March Rumble

[greaserfreak]

Legend

Patterson watched as a small crowd gathered around the seventeen year old kid who was now laying dead in the damp grass with a few fish next to him. He had been the one who had fired the two warning shots and felt only a small sense of relief when the kid feel to the ground. Maybe now everyone would see the kid for who he really was, another punk trying to run the streets. At least that's what Patterson thought until that night.

For the past few years, Patterson had watched that kid wander the streets. Sometimes alone and other times with that younger brother of his. There was always something unusual about the kid. Something that Patterson could never quite get his finger on, but assumed wasn't good. After all, the boy dressed just like all the other no good hoodlums that roamed the streets. Surely, this boy was no different.

"I'm sending the younger one to the hospital," another cop on the scene said to Patterson. "Cut up his hand pretty bad when he put it through that window."

"The kid's probably on dope," Patterson mumbled in an attempt to convince himself that his words were true.

"He doesn't look like he's on anything," the other cop commented. "Only confused and maybe a little scared."

Patterson didn't reply as he looked back at the older brother. The crowd seemed to be getting bigger and he didn't have the energy to tell them to leave. Instead, he watched with curiosity. Trying to figure out what these people saw in the kid.

"What happened?" A few people asked, but Patterson didn't answer. He could only lean against his car and watch as people looked at the kid as if they were already at the funeral.

"I don't believe it," someone said and Patterson turned to see one of the younger brother's friends standing a few feet away. "If it were anyone else, I might be able to believe it, but the Motorcycle Boy?"

"You knew him?" Patterson asked, even though he really didn't care to have an answer.

"Everybody knows the Motorcycle Boy," the kid replied. "He's kind of a legend around here."

"I don't know about that," Patterson said, not wanting to believe the kid.

"He wasn't what you would consider normal, that's for sure," the kid commented.

"All you kids are alike," Patterson told him. "Everyone of you is just trying to find a way to run the streets."

"Maybe," the kid agreed to Patterson's surprise. "But the Motorcycle Boy wasn't like everyone else. I can't explain it, but he was different from anyone I know."

"I doubt that," Patterson said. "Look at him, he's no different than you."

"On the outside," the kid said. "But if you spent any time around him, you would have known that he was different. He had something about him that seemed to attract people to him, even though he wasn't one to go out and make friends."

"I noticed that," Patterson admitted. "Caught him watching the river a few times on the bridge. I don't think I've ever seen anyone else do that unless they were with him."

"He liked the river," the kid replied. "His brother used to tell me that. Where is Rusty-James anyway? I would think that he would be here."

"He had to go to the hospital to get some stitches," Patterson said. "Stupid kid put his hand through my car window."

The kid shrugged and joined the crowd while Patterson continued to watch the scene. He wasn't sure if he wanted to believe that the Motorcycle Boy as the kid had called him was a legend. After all, he was only a seventeen year old boy. What was so special about that?

Patterson heard more people talk about the Motorcycle Boy as the night went on. Even after the body had been removed, people seemed to continue to show up. It was as if word had spread even though the paper wouldn't be out for several hours. He wasn't sure why so many people wanted to pay last respects to a kid who hadn't done anything to receive such a response, but they showed up anyway.

"I told you he was a legend," the kid he had talked to said as he walked past, probably heading to his home.

Patterson sighed as he finally got into his car and started the engine. Maybe the Motorcycle Boy was a legend or maybe he was just a kid who was misunderstood. The only thing Patterson knew for sure was that the kid was dead and that the town had lost what they thought was their savior. Part of him felt sorry for the Motorcycle Boy after all, the kid never asked to be the town's leader. He wasn't even sure why the boy had become the leader of so many people. The kid certainly didn't appear like he wanted to lead. In fact, if Patterson wasn't mistaken, the Motorcycle Boy always seemed to be the type who wanted to be alone. Certainly not the type who would lead others and definitely not someone who could save the town from whatever they thought they needed saving from. He was nothing more than a seventeen year old kid who had his life cut too short and that was the only thing that Patterson could admit to himself as he drove home that night.

[Tensleep]

Wow! I have totally not seen these new entries until this...morning already? Damn time change...

Sharp: I thought that was awesome how Ken and Travis share their connection, even if he is dead. It had a lot of feeling and you could tell it was a monumental thing for them. I loved how you tied in Sodapop. Awesome job!

Greaserfreak: I think that you managed to get the whole story summed up in your title - an awesome feat! I love this afterward and how the people would think of the Motorcycle Boy in comparison to Patterson's thoughts. It was a great comparison and a great focus on something I had always thought about myself. Great job!

Oh, note that Bill Smith played Patterson in Rumble Fish! Man, you have to love that man.

[sharpshooter]

Greaserfreak; Oh, Rumble Fish! I would have never thought to do something like that. Really great to see this, especially through the eyes of Patterson. x3

Tensleep; Thanks a lot. x3 I was afraid it was a little too heavy, considering Travis and Ken aren't real 'emotional' guys. I probably could have made it more realistic if I would've taken more time. xD;;

[Maddiecake]

<sup>I'm not sure what I wrote here... but I wanted to give this a try xD

He doesn’t exactly like it when they taunt him, as he stands on second base with a determined expression and his left leg behind his right, toe barely touching the trash can lid that serves the purpose of the base. There’s no way that he can beat the fast throws of the older boys, with their sneers and loud voices that add to the noises of the city. They’re too fast, too big, too tall and here he is at seven with his small arms and legs, but he has spunk, and that’s usually what gets him into the games.

That, and the fact that he’s just like every one of them. A bastard; his father dead somewhere across the ocean and he never knew him, the man having left when he was just an idea, not even named, and he came into the world fatherless. From what his mother says, he looks a bit like him but he never manages to catch the similarities between himself and the fellow in the few smudged and faded photographs that lay around the apartment.

“Run, ya bastard!”

Bastard. Well, that’s what they call him and he’s so used to it that he turns upon hearing the name, eyes catching site of the small, off-white baseball as it soars over his head and toward the center fielder, a tall, thin boy named Mordecai who dives for the ball with a manic gleam in his eye. In a moment of panic, he freezes, eyes following the progression of the thirteen year old as he reaches out a dirty hand to grab the object that determines whether he earns the older boys’ respect or spends the rest of the day sitting off to the sidelines, mind reeling with the insults that are thrown at him.

“RUN dammit!”

And so he’s off, arms pumping madly as he forces his legs to work overtime, to make it to the only real base on the field, a broken, ratty old thing that August constantly says he’ll replace when he gets the money but at twelve there aren’t any jobs to be had. It’s falling in, ripped in one side and covered with footprints of baseball players long gone, but the boys in the vacant lot regard it with a sort of awe and respect. A respect that he’s soon to get if he just makes it to the base.

A throw from Mordecai and he’s sliding in the dirt, arms pinwheeling as he tries to reverse his direction to run back to second. The boy on third, who knows he’s got the youngest player in a bit of a tough spot, grins and holds his ground, waiting until the runner reverses and sprints back to second only to see the baseball hit the mitt of the second baseman.

Just as he drops down for a slide, dropping to his stomach, arms reaching for the lid that’s sure to move upon impact, he feels something drop onto his head. It’s hard, somewhat painful and he hears the groans of the boys on his team mixing with traffic and the cheers of the opposing team.

“Out.”

It’s a smug statement that rings in his ears as he stands up, dusting off jeans that need more than a little dusting off and stares up at the older boy. He’s tan with a mop of curly black hair and a long, pointed nose that makes him look like a bird of prey. Levi, his name is, and he’s grinning down at him, crooked teeth and all.

“That’s not out!” His voice is shrill, irritated and full of the anger that he constantly represses.

“Out,” Levi says again as he bends down to pick up the ball and is met with a knee that smashes into his nose. With a howl of rage he stands up, blood pouring from the broken, bloody mess that is the center of his face. “You little bastard!”

And there it is again, and he feels his eyes narrow, his breathing grow ragged and before he knows it he’s tackled Levi, small fists pounding away.

“Jamie, Jesus Christ get the hell off him!”

Someone’s pulling him back, dragging him off by the arms and Levi is laying there, stunned. The punches don’t seem like they hurt or did much damage but it’s the shock of it all… that someone as small as Jamie Sommers can actually knock down one of the strongest on the opposing team.

Even as they drag him away, his small arms and legs flailing as he attempts to get back, they’re already eyeing the boy with something like respect.

Of course, any fire that had been within Jamie Sommers had died out with the fire that filled his veins, the frantic beating of his own heart as that thing dug its teeth into his jugular vein. He shuddered, seeming to fold in upon himself as he scooted to a dark corner of the room, away from the frightening noises of Eastern State and the nurses that could care less, tearing off the gauze and bandages with vigor and leaving him in a state of complete agony for an immeasurable amount of time before coming back with new bandages and a sedative that worked for only an hour before he would become aware of the oozing, bleeding wounds that were a result of three bullets in his back fired by one pissed off police officer.

At this point, Jamie remembered nothing of it. Only that he was alone, afraid, and he didn’t like the dark. Occasionally he would wake up screaming, arms thrashing about in blind terror that wasn’t made any better by the other people around him with their own night terrors, and sounds that made his hair stand on end.

“Get the shackles on ‘im.”

Someone was lifting him to his feet, strong hands squeezing the hell out of his upper arms and causing pain to arise throughout his back. His sunken eyes were half-lidded, dead, frightened… Jamie could only watch as they put shackles around his ankles, the metal freezing against his skin and he yelped, fighting until they secured him with a straitjacket.

Most were relieved to leave Eastern State, although the relief only came if one still had enough of their sanity left. Jamie was one of those people that didn’t know where he was going, only that he was surrounded by loud noises and that he was afraid. So afraid… he slid to the floor of the car and maneuvered his way to the other side of the car farthest from the police man that was driving. In his mind he saw brief snippets; the rage-filled eyes of Mitch as Jamie attempted to run, to go faster… but the bullets caught up with him in the end and he was so afraid…

Which is how Dr. McDevitt found him when he arrived.</sup>

[Tensleep]

Wow, Maddiecake. I love it. Honestly, I was not expecting a Jamie story. But man, you captured some serious emotion in there and just made an interesting story all the better. Great job!