The town was far removed from the problems of the big city. What little crime occurred in the sleepy hamlet was of the misdemeanor variety. Boys dreamed of running away from the community while the girls dreamed of marrying the local boys and running off with them. That night was no different than ten thousand others that had proceeded it. The local movie theater ran features on both screens, two showings of each feature that night. After all, it was Saturday. The young projectionist locked the doors once very one had left and watched as the owner drove off throwing him a wave. Projectionist turned to janitor and cleaned up the mess.

Shortly after he began he heard the old clock in the town square start chiming out the hour, twelve mournful clangs intoned the midnight hour. He could barely hear the bell ring out as he swept up the last of the popcorn. Carefully he placed the garbage in the dumpsters in the back and looked up at the overcast clouds. He could just make out the dim glow through the dense cloud cover of the full moon. Looking around he saw thin curls of fog seemingly rising from the ground, in a few moments, he stared at vacant lot behind the theater the fog grew. He rushed in to mop quickly and head for home. He hated walking through thick fog and he had a feeling this was going to be heavy.

He ran up the stairs to the booth and gathered up his books, placing them quickly in the leather satchel. It was called a soft briefcase, but he thought it looked like a purse – he hated it but being a gift from his mother he always carried it. Moving from the booth he caught his reflection in the office doors glass windows. Shit – I look like some fag carrying a purse. He had to figure out a way to lose the damn thing. He walked at a brisk pace down the stairs. Looking at the glass doors, he couldn't even see across the street.

Thick fog hung over the streets like a blanket of white. He locked the door behind him and began to walk toward home. A pair of large dark eyes watched him – hungry, lustful eyes. Softly she moved from the recessed door of the jewelry store. Sneakers softly followed the boy they squeaked, but so softly the fog swallowed up the sound.

He walked at a brisk pace he wanted to get home fast. He hated the fog it had an eerie effect on him. He decided to cut through city park a small play zone for children. He would cross the stream at the old bridge. It was the fastest way to his house he walked on the boards of the old wooden covered bridge, the stream below babbled as the water rushed over rocks. He didn't hear her the water was too loud and she walked softly. Pain jumped on his head as he walked from under the cover of the bridge. A sharp crack on the right side of the back of his head knocked him to the ground. Pain spread across his head which became as foggy as the night air.

"Don't move your cracker ass, Mr. Lucky," slowly he realized the voice was that of a female. A furious female's voice had a harsh tone that told him Lucky didn't mean good luck. Tensing up he thought to roll over and spring on her. Then the sharp click sound made him freeze. "I'll blow you a new asshole if you try anything. Get up Mr. Lucky come on boy get to your feet."

His heart pounded in his chest almost to the point that it hurt. He pushed up and stood there tense not knowing what was coming. "Keep your eyeballs looking straight ahead don't turn around or I'll blast your guts out with this," she jabbed him in the ribs with the barrel of a gun. "Turn to your right and go down under the bridge."

"I got some money you can have it," his voice cracked as he spoke.

"Shut the fuck up Mr. Lucky move your skinny white ass now," she poked him again. "Go on now right up under the bridge." His heart felt like it was in his throat. There was something in her voice, it was anger, or perhaps something else, something darker. He was afraid for his life now.

"Now you might think you can just run away but I'll fucking blow your head off if you try," again she hit him in the ribs hard with the barrel of the gun. "You do believe me don't you Mr. Lucky?" We walked carefully down the slick bank he had no doubt she would kill him if he tried to run. The sound of the water rushing over the rocks grew louder as they moved under the bridge right down to the edge of the water. "Far enough Brady boy." Reaching around him, she grabbed his crotch.

"Figures, fucking Brady boy special – mother fucking 5 inch cocktail wiener," she hissed at him. She pulled his briefcase from him and tossed it up higher on the bank. "Fucking fag carrying a purse," she reached around again and squashed his package. "Fucking like a rock you cracker fags get fear boners so easy. Get your pants off boy."

"No," he barked out in defiance. The gun struck him across the back then again on the back of his head. He dropped to his knees crying as he held the back of his head. Putting her mouth right up to his year, she shoved the gun his back hard.

"Don't give me shit you fucking sissy fag," she whispered in his ear but the words sounded like the hissing of a snake. The danger of his predicament was not lost on him the moment of bravado had brought an instant reaction from her. He realized his life meant nothing to her and the threat to his life was real. "I'm tempted to just kill you right now. But I want something first. Now get out of those pants and that shirt off your skinny body."

Quickly he stripped to his underwear she forced him to roll over growling in his ear the instructions. "That's it cracker boy flat on your back. Now lose the tidy whities," he pulled them down she unceremoniously snatched them from his hand and threw them into the water. She started whacking his ridge cock with the barrel of the gun. He noted it was an automatic other than that he could tell nothing. His blood rushed through his veins as his heart pumped harder than he could remember.