Metal music blasted through his speakers. It was ancient, and the quality was shot, but if he cranked it up as high as he could, it didn’t matter. Metal from the twenty-first century didn’t have lyrics, after all– just screaming and rage. The awkward, gangly teenager felt like that lost age of big hair and angry, skinny men was where he belonged. He wore skin-tight vinyl pants, covered in horizontal rips. Heavy chains dragged his coat and pants, and the sheer weight forced his shoulders down. He slouched horribly, and his shirt’s large emblem was deformed by the folds of the dark-colored cloth until it looked like a blood-covered potato.
To top it all off was his magnificent leather coat. The seller on eBay assured him that it was the blood of Nathan Explosion, from the band called Dethklok staining the collar. He said it got so big, that the government had to shut it down for good and stomp out every trace. That was why searches and old newspapers had nothing. That was why he never found anything. The internet claimed it was an old, shitty cartoon.
Despite this, he wore the ugly jacket with pride. He was the only kid in his school who had a real leather jacket, let alone one that had a blood stain on it. He ran his hand along the uneven stain and grinned, then paused. The texture felt strange. He ran his finger along it more slowly, then nodded. It was just slightly mussed.
The teen stood and pulled his ear buds out. They were so old-fashioned! He bought them off eBay, where they were advertised as iPod headphones. They were so retro. He thought he would die! He pulled on a single white glove, then walked out the door of his room, only to run into his baby brother.
“Tommy, I want more of your pills.” the delirious five year old begged. His fat little fingers reached out toward his brother’s jacket pocket. “Give me them.” His hand found its way into the leather, and he rustled around for it. His heterochromic eyes widened, and his pupils became tiny pinpricks. “Gimmie!” he screeched.
Tommy shoved him away. “Fuck off, snot-for-brains!” He backed up a step, then closed and locked his door. “Stop stealing my pills, you faggot!” He turned away from his brother and walked off, but the smaller male walked after him, his steps uneasy.
Tommy left the house, ignoring his brother’s presence. Every house was laid out in a perfect grid. Each block had room for ten homes, and every house looked the same, save for the roofs. His roof was grey-blue, and every house was either a shade lighter, darker, more yellow, or more red. He ignored his brother as every step made the smaller boy more desperate.
Finally, the young boy lunged at his brother.
The report of the coroner stated that Tommy was stabbed fifteen times– mostly the back of his legs and his rear. He died of blood loss in the ambulance. His brother was sent to the courts to determine his fate.