Luke

(Switching into first person)

This town was lame. Each street was identical to the last, each house looked exactly the same, with the possible exception of the paint job, but even then there were three, maybe four colors that the morons who chose to build this hellhole had actually used. White, beige, yellow, and off-white, for the suburban drunken housewife who wanted to live on the edge.

I passed onto another street and saw some of the inhabitants of this fucked up, 50's style experiment. Two men standing by a fence. Both were wearing polos and khakis, again the only difference was color. Their haircuts were even laughably similar, though that might have been a constraint of this place. It wouldn't surprise me if there was only one barber in the whole damn town.

Behind one of the wannabee Ward Cleavers was his June, a woman who was wearing a pink dress and pearls, her hair styled like she belonged almost a century earlier. With her was a girl around my age, wearing a white dress and pearls. Her hair was slightly more modern, but still too mainstream. It was like they all picked their clothes and haircuts out of a fucking value menu.

The two men noticed me and stared. I could tell they didn't approve. I smirked and flipped them off, turning to walk away as they shook their heads at me.

I wandered for another half hour before getting irritated enough that I did the unthinkable. I turned and started making my way back to the new house. The identical nature of this place worked against me until I spotted my old man's car. To my surprise, there was another car in the driveway next to it. A station wagon, with a bumper sticker on it that said "Neighborhood Association".

"Guess the wannabe pig was right," I said, reaching for my pocket. I stopped with my fingers just barely inside, realizing that I didn't have any smokes. My old man had taken them and tossed them before we took the trip out here. I would have to find a place to stock up soon. I was already getting jittery.

I walked up to the door and opened it, and I could here a way too high, way too chipper voice talking.

"-ure we can find someone. We have weekly gatherings, and a surprising number of singles, really. You're not alone in hoping to find a match here."

I rolled my eyes as I walked toward the staircase. I glanced into the living room as I did, taking a peek at the obnoxious sounding woman. She had long blonde hair which went to the middle of her back, and she was wearing a pink skirt suit under a white fur coat. I could have thrown up.

The woman smiled, and I felt a chill go down my spine. I had seen that kind of smile before. Fake, hiding something vicious. I had seen it among dealers, gang members, some particularly tenacious teachers and school admins.

"And that must be Luke," she said, standing from the couch.

"Yes, this is my son. Luke, this is Mrs. Warren. She's on the Neighborhood Association."

"Good for her," I said. I turned and started up the stairs again, stopping only as I heard heels clicking on the wooden floor. I turned and saw her coming to the bottom of the staircase.

"Your father mentioned you've had some... problems in the last few years. Roger at the gate also mentioned that you seemed... hostile?"

I could feel myself growing more angry by the second. "Yeah? Good thing I don't give a fuck what people think, then."

"I don't think you understand how fortunate you are, Luke. Ours is a good community. Many people would be thrilled to be welcomed in."

I shrugged, rolling my eyes as I did. I heard my dad sigh, and Mrs. Warren chuckled.

I repressed a shiver at her laugh. There was something off about it. About her, about all of this.

"I think the main issue is a lack of direction," Mrs. Warren said. "As i was saying, we can provide that. All we need is your okay."

"I don't need any 'direction' from you," I said.

My dad sighed. "I... I don't know."

"We can start the process and bring in some other parents who have okayed it. You can hear their stories, compare notes. I promise in cases such as this, it will make a colossal difference."

"What the fuck are you two talking about?" I asked.

"I... I suppose," My dad said.

Mrs. Warren smiled, showing her perfectly white teeth. "Excellent decision, Mr. Williams." She reached into her purse and produced a small device. It took me a moment to recognize it for what it was.

"Is that a fucking gun?" I asked, taking another step up the stairs. When neither answered, I continued upward. Once I reached the upper landing, I heard a noise and felt something strike my back, like a bee sting, but worse.

I took a couple of steps, stumbling with each successive one. By the third, I felt my eyelids growing heavy.

"I'll make the calls. Some strong young men to bring him to the facility, and some of the other parents. Once you make your decision as to whether or not to proceed, there will be other options to go over."

"What if I decide against this. What do we do about him?"

"I'm not concerned, Mr. Williams," Mrs. Warren said. "As I said, I believe in our process."

With that, I fell ****.