Life was a constant adrenaline rush for Jeff. And yet, he was bored. Only 10 AM, and already he had been launched from the bed-catapult he had built, slid the zip-line down to where his street-luge was parked, and slammed a six-pack of that yellow-green caffienated gold that to him was the stuff of life.
His pancreas hurt.
Veering through cobblestoned streets on a dirtbike, he briefly thought back to the early days. They had all been so naïve then. It started out simply enough: an impromptu mudfight, someone’s idea to stack furniture in the street, carefully place the last 20-oz. atop the precarious structure, and then a game of “king of the hill.”
If only life were still that simple.
Slamming the dirtbike into its rack at full speed, Jeff twisted as he hurtled through the air, suppressing a yawn with one hand while springing off the railing with the other. He was almost caught up to the guys, both of whom were on skateboards, slipping straddle-wise down the rail and whooping with all their might. Stretching his body out, Jeff’s arm unfurled, slinging his bike-lock chain with it. On the end, the open combination-lock hooked Mike’s board, yanking it out from under him and into Jeff’s arms.
As Mike racked himself up on the rail, Jeff tried to remember if he had ever eaten solid food. He was pretty sure that was just something people made up, to look glamorous in commercials.
‘Come on, Jeff,’ he chided himself. ‘When was the last time you experienced a true adrenaline rush?’ It had been a while. Had he realized that this was because his adrenal glands were now two pea-sized lumps that rode shotgun atop his overtaxed kidneys, he probably wouldn’t have been so upset. But he still believed he was capable of feeling the exhilaration that only comes from mashing a friend’s face into hard pavement while riding a unicycle with thumbtacks on the seat during a tropical storm.
Staircase gave way to rocky mountainside. Jeff wondered if the other guys ever felt the same way. He’d ask--if he ever caught up to them. Jeff wouldn’t bother trying for Mike’s opinion; ever since he took on a bighorn sheep during mating season, Mike just hadn’t been the same person.
Life moved pretty fast. Tim was faster. Leaping onto the dragstrip, already Tim had grabbed the crash-cage just as the dragsters took off. Grabbing the other dragster, Jeff noticed Tim cutting his driver’s drag-chute with a Swiss Army knife. ‘Damn,’ Jeff thought. ‘Wish I had thought of that.’ As his own driver slowed, Jeff flung himself off the skateboard. Sticky, green-yellow sweat oozed down Tim’s skin, making it easy to grab onto his arm.
Tim’s eyes had the same glow the rest of them had; they noticed it about a year ago while parasailing into a tornado after being fired from a cannon. Something about the storm-swirled, overcast sky had made it noticeable. Mike had looked right at him and said, “Duuude.” That said it all. The next time they had ridden an afterburner strapped to a backwards-facing Pinto into a mirror factory, Jeff saw the vivid pulse of green as plain as day.
This was always his favorite part of the day: they’d just leapt into the crack neighborhood. Tim whooped with joy, and Jeff heard Mike’s strained cry from behind, giving way to that creepy Joker-laugh he’d picked up after being mauled by a cheetah for ramming his arm down its throat. Some people just didn’t have much luck with animals.
No time to think: they’d just tailgated onto a carful of gang members fleeing a convenience-store robbery. Unfortunately, they’d chosen a wrong turn, passing right in front of another carful of gang members doing a drive-by.
Jeff grabbed the car’s trunk. As the gas tank ignited, he stood up and rode the crest of the orange fireball that erupted under his feet. His sneakers started to melt and stick to the metal. Jeff twisted sideways as the mangled hood slammed against a pair of conveniently-located signposts. He slipped between them with ease and let the melted rubber of his shoes bungee him through the door of the Seven-Eleven. Lunchbreak! Finally! Already the guys were picking out 2-liters and drawing Big-Gulp Dew Slurpees.
This was it! Jeff could feel it. A surge of…excitement? Yes! This time, he would do it. ‘While we do the Dew,’ he thought, ‘I’ll bring it up! I’ll get it out in the open, this whole feeling of boredom! These sensations, everything they mean to me—the guys have got to be feeling it too!’ Walking right up to Tim, Jeff grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around.
He opened his mouth.
“—“, he said. And, “…”, as his heart stopped.