[LocoColt04]

((OOC: To those of you invited, please check the OOC thread before posting. What you'll begin to read is nothing like what the RP will actually become, so it's important that you do so. There are a couple of specifics you should know outside of the story to make your introductory posts flow a little more easily. To those of you reading, when everyone else goes off in a completely different direction, don't be confused -- it's supposed to be that way. Thanks, and enjoy.))



It had been a long three years since that summer which seemed like forever ago. The photo album was flipped open to a page marked in bold letters, "1978." A couple pictures were nonchalantly placed atop the page, and a whole shoebox of photos sat on the table just inches away. One photo balanced delicately along the corner of the box. It was dark, but the pink neon of "Shaggy's" stood boldly against the darkened building and the black sky.



The club was bouncin' that night. The Bee Gees' "Night Fever" had just finished, and I was left alone on the dance floor, all spots on me. It was dag, yo. You don't understand. You couldn't even begin to understand. The ladies were wicked wild for me after my bangin' solo. The atmosphere was smokin' almost as much as the chickies. Earth, Wind, & Fire was now blasting from the booth, and the crowd was wild again. I graciously stepped off the floor so some of those jokers could bust a groove for the cocktails at the counter.

I plopped myself on the bitchin' couch in the back, unawares of the two ladies who followed. They was fun, goin' on 'bout somethin' or other while I picked out my afro to its primest puff. I felt a hand slip into my threads, but I didn't say nothin' about it. My chest ain't nothin' to show off, but it ain't nothin' to hide, neitha. Don't tell nobody I said this, but I's gettin' a little uncomfortable when she started gettin' funky fresh with me. I ain't no prude, but I like a little friendly before gettin' friendly, if you catch my drift.

Excusin' myself like a gentleman, I pushed through the crowd on my way to the bar. Hot Chocolate floated over the floor, and I broke into step right at the bar. "...where you from? You sexy thing..." I wasn't trying to get no attention, but I did. Wasn't my fault those chumps on the floor couldn't dance. I grooved most of the song, until some creamy white woman found her way with her hands over my shoulders.

I stopped, looking her in the eye, wondering what this was all about. White women don't have no interest in negros like me, I thought. She offered me a drink. Martini, dry.



"Yeah, a long time indeed," Jackson muttered to himself. He picked up the picture, setting it atop the page with the other two. Just as he reached into the box for another photograph, the whole apartment began to shake violently, and something exploded outside. He looked immediately toward the window, wishing he didn't have to get up and open the heavy curtains. Curiosity beat him out though, as he rose toward the window, slowly peeling back the thick, black drape. The fiery pit was a blinding yellow; not much could be seen from indoors.

Jackson took a deep breath and headed toward the door. The hallways of the apartment complex were chaos as people clamored to see the commotion outside. A congregation had formed around the fire, which was slowly dying off.

It was a craft of some kind, charred black from the flames. Large, it was unlike anything Jackson had ever seen. His curiosity compelled him one more to move onward, and he stepped toward the craft with unwavering vigilance. The shouts from his neighbors went on unnoticed as he reached his hand toward the onyx surface of the vessel.

Everything went white.