Sunny September, part two. The next day. Christopher.

  This isn’t just a ‘touch’ of Chaos, this is our teen years spent in prison. I laugh at his foolishness as we descend into the more crowded suburbs where all the lights had switched on from the explosion.

  He’s always been like this, as long as I’ve known him he’s hated the mundane and the ordinary. He has this belief you see, he sees himself (and me for some reason) as above every rule. I remember back in middle school when he’d move around my house erratically, his pearly white grin as he mumbled about his next scheme or act of rebellion. Against who or against what I didn’t know as it was always changing. With him there was always a new rule that needed to be broken and a societal boundary that needed to be crossed. Some of his minor offences involved stealing tasers from police officers, stealing guns from the aftermaths of gang shootings, hunting mountain lions with a knife for the fun of it, graffitiing dicks all over public buildings and breaking in and out of juvie multiple times. You read that correctly, this nigga actually breaks into Juvenal detention. I don’t know what in tarnation would compel a person to do that, but that’s Okimoto for you.

  We separate from the car after we enter the city proper, merging into the sea of traffic to blend in. At this point we had long removed our masks to avoid attention, and we watch as several police cars hurdle past us back towards the hills.

  Along the streets a wall of wide eyes are fixed on the single remaining letter, the few that don’t look tap violently at their phones with knots above their gazes. The cars all drove slowly ahead of us, heads poking out of the sides to witness our work.

  Voices echo as we pass them by before making a turn for Bel Air.

  “So what now?” I ask, while looking around at the nightclubs and bars that had all emptied out to see the destruction for themselves.

  “We continue life as normal,” Okimoto answers with a chuckle. “If we disappear then we might as well turn ourselves in. The police will be questioning everyone and searching everywhere. They’ll take note of any behaviour that’s out of the ordinary so don’t stand out no matter what.”

  “Not standing out won’t be a problem for me but for you?” I say, pinching my brow in frustration. “With that dead fennec fox on your head that you call hair and your general behaviour, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And don’t even get me started on your reputation.”

  He makes fun of me, mimicking a mouth with one hand as he steers with the other. I sigh, what happens to this dude is not my problem. I plan out the next day in my mind, cycling through everything that can go wrong. We had cut all the cables connecting the security cameras to the power supply, so there’s no footage for the police to use. We all made sure to wear gloves so there isn’t any DNA or finger prints either. We even went as far as to cover our shoes in multiple layers of bubble wrap to hide our prints. We planned our act purely in person without using our phones or any kind of digital communication, so any attempts to trace online activity relating to the crime will be pointless. The more I think the more I realise that continuing on with life as if nothing happened was probably my best option. Okimoto can worry about his own ass since he wants to give me attitude for having basic common sense, common sense I realise I lacked back before we blew up the sign.

  My eyes remain fixed on the passing neon signs and lights as I resist the urge to punch myself.

  It isn’t long before we near the entrance to Bel Air. I tell him to let me off around the corner so I can walk the rest of the way.

  We wave each other goodbye and I watch him disappear before walking around the corner towards the entrance. After passing through the gates I look down the lamp lit road towards where my house lies amidst the arching trees at the base of the hill. There was something strange about seeing your neighbourhood featured so prominently in pop culture. Such places were always envisioned by the mind as being in some far off place beyond mortal reach. As I near my home I can’t help but laugh at how the human mind plays tricks on itself. To me this was just my home where I had lived my entire life. There was nothing special about it, just a few famous names scattered across the place, one of which was Shaiaan Markus my mother.

  I insert the key and twist, entering into my house before kicking off my shoes and immediately heading towards the marble stairs. I’ll spare you any jarring description just imagine what the set for The Fresh Prince of Bal air looks like but void of any familial warmth.

  I pass by my mother on my way up the stairs. We share an empty glance as we go about our business. Unlike most parents she doesn’t molest me with questions about why I was out late or why I’m wearing all black clothes and bubble wrap over my shoes. We learned to stop looking in each other’s lives a long time ago.

  She has a condition, psychopathy. It makes it so that she can’t feel empathy or something like that. It’s also the reason for her success in the world of entertainment. She bribed seduced and blackmailed her way to the top, and any other woman that was a threat to her position in the industry would find themselves waking up one day with a botched surgery or a severed tongue. I don’t judge her, our house isn’t one of morals.

  I yawn as I close my bedroom door before changing into my pyjamas and getting into bed. I check my phone and see that it’s already five minutes past one. I feel the urge to piss and get up to go to the bathroom. After doing my business I overhear the news sounding from my mother’s room.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “This just comming in from Los Angeles, a devastating attack has left one of America’s trademarks in a state of utter destruction. Law enforcement is currently searching for the suspect or suspects responsible for this chilling attack.”

  I know it will be next to impossible for them to find us, but that doesn’t stop my heart from racing. I enter the empty room before retrieving the remote from the bed and switching off the television. It’s time for me to get some sleep.

  The morning comes and I slide out of bed before silencing the alarm on my phone. I sneer, seeing that the battery’s got only fifteen percent left. I forgot to charge the damn thing before falling asleep.

  I do my morning routine while occasionally checking snap chat. I sneer for the second time today seeing that Daniel added me to another group chat without warning. I scroll through the garbage dump, learning that god struck the sign down to punish California for rampant sodomy and years of woke mind control. Interestingly enough aliens also wanted in on the fun, they bombed the sign in order to reveal a secret cloning facility where they clone the British royal family. As for how both of these things could be true simultaneously was anyone’s guess.

  I drop a goatse png into the group chat as a parting gift before blocking it and checking the rest of my messages. I see one from Okimoto that was sent twenty minutes ago. It’s an invitation to some party hosted by the Seven Sisters.

  I leave the message on read, undecided on whether or not to go. These Sisters were known for one thing, spreading their legs wide open for anything with a dick and at least one leg. Their house parties are brothels in everything but name. According to Dashawn some jersey donning douche from my school hooked up with them a few days ago. Apparently he woke up the next morning to find spider hairs growing out of his dick and nut sack. Now that I think about it I’ll definitely sit this one out. Let Elton take my place in the tag team.

  Once I’m out of the shower I gaze out of the bathroom window to check the weather. The sky is blue and the rays of sunlight ricochet off the rooftops into my eyes. I hear faint sirens blaring off in every direction and I swallow instinctively, It seems the L.A.P.D. are well at work. I don one of my black pears of jeans, a dark blue shirt with long sleeves, a long grey cardigan and a sun hat over my dreads after I partially tie them back. I apply some perfume I borrowed from Shakira. No I’m not gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), I just prefer women’s perfume because men’s perfume smells like sweat and piss. After snipping away some teenage stubble and admiring my now hairless face, I take my bicycle from the garage and leave without acknowledging my parents. We’re not people who care for formality.

  I flip my school bag on to my back and peddle out of the driveway, waving at a few of the neighbours as I pass them by. The streets of Los Angeles are more chaotic than usual. Some police cars speed by while others simply patrol casually, the gazes of officers scanning the busy streets hopelessly searching for the illusion of me.

  I head down Rexford Drive before the honk of a car behind me sends me into a panick. I don’t dare look back praying to the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit that it’s not the police.

  The honking continues, drawing the attention of a few passing pedestrians.

  I still don’t look back, vowing not to acknowledge them as long as I don’t hear a siren.

  “Yo Christopher!” A familiar voice yells calming me down.

  Looking back I immediately recognise the car as belonging to Chinara, Daniel’s older sister who’s a senior.

  The black Ford focus accelerates before swerving to overtake me.

  In the drivers seat Chinara violently side-eyes me as if having narrowly missed stepping in a pile of dog shit. Normally she dotes on me as if I’m the little brother she always wanted. This reaction is unlike her and can only mean one thing.

  As I ride adjacent to the side of the car my gaze drifts towards the backseats where I see Daniel sticking his head out the window like a dog. It’s fitting as telling his sister what we did clearly shows that he has the intelligence of one.

  He has the sheer audacity to smile at me, his dark brown practically black eyes bursting with unserious pride.

  “Don’t smile at me like that.” I growl, my eyes darting between the road and his nasty mug. “Why in heavens name would you tell anyone?”

  “Because it’s fucking based,” He chants ignorantly.

  “It was retarded.” I snap back. “Hell I don’t even know why I did it.”

  Chinara yells at her brother in Nigerian, I can only assume it’s profanity. She yells at me too before looking me up and down and kissing her teeth.

  “Kini MO ?e lati y? iru wahala yii,” She cries, going back to English. “Stupid idiot, I should throw you out on the sidewalk, let this fool ride you to school on the back of his bike.”

  “No he’ll walk,” I say.

  “Now what you’re not gonna do is start acting like you’re any better!” Chinara yells, sweat dripping down her forehead and twinkling as it slides along her nose ring. Her fine ass thick lips snarl as she rants with a frightening passion. “in fact it’s even stupider for you to do it because you’re much smarter than the idiot in the back seat.”

  “Give me a break.” I sigh.

  The last thing I need right now is to have people scold me for my own stupidity.

  “That picture you dropped in the group chat was foul though,” Daniel says suddenly. “I was eating when I saw that.”

  “But do I give a shit though?” I reply staring past him at the empty seat beside him. Seeing that she wasn’t with them I ask. “Where is Katrina?”

  Daniel snickers. “She’s not coming. You see I told her as well.”

  “For gods sake!” I yell, causing a few heads to turn along the sidewalk. “This nigga’s dying to get locked up. This level of self snitching is astonishing.”

  “Nah, she won’t tell anyone, she’s so scared that she locked herself up in her room and refuses to leave. Poor thing. Now I’m going to have to make up some excuse to our home room teacher to explain her absence.”

  “pa fokii soke,” Chinara hisses. “Ohun ti o ?e kii ?e nkankan lati gberaga. ti o ko ba joko ni ijoko r? daradara, aisan s? fun baba ohun ti o ?e. L?hinna iw? yoo lu ? buruju iw? kii yoo nilo lati ?e aniyan nipa aw?n ?l?pa ti o m? ?.”

  I have no idea what she said but I can see that Daniel’s normally obsidian complexion has gone milk white, his expression going blank as he pulls his head back in and sits properly in his seat.

  The windows role up and the car makes a right turn at the intersection causing us to part ways.

  I stop briefly on the side of the road, my eyes trail the back of Chinara’s car as she heads down Wilshire boulevard.

  Stress drives me crazy as I think about the others. Okimoto was a maniac but I know that he has enough common sense to not self snitch like Daniel, Elton is much the same. Shakira might be a problem because she loves to gossip, Markeiff is a total unknown and so is Trevor. All it took was one of us getting busted and cracking under interrogation for all of us to get fucked. I realise that I need to pull Daniel aside and have a serious conversation with him, it’s clear that he doesn’t grasp the gravity of our actions.