āYou know, it fucking hurts me that I have to do that, Morgan. It really does.ā Ogre said in a very serious tone, with a hint of sadness in his voice rather than the anger one would usually feel in a situation like that. In the past he used to get really angry with Morgueās escapes and relapses, but it was mostly because he was extremely worried about his well being. One of the singerās biggest fears was to lose his best friend to addiction. āBut until you learn to have more self control, Iām going to have to lock you up like a fucking animal.ā Ogre bitterly said as he locked the last of the locks on Morgueās bedroom door. He felt incredibly evil and cruel doing that, but he couldnāt take any chances; every time his friend escaped, he got into some sort of life threatening situation. Ogre vividly remembered how stressful and painful all those episodes were to him. āIām going out, I wonāt take too long. Iām sorry, Morgan.ā He sighed sadly and made his way out of the apartment.
Ogre mindlessly walked by the sidewalk, even though he knew he should be more careful, living in a dangerous area like that. He hoped one day Morgue would be well enough and they would have enough money to move out to a better place. His mind wandered as he thought about his friend while also being focused on getting to his destination. Suddenly, a loud whistle and a yelled word took him out of his thoughts. āFaggotā. That was what the man yelled. Ogre stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Two bald men glared at him from the other side of the sidewalk. Feeling his blood boil with anger, Ogre glared back. Looking the way he did, having fluffy teased hair and wearing mostly tight fitting black clothes, he was used to receiving that kind of response from people, but it always angered him. āFuck off!ā He barked at them and resumed walking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The men would probably walk away and mind their own business, or at least thatās what Ogre thought. He didnāt really care when he began hearing hurried footsteps behind him.
āWhat did you say, fairy?!ā
Ogre felt the hairs in the back of his neck stand up as he heard the manās booming voice right behind him. He spun around, his heart racing, and as the two men walked closer to him, he walked backwards, trying to back away from them. āI told you to fuck off and leave me alone!ā Feeling threatened, the singer shoved one of the men. Right as he tried to run away, the other one put him in a headlock. āGet off me!ā Ogre yelled, struggling against the manās grip but to no avail; he was much stronger than him, even with the singer being slightly taller. Still thrashing and struggling, he was effortlessly dragged into an alleyway by the two men. āLet me go!ā Ogre choked out as the headlock tightened around his neck to the point he could barely breathe.
āYou know, faggots like you shouldnāt live in our society. Youāre fucking scum.ā The skinhead said, with a malicious grin on his face. Ogre coughed as he was released from the headlock, but his freedom didnāt last long as the man who was holding him grabbed his arms, pinning them to his back. The singer opened his mouth to reply to him, but froze as he saw the faint glistening of a blade in the penumbra. A hand clamped tightly over his mouth, muffling his terrified scream. Ogre began to struggle so desperately that he managed to free one of his arms, but the man was quicker. Tears of pain streamed down his face and he let out a muffled cry as he felt the blade of the knife pierce his stomach. The skinheadās face was inches away from his and his eyes glowed with pure hatred and joy. Ogre screamed in agony as he stabbed him over and over again.
āBe careful not to get any blood on you, this skinny fag must have AIDS.ā The other bald man stated, letting out a cruel laugh.
āYouāre right. Just one more.ā The man buried the knife deep into Ogreās stomach, twisting it hard, but slowly. The singer felt as if he was about to pass out from the unbearable pain. āWhereās your boyfriend?ā The skinhead taunted him, giving the blade another sharp twist before he removed it from the wound. āPray that he comes save you. Or donāt, cause if he comes, weāre gonna kill him too.ā Putting the knife away, he searched through Ogreās pockets until he found his wallet. āLetās go.ā
Ogre dropped to the floor as soon as the man released him. He delivered a hard kick in the middle of the singerās shoulder blades, making him fall over face first on the pavement. Ogre heard the footsteps and cruel laughter moving away from him. For a few moments, he absolutely could not move, being in too much pain to be able to do anything else other than groan and cry, pressing his hands against the bleeding wound. He hoped someone would hear him and come to his aid, but after the skinheads left, the street fell silent. Ogre removed his hands from his stomach and gasped as he saw how badly he was actually bleeding. Sobbing both in pain and in fear, he slowly began propping himself up against the wall so he could stand up. His legs felt numb as he took careful, erratic steps out of the alleyway. Looking around, he noticed the streets were indeed empty. More tears welled up inside his eyes as his dizziness began to increase. He didnāt feel like he could hang in much longer, but he knew that if he passed out, he would bleed to death. āH-Helpā¦ā Ogre tried to scream, but his voice came out in a weak groan. He was doomed: there was no one in sight to help him, he couldnāt use a payphone to call for an ambulance because his wallet had been stolen and he had locked up the only person that could come to his aid. āI-I donāt want to dieā¦ā He whispered, not realizing he had said that out loud.
Suddenly, a bright light flashed over him and he looked up to see a car coming down the road. Ogre didnāt think twice before literally throwing himself over the car, which stopped abruptly before hitting him. āPlease! Please, help me!ā The singer found his voice again as he leaned over the hood and staining it with blood, barely being able to support himself anymore. He heard the muffled sound of loud punk rock music coming from inside the car, and he felt relief wash over him as a group of people with colorful mohawks and long hair jumped out.
āFuck, are you okay, dude?ā A man with long, dark hair and a studded vest grabbed Ogre right as he was about to fall to the floor again. At this point the singer was blabbering incoherently, begging for them to help him and sobbing hard as he felt his consciousness slipping as the minutes passed.
āThat goth is bleeding like a pig!ā A girl with a pink mohawk yelled, horrified. āHe needs to go to the hospital right now, guys!ā
āHey, can you tell us what happened? Whatās your name?ā A calmer and more collected metalhead tried to talk to Ogre. The mess of colors and sounds didnāt help him keep his focus. He felt himself being lifted up and put into the backseat of the car. Someone took his jacket off and pressed it against the wound in his stomach.
āIā¦ My n-name is Kevinā¦ Kevin Ogilvie.ā Ogre tried to piece his words together as he felt his mind slipping further. āI-I was attacked b-byā¦ Nazisā¦ I need help!ā A punk guy comforted him as he began crying again. āPlease, I-I donāt wanna die!ā
āYouāll be okay, dude.ā The punk guy tried to reassure him, gently stroking his fluffy hair. āNazis are fucking scum.ā
Ogre couldnāt keep his eyes open anymore, but he felt the car going across the streets at a fast speed. āM-Morganā¦ā He muttered. āTell himā¦ā
āWhoās Morgan?ā Was the last thing he heard before everything went dark and silent.
@bringmemycocaine
Morgan pouted angrily as Ogre was telling him off for escaping all these past times to go get his drugs. He sat on his bed, arms crossed in front of his chest and glaring at Ogre.Ā āI thought you, of all people, would understand. But I was wrongā¦ā He muttered, averting his gaze from his friend. He hated doing that, he always felt guilty after turning away or speaking to him like that. Because Morgan knew that Ogre was doing this to save him. Was his addiction so hard that he lost control of how to act towards his best friend?Ā āWhere are you going?ā he asked him, but it was late. The singer had already left.Ā āFuck!ā
It was one of the few times that Morgna hadnāt tried to escape. He saw it was pointless, Ogre had secured him very well inside, locking him up like never before and taking the spare key with him too.Ā āYou fucking twinkā¦ā Morgan hissed for Ogre, surprising even himself.Ā āWhen you come back it will be the last time you see meā¦ā
The feeling of anger was rising until he noticed that time was passing and passing and Ogre was not returning. Hours had passed and no sign of the singer anywhere. Morgan had left his bed, on which he was lying for hours now, and went to the window, then the doors and the rest of the windows of the house, only to find them well-locked and secured as never before.Ā āWhat the fuck, you bastard!! Where the fuck are you?! Where are you?ā
He started panickingā¦ badly. He started hyperventilating as he roamed the rooms endlessly, trying to find something to open the door with. At last, he found a hairpin. He was now sweating badly from panic and his hands were shaking.Ā āI hate youā¦ You hear me? I fucking hate you. Leaving me here to dieā¦ā Morgan muttered as he shakily tried to opent he door with the hairpin, finally making it. He dashed out, drawing in deep breaths. He had no idea where to look for for Ogre. He was worried. He wasnāt realizing it but he was dead worried for his friend, knowing his past and how many times people had attacked him.Ā
It was when he found himself on the same road Ogre was ealrier, that he heard a voice.Ā āOhh well well!! What do we have here?ā Morgan stated silent and put, frozen like a statue.Ā āAnother goth fag,ā a second voice said.Ā
Morgan slowly turned around, seeing the two Nazis that had attacked Ogre previously. Both got stunned.Ā āHoly hell, look at this!! He looks so much like him, doesnāt he? Like a twin brother!ā Morgan blinked at that. He knew full well who he looked so much like. That awoke something inside him.Ā
āOgreā¦ā he muttered.Ā āNoā¦ What did you do?ā Morgan strode angrily towards him, ignoring the sarcastic laughs.Ā āWhat did you do with Ogre, you bastardsā Ah!! Let go of me!! Assholes!! Let meā¦ go!!!ā He struggled as both skinheads held him tightly and the one with the knife didnāt hesitate to drive the knife that was previously driven into Ogre inside Morganās stomach.Ā
Morgan let out a hard gasp, his eyes shooting open in pain. āWe told your sweet boyfriend that we would kill you after killing him. Good news is you will see each other again up in Heaven!ā They laughed. This time they didnāt bother leading him to the alleyway they had Ogre, so, even though the street was not too busy, one or two people were passing by. The result was two people to scream and rush to them, causing the two skinheads to get away.Ā
The people rushed to Morgan, who had collapsed to the ground, whimpering in pain and crying, trying to breathe.Ā āAre youā¦ are you okay.. Oh my, we called the ambulance, you will be fine! Hang in there, buddyā¦!ā
Morgan couldnāt talk. He only sobbed and his bloody mouth was opening and closing in an attempt to say something. Before he knew it, the anbulance was there, and two paramedics put him on a stretcher carefully. What followed was the paramedics talking to the two guys who had found Morgan but Morgan couldnāt make out what they were saying as he was losing conciousness. It only took one stab wound to make him faint. He was already frail from drug use. Or rather, drugs abuseā¦
As he got in and the ambulance took off for the hospital, he only had time to utter a few words before his eyes closed.Ā āO-Ogreā¦ Iā Iām sorryā¦ Iām so sorryā¦ā
Dr. Brownstein stared down at the young man who laid unconscious on the hospital bed, hooked to an extensive number of machines that helped keep him alive. He sighed and looked at his file; his condition was very serious. He had been stabbed multiple times, which damaged his internal organs and had bled way too much by the time he got assistance. Not to mention he had arrived nearly dead at the hospital. The doctor tried to piece together the information the group of punks had given him; his name was Kevin, he was not related to anyone in that group and he was seemingly jumped by two unknown Nazis. As one of the punks told him, he also played in an underground band he obviously didnāt know. They also said he had mentioned a āMorganā before he lost consciousness, but they had no idea who that was and if āMorganā and Kevin were related at all. The doctor let the group of punks go after they told him everything they could. There wasnāt much he could do with all that. Or at least he thought so.
Until a āMorganā checked in at the hospital some time later. He had also been stabbed (possibly by the same men) and although his wound wasnāt as serious as Kevinās, his state was also pretty bad due to the fact that his health was compromised. Morgan was obviously a drug addict. It was also impressive how much both of them looked alike. The doctor supposed they were probably brothers. But they could be just friends too. Or...
The possibility that what happened to them was a hate crime couldnāt be ruled out. Dr Brownstein moved to Morganās room. He would probably wake up soon and, when he did, maybe he could help him piece together what had happened. If it was really a hate crime, he would have to get the police involved. Maybe Morgan could help identify the attackers; they couldnāt just keep randomly assaulting people in the streets, they had to go to jail. Whatever the outcome would be, one thing was certain; it would not be easy for the doctor to tell that young man that his brother, friend or lover could possibly never wake up again.
