Dead Beginnings (Vol. 1) Read Free

shut, there was a wall between Lonnie and Ralph he wasn’t sure he would be able to break through. Ralph was the married one and Lonnie was branded the single friend. No wife in her early twenties would be thrilled when her husband asked to go get drunk with his “single friend”.
                  Lonnie huffed through his nose and tossed the phone down on the bed. He peeled off the worn-in green t-shirt with his name stenciled in the bottom corner to reveal mounds of muscles in his arms and back, inked with black tattoos.
    He opened the dresser drawer and grabbed the first shirt he saw—a white band t-shirt from a Florida Georgia Line concert he went to with Ralph during that infamous last summer together as best buds.
                  “Hey, Buddy!” Lonnie yelled in the baritone voice he unconsciously used when talking to his father. “I’m gonna need to use your truck tonight!” He opened the door to his bedroom and passed through the kitchen, grabbing a beer on his way to the living room in the front of the small, two bedroom house.
                  Buddy Lands grunted, his eyes fixated on the box television set. He absentmindedly gulped the beer from the can in his hand as he watched a half fuzzy screen.
                  Lonnie cracked open his own and sipped at the bubbles near the opening. His foot kicked at the small pile of empty cans lying on the brown shag carpet. Buddy’s head snapped at the sound, his dull eyes already red-rimmed and drooping.
                  “What the hell are you making all that noise for, boy? Can’t a man get some peace and quiet when his shows are on?”
                  There was the distinct soft sound of the VCR turning the wheels of the tape inside. Lonnie let out a gruff laugh. An old episode of Sons of Anarchy was barely visible on the washed out picture of the outdated set. Meanwhile, Buddy’s old Harley sat rusted out in the backyard for the last decade. Ironic. Lazy piece of shit.
                  “I said I’m borrowing your truck tonight since you’re not gonna need it.”
                  Buddy’s head slowly drifted to face forward again as he let out a phlegmy chuckle. He coughed and spat the yellow wad caught in his throat out into an empty can in his lap. “How do you know I don’t got a hot date?”
                  “Because you haven’t had a hot date in ten years.”
                  Something twitched inside Buddy’s face, causing his wrinkled eyes to squeeze together and his lips to purse for the briefest of moments. “Whose fault is that, ya li’l shit?” he mumbled under his breath.
                  Lonnie’s muscles clenched tightly together as he straightened his back and sat rigid against the discolored, sagging couch. His fists clenched until he heard the metallic clanking of the can in his hand crumbling under the pressure. One long, slow, deep breath and he released the tension in him.
    He couldn’t lose control again.
    His breathing steadied and he felt his body slacken to rest against the smooshed couch cushion.
                  Buddy’s eyes flickered back and forth between the TV and his son, the faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his thin lips.
    Lonnie stood up, threw his head back to drink the can dry, and then tossed it into the pile on the floor with a hollow clink. “Good question, old man. Whose fault is it?”
                  Buddy pretended he hadn’t heard him. There was no way he was sober enough to peel himself out of the oversized arm chair to teach a lesson.
    Lonnie shook his wide head as he stalked off to the door and slammed it behind him. Halfway to the truck parked in the torn up grass, he stopped. The keys jingled from his fingers as he turned his face up to the sun and let the warmth dissipate any lingering hatred he felt for the man claiming to be