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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Mest

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Go Directly to Jail; Do Not Pass Go; Do Not Collect 200
By Constance

 


Go Directly to Jail; Do Not Pass Go; Do Not Collect $200

“Tony! Wake…up!”

What I thought had been an earthquake had been none other than Benji. He was a little too close for my liking, might I add. Whoever said I had the hotts for him was wrong; he's just a friend…a friend with worse intentions.

I tossed the blankets away from myself. I was already sweating, and that was from a mere dream I couldn't even remember.

“You're playing a show in two hours, `member?” The guitarist backed away, his expressions softening. Do I look that bad?”

I knew that…7:02 PM. Damn alarm clock isn't worth shit. I rolled out of bed, not bothering to throw a shirt on. I'd be sweating all over again in a matter of minutes, anyway.

“Yeah, alright…” I spat at the floor, stretching my arms over my head. “Early bird catches the worm, but Tony gets the leftovers.” Watching Benji struggle to sustain a smile only made me smirk. “Pizza and beer and…you know what? I'm feeling generous. I have an idea.” Me and my ideas; without them, I'd be as lifeless as Chris' hairless head.

….

After Mest's last song and a round of `whoo hoo's' we spilt up. Nick was off to the restroom for who knows what, Jere was back on the bus, and Matt was bombarded with fans. I, on the other hand, kept to the sidelines and managed to find a few kids, maybe eight years younger than myself. They'd been eluded from the larger crowd, making it a lot easier to get to them.

“Hey, you're the singer!” the one and only girl flagged me over. She wasn't bad looking either; it was the three guys at her side that didn't look so friendly.

I nodded, one hand trailing down into my pocket. “Yeah, how was it?”

“The show? It was great,” she smiled, exchanging looks with her `body guards.' “Oh, I'm Melissa. That's Tom, Dereck, and Jake.” All three gawked in my direction, giving off a very robotic look.. Not to mention that they all looked similar. Probably brothers or something.

“Tony,” I nodded, unsure of whether or not they already knew my name. A lot of people that came to the shows did, so. “Uh, d'you guys want a drink?” Mom did always say `never inhale food in front of your friends without offering first.' I'm assuming that beer fell into that category just as nicely.

Did I mention that I love cargo pants? I pulled out the two beers from separate pockets, extending them in the girl's way.

Her hand stopped halfway to mine. “That's alcohol,” she stated, studying the can. Her attention turned towards the guys at her side.

Taken aback by the `oh my gosh!' sound in her voice, I withdrew. “Yeah, well…”

“I'm only sixteen, and I have to drive back home. You were going to give it to me!”

“Hey, it wasn't like I was going to shove it down your throat,” I held my hands out at my side in surrender. Who the hell freaks out when they're offered beer at a show?

“Sir, we're going to have to ask you to come with us.” One of the guys lowered his shades. Shit. He was a lot older than he'd looked as the silent pilot with glasses.

Dumbfounded, I stood dead still as all three moved forward. First thing that came to mind was run, and I wasn't going to wait for a better idea to form. So I turned on my heels and made a go for the crowd. I could lose the cops in there, right?

Running from the police at your own show = pathetic. Weaving through people packed as tight as sardines isn't as easy as it looks. It was harder than a game of Red Rover. I dropped down on my hands and knees, ignoring the pain in the fact that I was crawling over gravel. Headfirst I rammed into people's legs, resulting in the person tumbling over like a bowling pin. All I could think of was how it must've looked exactly like the creation of a crop circle from a bird's eye view.

Finally free and in open air, I got up and darted for the bus. Nobody.

I thought too soon. A second later the door busted open and the group poured in. Now trapped, I gritted my teeth as the cold metal that the handcuffs beheld bounded my arms.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

“You have the right to fuck off.” That's how I am. I say stupid things and pay for it later. What's that, karma or something?

The undercover officers shook it off, acting as though they hadn't heard a thing, and continued with the damned Miranda rights…who names a guy Miranda?

…..

I was in a fucking cell for offering alcohol to a sixteen-year-old. How screwed up is that? They were all probably making up some huge story against me, too. Conspiracies are dumb, but they're as real as fuck.

I thought that it'd be lonely in here. But now, to be honest, I'd rather be alone. The other guy was at least 50, hairy, overweight, smelly, and you know, all of those things that little kids consider to be pirates.

“What're you here for?” I had to look twice to ensure that the squeaky voice came from the same creep I was in with. You'd definitely except something more---“ME THORG!”-macho sound.

“Alcohol…underage…it's only temporary,” I added quickly. I'd hate for him to be getting ideas.

“A shame,” the man sighed. “You're the cutest looking lad I've seen in a while.”

With the nearly-toothless grin, I couldn't decide what it was supposed to mean. Please don't tell me that I'm stuck with a gay guy.

“But don't worry. I killed a guy and I'm only in for twenty-five years. You won't be in long.”

This was going to be on my mind until I asked it, and oh how I'd hate for something about it to slip while consulting a guard. “Are you a fag?”

He raised both eyebrows suggestively. “Would you like to find out?”

I jumped at the bars imprisoning us, something on my dimmer side telling me that if I tried hard enough they'd break. “Guard person!” My voice echoed through the corridor. I had everybody's attention but the one that could release me.

Eccentric over there burst into a fit of the weirdest sounding laughs. The bits of flesh that weren't invaded with gray hairs were tinted a darker pink. I had the least idea of how this was humorous.

My rescue finally came, probably wondering why the whimpering persisted. “Tony Lovato? A Jeremiah Rangel is here offering bail. Would you---“

“Yes!”

The man paused, looking up from a notebook to stare at me like I had three heads. After I mumbled a `please,' he unlocked the penitentiary.

I went prancing down the hall, but not before flipping off Weirdo. I threw my arms around Jere appreciatively, who in return seemed uncomfortable with the gesture. The whole office was watching, like they wanted to see us make out right then and there.

“Just like a poodle,” Jere laughed awkwardly, filling in the silence. He didn't have to haul me outside; I left willingly. That is, after minutes wasted of signing papers and giving out information.

“I didn't think you'd come!” I gushed. “The people in there are gay, and there aren't any girls…And they're gay!”

“I wonder why,” he interrupted. “Oh, next time you decide to hand out beer, I'm not coming back for you. You owe me.”

“How would you like me to pay for that?” I smirked, bouncing off the shove.

Jere rolled his eyes, muttering, “This is what I get for rescuing you? Go back to jail, faggot.”

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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