𝐈n the insignificant town of Thornesville, Darryn, Armani, Andre, and Tyler made the fatal mistake of choosing a salad for lunch that Monday.
Not knowing that something tainted the salad dressing with unknown 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, the boys turn into...
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MONDAY MORNING _____
THE late September air was crisp as it billowed softly against tree leaves. The sun was barely in the sky, it's burning orange and lavender hues painted the horizon in as it made its ascent.
Morning dew rested gently against the green, vibrant blades of grass, filling the air with its fresh scent as the citizens of Thorneville rose from their slumber.
Well, to be more specific, four boys, best friends, arose from their deep sleep. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they began their day.
From way out in the forest, to the streets of the suburbs, the four friends dressed themselves for the day.
In a shabby cabin, far out near the outskirts of town, was Darryn.
Stumbling around his room, he rubbed at the plum-colored bags that weighed down his eyes with the fatigue from the night before.
Pulling on black, ripped at the knees, jeans, he slid a belt around his hips, securing his pants before pulling a band tee over his head, adorning his neck with a silver layered chain.
Grabbing his phone, he headed down the stairs.
Scrunching his nose, he shuddered at the horrid stench of stale beer and body odor met his nostrils.
He should've been used to it by now, seeing that the cabin always smelled of sticky, old liquor and bodily funk.
And yet, each time he left his room and came down the stairs, it felt like the smell sucker-punched him in the nose, jostling his senses as he breathed it in.
Treading quietly, Darryn stepped on the more secure parts of the wooden stairs, unwilling to disturb his father's slumber.
But luck was not on his side.
Upon stepping on the very last step, the old wood cried beneath his weight, the sound so loud that it reached the ears of the drunken man in the loveseat.
Darryn froze, his body went rigid in dread as he walked into the living room.
"Is that you, boy?" his father slurred, blinking the bleariness from his eyes as he recounted his surroundings, apparently still drunk from last night's fun.
"Yeah, dad. It's me," Darryn coughed out, wiping his clammy hands against his jeans, his heart thrashing wildly within his chest.
His father glanced at him, flicking his glossy eyes from his son to the playing television.
His father sat comfortably on his loveseat with a half-emptied bottle of Budweiser in his hand. "Where ya off to?" he asked curiously, his finger tapping on the bottle.
