the wooden front door, the door sliding on the smooth tile makes a soft echo. My beautiful paintings of rare landscapes line a select few of the walls in the very large living room. A solid metal ballistics shield with a medical cross hangs above the doorway, reminding me of my military service as a field-doctor, giving my friends that had been shot decent medical treatment until we could get back to base so I could give them better treatment. I take off my shoes, setting my keys on the side table and locking the door behind me. I may live on the edge of town, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a massive and cozy house. John's parents left him double it took to create his Mansion in town center, so, in turn, he gave me half of that to make my own house. And, I absolutely love it. As long as I'm a great friend and there for him, he pays both our rents. I turn on my television in the living room, switching it to one of my favorite pre-recorded chemistry drama episodes. I remove my heavy camouflage jacket pull over, straighten out my plain white t-shirt. I take my phone out of my pocket, setting on the side table near the couch. I take my black jeans off, not truly caring for wearing anything else except my boxers and white shirt. I ball up both my jacket and jeans and throw them into a laundry basket. I walk to the kitchen, gabbing a bottle of rare rum and a half-iced dreamsicle pitcher out of the fridge, and pour myself a glass of dreamsicle and rum mixture, setting the glass bottle and pitcher back in their designated places. I grab the alcoholic mixture and slowly walk back over to my tan couch, my feet patting against the wood floor. I set the iced glass of delicious alcoholic beverage on the short, small, side table as my drama plays out. This is by far my favorite episode, where the chemistry teacher has an amazing breakthrough in his hidden drug business.

A quarter the way through the third episode, with the sky outside morphing into a deep dark blue and several glasses of rum later, my phone rings, vibrating extremely loudly on the table next to me. I roll my eyes before picking it up, my drunkenness causing me to forget checking the caller ID. "Hello? Is this Jasper?" The deep voice said on the other side of the phone. "Yes, what do you want?" I said ignorantly, disregarding much of my perfered reculsion. "Oh, it's so nice to hear from you again. It's me, Michael. From your home town?" My mind bogs like a lawn mower filled with too much grass. Except the grass is alcohol and the lawn mower being my mind. "Yeah? Black hair, right?" I finally mutter out. My brain fixating on the thing that is the utmost common amongst all the people I know. "Yeah, can I drop by this weekend? I'd kill to have another Hunt. It's been so long." He rambles on, my mind blocking most of it out, due to the alcohol blurring my memory and sensory processing systems of my body. "Sure. I guess." Before anymore damage could be done to my intelligence, I hang up and wander back to my bedroom amongst the jelly-like floor of my drunkenness.

Despite the prior night, my hangover wasn't nearly bad enough to stop me from moving or doing something productive today. I need to clean and prepare for the Hunt later this evening. It's probably a bad thing for my liver to take this abuse, but I'll go easy on myself tonight. I stretch before getting out of bed, my yawn morphing into a weird goat noise. I laugh a short second at my own odd comedy before stepping into my bedroom's attached bathroom. I turn on the shower and await it to warm up, in the meantime, I look at my face and slightly exposed chest though my sweaty white shirt. I almost do a full on analyst over myself in the reflection. My acne from many years ago had left a few final marks for me to never forget it and my cut on my eyebrow hasn't seemed to age a day. I take off my shirt, dropping my boxers. Starting at the waist and scanning up, I analysis my slightly chubby belly and my farmer's tan, and honestly, I don't much care. My mirror begins steaming up as I realize my shower was still on. I step inside the large glass box, washing almost every nook and cranny, not that it'll matter for the upcoming Hunt. I finish up, washing off, and drying. I slipped on some lounge pants and a grey tank top, deciding to go commando until the Hunt. I walk out to the living room. Surprisingly, drunk me didn't make too much of a mess, just some chip crumbs and an empty glass of rum. I grab my phone after tying off the bag of chips and grabbing the glass, moving to the kitchen. I set my phone on the counter, throwing the remaining chip bag in the trash, and scrubbing my dirty glass in the sink. I check my phone's notifications. Two texts from John about him being here earlier than usual, a text from Alex about him leaving his house out of state and four missed calls from Michael with no voicemails.

Afternoon rolls in, looking a lot more like evening than afternoon. As I clean my house, I open the windows to air out my house, but every now and again, something odd would happen. Every now and again, I would walk past an open window just to hear it slam shut behind me, as if someone else doesn't like them open. I tried to catch the petty teenager who's messing with me, but I'd be a millisecond off. I would occasionally catch, out of the corner of my eye, a small slender black object moving away from a window that was recently shut. I couldn't ever make out the shape of it. It looked oddly like an arm without the hand, like a nub of sorts. I dismiss it, because I've overheard at work that some hoodlums have been running around. I get dressed in some dark blue jeans, a black undershirt and my zip-up blue jacket.

The evening stalls and crawls in to make the sky almost a vomit orange, blue and purple mix. John shows up half an hour early, after I tie a stand of yarn around his wrist, he instantly helps himself to some beer I had on ice in a massive bucket on the counter. While drinking it, he reorganizes the order of the beers in the cooler. Alex shows up next, fifteen minutes after John, surprisingly early for someone that drives in from out of state. I tie another stand of yarn around his wrist before I greet him with a firm handshake and a pat on the back as he joins John at the counter and opens an ice cold beer. Michael shows up last, forty-five minutes after Alex, giving me a sense of nostalgia, with his bleached hair and his massive cuts on his chest barely visible through his white shirt. I spot an odd shape lodged in the side of his waistband, but I don't pay it much attention; as for the marks, I know they are there, because he has had a boxing match with me once. Way back towards the end of high school, our friend group wanted to see who could hit harder. Toward the end of the fourth round, he went nuts and tore off his shirt, revealing his scarred chest. The cuts were deep and none of us knew what they were from. It was simultaneously funny and very scary. I knocked him out in the fifth round.

I shut the door as Michael walks pasts me and shares a beer with the other friends in the room, meeting and greeting them happily. I stall closing the door almost as if something was compelling me not to. I shrug it off and close it. "Welcome, my friends. We can eventually get to the Hunt, however until that time arrives, let's have some drinks!"