Post by SANTANA on Oct 19, 2020 1:58:59 GMT
The feeling of the breeze hitting your skin whilst riding down the road in your car. There’s nothing as freeing as that feeling. For Santana and his ‘87 Cutlass, it was more of a feeling of relief, out of dodge and slipping from the pig’s palms yet again.
“SMOKE, SANTANA GOT THEM MUTHERFUCKERS AGAIN. AINT A SINGLE PIG IN SIGHT. IM THE SLIPPERIEST SUM BITCH THE WORLD DONE EVER SEE-”
The already beaten up car gets completely totaled when a distracted Santana rams directly into a light pole. Gone was his means of escaping whatever authorities that Dan Stevenson had sicked on him. Gone were the 33 year old airbags that never made it out, allowing Johnson to completely smash his face into the dashboard. He was a mess. Bloodied gums, and a blackened eye are the least of his worries when once he hears the deep annoying ring in his ears as if a siren was going off. This meant one of two things: either he was hungover or he’s got a concussion. In Santana’s favor, both possibilities were plausible.
“SMOKE! AYE SMOKE, YOU STILL THERE!?”
Santana yells from the scrunched up drivers seat as his large arms reach the floor, looking for his phone. He finds it and unluckily for him, it’s about as helpful as the destroyed vehicle that he’s in. Figuring out that it’s probably best to dip, dash and leave this car in the dust, Santana remembers one important thing.
“KAMINSKY”
His parrot was in its bird cage in the back seat. Though he was extremely dazed and confused, he pushed his seat back as far as he could to be able to reach back and grab the bird cage.
“GOD DAMN YOU ONE TOUGH SUM BITCH”
He said with a smile at the bird who somehow survived the wreck even though his birdcage was literally squished, leaving Kaminsky little room to move. Santana decides to break the cage open and help his friend out, placing him onto his shoulder.
“WHERE THE FUCK AM I!?”spurts out of his mouth as he stumbles through a semi-aggressive shoulder tackle that busts the driver’s door open.
Wincing in extreme discomfort, Santana’s bloody mouth is even worse than he thought it was. Blood filled saliva drips from the sides of his aching mouth as he finds himself near a lake that was completely unoccupied… or so he thought. As Santana gets closer to the lake, he starts to hear chatter. He thanks God that he’s not alone and hops into a run-like hobble over toward his possible rescuers. Turns out, a group of seven teenagers decided to camp on the wrong night.
“What would you guys do if you ever found yourself in one of those cheesy 80s horror flicks?” a young man asks his group of friends. From Santana’s perspective, he seems to be the nerd of the group. The bitch and clearly the weakest of the bunch.
“I’d make a quick buck! Those actors make bank!” another man, much larger in stature responds with a snarking attitude about him. He seemed like the athlete of the bunch.
“No, I meant if you were ever in one of the protagonist’s positions.” the nerd responded back.
“Well I’d be dead.” said the token blonde female in the group.
“AYE YALL SANTANA NEED SOME FUCKIN HELP HERE!”
He jumps out and unintentionally startles them, prompting all seven campers to pull out their phones, simultaneously going live on instagram. This large bloody man is standing amongst them, completely dazed at this point.
“SANTANA GON CLIMB MOUNT EVEREST HACK THAT SHIT TO MUTHERFUCKING PEBBLES” he randomly blurts out.
“Sir are you okay?” one of the unnamed teens asks with a frightened tone in their voice.
“JUST FINE… ANY OF YALL GOT A PHONE!? SANTANA. PHONE CALL. SPIRIT HALLOWEEN. KILL THAT MUTHERFUCKER. ” he asks the seven people who literally all have their phones pointed at him.
“Bro, you don’t look so fine” the athletic teenager responds.
“IF ANY OF YALL KNOW BEN, TELL HIM THAT SANTANA GOT A BETTER CHANCE OF DYING OUT HERE WITH YOU LITTLE MUTHERFUCKERS THAN HE DO MAKING IT OUT OF THAT COFFIN. CANDY OR NOT, SANTANA PLANNING ON BURYING THAT MUTHERFUCKER… WHAT THE FFF”
He reaches for his back and seems to be tugging on something for quite a while. The kids are confused but then bolt it out of the camp sight when he yanks a bloody knife from his back. Right then, Santana passes out.
“SMOKE, SANTANA GOT THEM MUTHERFUCKERS AGAIN. AINT A SINGLE PIG IN SIGHT. IM THE SLIPPERIEST SUM BITCH THE WORLD DONE EVER SEE-”
The already beaten up car gets completely totaled when a distracted Santana rams directly into a light pole. Gone was his means of escaping whatever authorities that Dan Stevenson had sicked on him. Gone were the 33 year old airbags that never made it out, allowing Johnson to completely smash his face into the dashboard. He was a mess. Bloodied gums, and a blackened eye are the least of his worries when once he hears the deep annoying ring in his ears as if a siren was going off. This meant one of two things: either he was hungover or he’s got a concussion. In Santana’s favor, both possibilities were plausible.
“SMOKE! AYE SMOKE, YOU STILL THERE!?”
Santana yells from the scrunched up drivers seat as his large arms reach the floor, looking for his phone. He finds it and unluckily for him, it’s about as helpful as the destroyed vehicle that he’s in. Figuring out that it’s probably best to dip, dash and leave this car in the dust, Santana remembers one important thing.
“KAMINSKY”
His parrot was in its bird cage in the back seat. Though he was extremely dazed and confused, he pushed his seat back as far as he could to be able to reach back and grab the bird cage.
“GOD DAMN YOU ONE TOUGH SUM BITCH”
He said with a smile at the bird who somehow survived the wreck even though his birdcage was literally squished, leaving Kaminsky little room to move. Santana decides to break the cage open and help his friend out, placing him onto his shoulder.
“WHERE THE FUCK AM I!?”spurts out of his mouth as he stumbles through a semi-aggressive shoulder tackle that busts the driver’s door open.
Wincing in extreme discomfort, Santana’s bloody mouth is even worse than he thought it was. Blood filled saliva drips from the sides of his aching mouth as he finds himself near a lake that was completely unoccupied… or so he thought. As Santana gets closer to the lake, he starts to hear chatter. He thanks God that he’s not alone and hops into a run-like hobble over toward his possible rescuers. Turns out, a group of seven teenagers decided to camp on the wrong night.
“What would you guys do if you ever found yourself in one of those cheesy 80s horror flicks?” a young man asks his group of friends. From Santana’s perspective, he seems to be the nerd of the group. The bitch and clearly the weakest of the bunch.
“I’d make a quick buck! Those actors make bank!” another man, much larger in stature responds with a snarking attitude about him. He seemed like the athlete of the bunch.
“No, I meant if you were ever in one of the protagonist’s positions.” the nerd responded back.
“Well I’d be dead.” said the token blonde female in the group.
“AYE YALL SANTANA NEED SOME FUCKIN HELP HERE!”
He jumps out and unintentionally startles them, prompting all seven campers to pull out their phones, simultaneously going live on instagram. This large bloody man is standing amongst them, completely dazed at this point.
“SANTANA GON CLIMB MOUNT EVEREST HACK THAT SHIT TO MUTHERFUCKING PEBBLES” he randomly blurts out.
“Sir are you okay?” one of the unnamed teens asks with a frightened tone in their voice.
“JUST FINE… ANY OF YALL GOT A PHONE!? SANTANA. PHONE CALL. SPIRIT HALLOWEEN. KILL THAT MUTHERFUCKER. ” he asks the seven people who literally all have their phones pointed at him.
“Bro, you don’t look so fine” the athletic teenager responds.
“IF ANY OF YALL KNOW BEN, TELL HIM THAT SANTANA GOT A BETTER CHANCE OF DYING OUT HERE WITH YOU LITTLE MUTHERFUCKERS THAN HE DO MAKING IT OUT OF THAT COFFIN. CANDY OR NOT, SANTANA PLANNING ON BURYING THAT MUTHERFUCKER… WHAT THE FFF”
He reaches for his back and seems to be tugging on something for quite a while. The kids are confused but then bolt it out of the camp sight when he yanks a bloody knife from his back. Right then, Santana passes out.