A Tribute to the WSS
Original Young Adult Fiction
Written by Ubbu
The time was 12:15 PM.
The crowd, in the area that is between two of the noticeably derelict school
buildings of the local high school in Miami, knew all too well what that
meant.
To the left of the Jets, the Ghetto Punks and Punk Rockers ducked behind their newly recovered benches. While behind the Sharks, hid the Hardcore Rockers in fear of being poked by air imaginings.
This act of cowering was perspicuous to any passerby, who then found cover. The West Side Story re-enactment was prospective by now, and those who were not accustomed to this daily event stood, dumbly, in plain view of the Riaopians.
During open campus lunch here at the local high school, they would not be given the auspices of the staff. Even Baldo and the remaining security guards were too incompetent to stop this routine.
Yes, the WSS was about to begin.
Suddenly, as though an odd form of endowment, DJ Benvenuto the Raccoon of the Sharks cried out the word “CRAZY!!!”
Then, without the least bit of circumspect in his voice, DJ Hadoken of the Jets called out “COOL!!!”, almost as if to beseech the support of his group. However, DJ Hadoken never had to blandish to get a fight out of his fellow Jets. Rather, he enjoined it.
Thus, the brawling began.
RIA DJs, Poss members, even random thrill-seekers leapt for each other’s danger zones with nothing but air.
The formal, finger-snapping lines had been broken and all New York broke loose in this small area of dirt. This certain day’s fight was auspicious, since it had rained the preceding morning, and the clash lacked its normal cloud of dust.
The first to fall was Guy the Manager of RIA. The blow DJ Skittles laid on him was facile compared to his training in the Gravitron. Though proficient at Dance Dance Revolution, Guy was quite inept when it came to WSS. That, and DJ Skittles (or is it his Pogimon alter-ego?) fights dirty. Very dirty.
Meanwhile, DJ Fuji the Man Scout cunningly launched a useless missile at DJ Wang with such acuity that it hit straight on, and, just as he had surmised, did absolutely nothing. “Monkey!!” he shouted, and was poked in the danger zone by DJ Benvenuto. DJ Fuji simply ignored this air injury and ran about triumphantly.
“These people are truly despicable,” The General stated as he took a bite of his salad. “I should not be subjected to this kind of obnoxious behavior in my learning facility.”
Everyone who heard him went on watching the brawl in awe and pretended not to notice him, as was their propensity after listening to him complain day after day.
Just then, DJ Hadoken, posing as a specter in the dark behind The General, jumped out and surprised him to shreds with his air imaginings, proclaiming aloud, “I fight for Riaopiaism!”
The General then became much more introspective and stopped criticizing the people who were obviously better than him at everything. Or, shall I say, defter in every labeled spectrum of human activity. For, every RIA DJ is unmistakably consummate in everything.
“It’s done!!” someone speciously cried out and rose from his crouched position. Just then, movement came back to the mangled bodies.
The imperious mass of people limped towards one another, in order to cajole onlookers into believing that they were truly injured and completely exigent by medical experts.
As the hastily elicited rivalry between the Jets and Sharks quickly disappeared, the group snapped their fingers in a pitiful attempt at unison (much like mendicants do when they have no other means of obtaining food, and someone has either stolen or vandalized their “Will work for food” signs).
The injunction of “play it cool, boys, play it cool,” was heard from one of the DJs, and the group dissipated, calling it a day, and answering any meager query with:
To the left of the Jets, the Ghetto Punks and Punk Rockers ducked behind their newly recovered benches. While behind the Sharks, hid the Hardcore Rockers in fear of being poked by air imaginings.
This act of cowering was perspicuous to any passerby, who then found cover. The West Side Story re-enactment was prospective by now, and those who were not accustomed to this daily event stood, dumbly, in plain view of the Riaopians.
During open campus lunch here at the local high school, they would not be given the auspices of the staff. Even Baldo and the remaining security guards were too incompetent to stop this routine.
Yes, the WSS was about to begin.
Suddenly, as though an odd form of endowment, DJ Benvenuto the Raccoon of the Sharks cried out the word “CRAZY!!!”
Then, without the least bit of circumspect in his voice, DJ Hadoken of the Jets called out “COOL!!!”, almost as if to beseech the support of his group. However, DJ Hadoken never had to blandish to get a fight out of his fellow Jets. Rather, he enjoined it.
Thus, the brawling began.
RIA DJs, Poss members, even random thrill-seekers leapt for each other’s danger zones with nothing but air.
The formal, finger-snapping lines had been broken and all New York broke loose in this small area of dirt. This certain day’s fight was auspicious, since it had rained the preceding morning, and the clash lacked its normal cloud of dust.
The first to fall was Guy the Manager of RIA. The blow DJ Skittles laid on him was facile compared to his training in the Gravitron. Though proficient at Dance Dance Revolution, Guy was quite inept when it came to WSS. That, and DJ Skittles (or is it his Pogimon alter-ego?) fights dirty. Very dirty.
Meanwhile, DJ Fuji the Man Scout cunningly launched a useless missile at DJ Wang with such acuity that it hit straight on, and, just as he had surmised, did absolutely nothing. “Monkey!!” he shouted, and was poked in the danger zone by DJ Benvenuto. DJ Fuji simply ignored this air injury and ran about triumphantly.
“These people are truly despicable,” The General stated as he took a bite of his salad. “I should not be subjected to this kind of obnoxious behavior in my learning facility.”
Everyone who heard him went on watching the brawl in awe and pretended not to notice him, as was their propensity after listening to him complain day after day.
Just then, DJ Hadoken, posing as a specter in the dark behind The General, jumped out and surprised him to shreds with his air imaginings, proclaiming aloud, “I fight for Riaopiaism!”
The General then became much more introspective and stopped criticizing the people who were obviously better than him at everything. Or, shall I say, defter in every labeled spectrum of human activity. For, every RIA DJ is unmistakably consummate in everything.
Soon after this maneuver, every involved person was on the ground reeling in
imaginary pain.
“It’s done!!” someone speciously cried out and rose from his crouched position. Just then, movement came back to the mangled bodies.
The imperious mass of people limped towards one another, in order to cajole onlookers into believing that they were truly injured and completely exigent by medical experts.
As the hastily elicited rivalry between the Jets and Sharks quickly disappeared, the group snapped their fingers in a pitiful attempt at unison (much like mendicants do when they have no other means of obtaining food, and someone has either stolen or vandalized their “Will work for food” signs).
The injunction of “play it cool, boys, play it cool,” was heard from one of the DJs, and the group dissipated, calling it a day, and answering any meager query with:
“12:15 tomorrow. Same time, but not always the same place.”
advertisement
-
-
=^..^= =^..^= =^..^= =^..^= =^..^=
Blog
YouTube
Website
Buy Me a Coffee
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.