Three youths continued their walk down the street in search of something to do. Throwing bottles at cars from the overpass had lost its thrill and they were driven to find something... anything...
Suddenly one of the boys turned to the curb and unleashed his gut onto the curb. The spew managed to land somewhat close to a storm drain out of pure luck. This little incident caused the other two to start laughing uncontrolabely "Hahaha, that dumbshit Andrew could never hold his liquor anyway."
Andrew being unable to walk properly sat down next to his spew and clutch his gut in pain. The other two boys Ryan and Peter decided to take a seat aswell, still bored out of their minds.
Peter seeing a figure walking down the street from a distance got an idea "Oi boys, lets mug that guy whos heading this way!", the other boys deciding this seemed like fun at the time scrambled behind a bush next to the road and waited.
The figure continued to approach until it reached the building on the other side of the road in which time it stopped. The boys watched as the now apparent boy started to circle the building. Andrew moaned at his gut pains, "Shoosh!." After circling twice the boy disappeared behind the building and didnt appear to come back so Peter decided to go see what was happenning. The boy was climbing the outside of the ladder onto the roof. Peter being curious took some cover and continued to watch.
A few minutes past until the boy emerged from the roof of the building. Peter not wishing to be seen started to head back to his mates on the other side of a road when he saw a car coming. "Shit, Police!" he cursed quietly to himself and began bolting down the road.
Unknown to the three boys, two of which had been arrested for their bottle throwing incidence, they had just almost caused the newest student to their school Morbid to almost get caught.
Ryan and Andrew sat in the back of the cop car waiting for the cop to return looking for Peter. "Dont you say shit Andrew or ill kick your ass worse than your parents are going to", "What makes you think im going to say anything?", "You always do dipshit, now shutup."
The still quite drunk Andrew twisted at the overly tight handcuffs on his wrist as if he felt he could break them, obviously futile a futile effort for a weak teenager.
Peter sat behind the bush he had taken cover behind and watched the cop circle the building looking for him, quite amazed that the other youth had managed to hide so quickly and entirely out of site from the cop. After a few minutes the cop car drove away and he watched the youth jump out of a bin. Peter could just make out enough of the youths face to identify him, but not wanting to be identified later decided it best to get away from the scene.
Jumping a fence he made his way through the backyard of a couple of apartments, and then over another fence into a small backstreet. The night was cool, and the street was well lit giving him a calming effect, almost stopping him from contemplating what was going to happen if.. no.. when Andrew squealed. That idiot would have to pay.
To attempt to calm his overly excited nerves Peter reached into his pocket and removed his knife. The cold metal gave him a false sense of power, just enough to get him thinking.
For Peter the concept of thought is not exactly a strong point of his personallity, the doctors called it attention deficit disorder, but anyone who knew him could tell it was just the fact he has nearly no brain cells, the rest of which were killed by smoking and fights. His mind churned over a bit trying to work out some kind of excuse, ignorant of the fact that he had peirced his skin with the point of his knife. A few drops of blood dropped onto his shirt, the small wet patch finally alerting him of his stupidity, and the fact he had reached his house.
"Shit! This is a new shirt!"
"You watch your mouth"
Peter turned to see his dad standing at the door to his place holding a beer.
"You good for nothing sack of shit, come here!"
Knowledgable of his own fate, Peter took a few steps back as his father advanced on him and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up the driveway and into his house. As the door closed he rammed Peter into the wall. "Where the hell have you been!", not caring about the answer he wound up and punched him in the gut. Peter winced and dropped to his knees. "Too weak to even fight back", his father took another swing, this time knocking Peter's head against the wall behind him and putting him out cold on the floor. "Worthless...", he took another swig of his beer and went back into the den to get another beer.
Morbid being lazy, yet prepared, looked around and stood up from his chair. The room span slightly in his mind after spending the last six hours coding. He blinked and looked around again. Grabbing his school bag he decided to grab what he would need for school tomorrow. Screw driver, leatherman, box of disks, usb storage key, a couple of notepads, some pens and a bag of chips.
Happy with himself over this small task he sat back down in his chair. The net invited him back with a warm feeling. He took a handful of chips from the bowl beside his monitor and continued his coding.
The thing about coding is that it is not a spectator activity, and most of the time it is rather pointless and boring. In this particular case Morbid was merely coding a small utility to mirror ftp sites. Although the finished product would be useful to him, it would still be pointless due to the many duplicate programs out there which could acheive the exact same objective, and the chances are someone had spent more effort than him to acheive a better result.
Obvlivious to the futility of his actions he continued to code for a few more hours until a sense of sleep came over him. He reached for some more chips but found the bowl was empty.
Overcome by a desire to do something, yet not enough energy to do much he stopped his coding and sat back to think. A strange sense of lack of self worth came over him. Disliking this feeling Morbid stood up and walked over to his work bench. A computer monitor lay in peices ontop of it. Morbid knew to fix it all he had to do was unsolder the fuse, replace it and resolder it, five minutes work at max. Too much effort. Morbid's eyes shifted to the open VCR next to it which he had no idea why it kept turning off after ten minutes, his eyes litup slightly as he began to tinker with it.
After twenty minutes he isolated the problem down to a dry joint on one of the capacitors and a lack of cooling in the power supply. The capacitor looking boring he grabbed a cpu fan and bolted it to the housing of the power supply. After finding a wire with the right voltage to attach the power cables to he connected it up and turned it on. It worked, but the capacitor still had to be resoldered. Too much effort.
Happy with himself he went to bed. One of the strange things in Morbid's mind was that if he didnt find something a challenge, he wouldnt do it. It didnt matter how challenging, just aslong as it was one, and if it wasnt it would never get done. After that night the ftp program would probably never be completed, the vcr wouldnt be done till he needed it, or was ready to sell it, and the monitor would be fixed under similar circumstances. The oddities of Morbids mind...