///On Hiatus\\\ [Stories That Never Took Off]

Rules of Life

I slouched in my seat, pulling the Volcom hat further over my face. The bus lurched to a stop, and I brought my shoes up and braced myself against the seat in front. My shoe sank through the ripping plastic sheet and lodged into the foam. Swearing, I pulled it out hastily. Glaring around the decrepit bus to dare anyone to even snicker.

No one did.

Expect for my friend, Jessen. He looked like he was about to faint.

"You comin' over after school?" I asked.

"Nah, I got stuff." He replied.

He had been disappearing after school for weeks and I getting suspicious. In the back of my mind, I had a nagging suspicion.

The doors up front opened with a clang, a figure pushing its way through the cramped vehicle. He was wearing a dark blue cap sideways, the end covering his ears. His chains connected from his belt loop to his pocket, his dark-wash jeans gathering at his ankles. His face was scarred, and as taut as a pulled rope.

The tension in the bus rose by miles. Everyone was suddenly alert and watching.

Quick as a flash, his hands were in front of his body. His fingers already forming a signal. His hands crossed, his left over his right, his fingers looping together.

He faced us stonily as we all strained to make out the signal.

"Blood."

Everyone dropped to the floor except for my friend sitting next to me.

"Jessen!" I hissed, head bowed.

He flashed me a look, "I didn't tell you, but..."

His hands were forming yet another signal. His right hand hooking around his left wrist, fingers curling into a "6" his left hand forming the number "7".

"Don't do it, man!" I whispered urgently as the guy turned his gaze onto us.

"What's this? A 76 rep?"

Jessen quaked but stood firm, "Yah."

"Stand down." He rumbled. But Jessen stood standing.

"This ain't you territory!" Jessen said angrily.

"Where ever I step is my territory," the other replied.

"You f*cking--!" Jessen took a step forward, the 76 tattoo rippling on his skin as his arm shot forward in a punch.

Bam.

Quick on the draw, the other man had his gun out.

Jessen fell.

Bloodied.

The bus should've been shrieking.

Except it was quiet.

Deadly quiet.

No one made a move to help Jessen, bleeding to death on the seat next to me.

Even I didn't move.

To move was to die.

To cross another gang, was certain death.

This was the rule of life.