It started on a Friday night in Boston; I never expected such a situation to take place on a lovely and peaceful Friday. Coal clouds covered the sky and the noise around the city felt relatively quiet. I decided to take my two best friends, Sam and Ben, on a casual night out: we would go to T-Anthony’s, walk down Common Ave, go to an apartment party at Boston University, ride Lime scooters to Kenmore Square, and finally sneak into Fenway Park and stargaze on top of the Green Monster. Were we going to complete all our goals in one night? Probably not, or so we thought.
“That plan is definitely one of the most stupid, yet intriguing itineraries I have heard,” stated our Uber driver. We seeked no approval from anyone; his comments were consistent with other inputs we received in the past twenty four hours. Nevertheless, as we arrived at T-Anthony’s, I knew that we could not turn back on our plan. We entered the restaurant and ate the top pizza in Boston. Everything seemed normal until two people dressed in alien masks and black jumpsuits stepped into the restaurant. This type of occurrence was easily normal on a Wednesday night, as T-Anthony’s hosted weekly costume contests, but on a Friday night? No way. Something was going on, and we were the only people in the damn area who cared about it.
We began walking down Common Ave, not really looking for anything, but just strolling and admiring the bright Boston lights. We passed by a Macy’s, a thrift shop, and an abandoned office complex. However, the Halloween costume store struck our attention; all the extravagant firefighter and space costumes sparkled with curiosity. Since it was November, we were not attracted to entering the store. Yet, I found it interesting to see what happened to the unbought costumes after the holiday concluded. I doubted that people bought them after Halloween, but there had to be a few people who did such an unworldly thing.
“This party bumps!” I shouted to Ben and Sam as about eighty people jumped and screamed in the tight-knit apartment. I knew a few people, but the party mostly consisted of students from Boston University, Northeastern, and Harvard. Ben, Sam, and I don’t go to parties often, as we aren’t considered the “popular” kids at our high school. So, I always cherish anytime I can jump into the party scene. We decided to run a three’s game of beer pong at the rickety red table in the room. As the game finished up, the door of the apartment cracked open and we heard a deep voice behind us: “We got next against these guys.” Usually, the winners stayed and played the challengers, but the students looked bewildered and did not deny the two lengthy figures. As I slowly turned around into the darkness, the two strangers with the alien masks stared down at us; “Ben, Sam, and Tyler, due to your questionable and lengthy staring at us at T-Anthony’s, the CIA now wants to question you all. You’re gonna need to come with us.” Once everyone heard the news, the party emptied out like a tsunami; the apartment owner screamed “Get out!” and everyone easily left the apartment party, except for us.
We busted through the apartment door, sprinted down the stairs, and ran as fast as we could down the street, looking for any sort of escape. A mile away from the apartment, we saw the lovely Lime scooters.
“Guys, I have found our savior,” I informed Ben and Sam.
“I never expected to rely on electric scooters to save my life!” Sam joked as the two strangers followed closely behind.
We finally arrived at the scooters, and within thirty seconds, we paid to unlock and used them. As we were about to take off, one of the masked strangers screeched, “I didn’t want to do this, but here it goes!” We heard three gunshots explode in the night sky. I can tell you now, at this high panic moment, I have never scootered faster in my life, even when I had my premium edition Razor Lux Scooter.
The gates were locked down to the brim; Fenway should never be easy to break into. Ben decided that we needed to climb over the fence to get in. “If Mark Wahlberg did it in Ted, why can’t we?” Ben assures us. As our hands and feet latched onto the gate, we heard two scooters thrown down in the distance. “We gotta go! They are right behind our asses,” I roared as I launched myself over the fence. Sam and Ben barely got over the gate as the strangers attempted to jump and reach for our feet. Without hesitation, we sprinted into the depths of Fenway Park.
“Guys, where could we hide? I have only been to Fenway like three times,” I whispered to Ben and Sam.
“Why don’t we hide in the clubhouse?” Sam suggested.
“Nah, that’s way too obvious,” I shot back.
“What about sitting in the stands?” Ben advised.
“We would be seen soooooooo clearly,” I confidently said.
As we continued generating ideas, the two masked strangers appeared a hundred feet in front of us. Without any words, the stranger to the right whipped out his gun and shot in Ben’s direction, who faced backwards. “Watch out Ben!” I shouted as I dove face first into Ben and got him out of the way. While doing so, the bullet impaled directly into my right shoulder, but luckily not in a fatal area. Pretty badass right? The pain scale reached twelve out of ten, but I slowly stood back up and pushed Ben and Sam to the Green Monster; “Run to the back door of the Monstah!” I hollered to them. We swerved back and forth, dodging the remaining bullets before finally making it to the green door. I shoved Sam and Ben into the unknown territory.
Then I shut the door.
Kyle Banker 