The Pacifist

The music is so loud I can feel the bass through the walls. My heart keeps beating to that same beat. Boom, Boom, Boom my head throbs from all the loud noise. I watch the bodies dance from my post on the wall. Everyone's laughing, drinking, or dancing with their friends. Except me. I've been standing on the wall all night drinking my beer. I look at the crowded dance floor. All I can see is shadows of figures, a sure sign that I've had one too many: or maybe a few more. It's been pretty boring all night. None of the girls seem to catch my eye and the music just isn't my style. Then I notice a guy eyeballing me hard. I've seen this dude before. Roy Thomas. Even though he wasn't the athletic type everyone knew his name. But everyone feared to even speak it. He reps BOH, the local gang around these parts. B.O.H. stands for Blood Over Hearts. Every murder in the vicinity has had something to do with them. Now here was the main ringmaster in all the rumors looking at me like I’m spit on the sidewalk. Rage kicked in and starts to boil my blood to an excruciating temperature. My head starts to pound harder. I clench my teeth together to the point that it actually causes me pain.
He wasn't the only one with a reputation in this neighborhood. I've never been in a gang but I am famous for the bloody noses I've caused. If you wanted to list every guy I've fought you would waste a lot of paper. I didn't take crap from nobody and it seems like everyone around here is just giving out crap like it’s on sale.