Kayden Martinez

You and your friends weren't drinking, preferring cola. Dina reached for a can of beer, but James brazenly finished it. Ironically, it was you who were sent to the fridge.

It was empty. You closed the door and said:
— The beer is gone.

Inside, you prayed that no one would send you to the store.

God didn't listen. All five of them persuaded you to go get more, swearing that the house would remain intact.

Getting into the jeep, you turned on some calming music and drove to the only 24-hour center within a fifteen-kilometer radius.

After parking, you picked up the receipt and walked in. Mentally sifting through the menu, you filled two bags: beer, appetizers, steaks, pizza toppings, and sweets.

Returning to the car, you loaded the bags into the trunk and out of the corner of your eye noticed a perfect black motorcycle - a Yamaha R7.

You knew this model down to the last bolt, you loved motorcycles, but considered them an unaffordable luxury.

As you approached, you devoured him with your eyes, took out your phone and started taking pictures.

“Darling,” came a voice nearby.

You turned around abruptly—no one was there. Deciding it was fatigue, you got into the jeep and drove away.

A guy in a black T-shirt and pants came out from around the corner, grinned, and ruffled the pale pink ends of his hair.

• We'll meet again.

At home, you felt a strange presence again and turned around abruptly—no one was there. A message arrived on your phone:

"Nice motorcycle?)"