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Brothers & Sisters – Chapter Fifteen: When we last left our heroes…

Note: The point isn’t really for you guys to read a chapter everyday. That would be crazy, these chapters are about 30 pages long. This is just an info-dump situation, collect them all and read at your leisure.

This is basically an un-edited version of this book. There will be typos. There will be your/you’re errors, because I’m dyslexic as hell. Why am I posting it? I’ve more or less come to the conclusion that some major things needed to change, so I’m changing them. However, I like the old version and I already gave you Twins In Death in the old form, so have this one too. It doesn’t matter, the books are being re-written, so enjoy.

Brothers & Sisters
A Tale of The Weirdo
By Brett N. Lashuay

Chapter Fifteen

When we last left our heroes…

 

 

April 10th, 2003

12:18 p.m.

 

They waited, as all sound died away, for their end to come. The world held the perfect, tense silence and then it happened. The Weirdo had been expecting a bit of pain, maybe the sound of wood splintering or bone shattering. What he had not expected, in any reasonable way, was a guitar riff. That is to say a very small part of him was squeezing its eyes shut very, very tightly and wishing to the blue fairy that there might please, please, please be a guitar riff. Some might question the validity of wishing to the blue fairy for salvation. These neigh sayers claim that the blue fairy is not responsive. They even have gone so far to claim that the blue fairy didn’t exist. The little part of The Weirdo didn’t care though, it wished anyway.  It had closed its little eyes and had its hands next to its head in little fists near its ears and wished so hard to the blue fairy that the entire universe might hear its plight.

 

The Blue fairy is a lot more responsive than people think. Or, to be more accurate and less politically correct, the Blue Strait guy is the responsive one.

 

The sound of the guitar was so loud that it veritably ripped across the sky. Some one was playing the loudest guitar opening they could find. This happened to be a Queen song and it happened to be the opening riff of One Vision, and it became apparent with the roar of an engine and the crackle of a pair of machine guns who it was.

 

“Fuck you! You fair haired sons of bitches!” Tommy’s voice managed to make itself  heard as the midnight sedan sailed across the grass.

 

Now anyone else, might have leaned out the window and held an Uzi or something and gun down the enemy, its easier and a lot safer. Not our boy Tommy though. Nope. None of this safety shit for him. No, following an ancient set of rules, Tommy did it in style. He was wearing his royal blue suit, of course, with his hat and coat that matched. He was caring not just one, but two of John Thompson’s finest trench brooms. One in each hand. He was also standing on the hood of the car, as it flew across the grass, leaning into the wind. He looked for all the world like the devil’s own version of the famous Rolls Royce hood ornament.

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