While My Guitar Gently Weeps

If doom were to calculate, then the results are disasterous to even comprehend. Based off of The Beatles song from the same name, one college student in 2004 Oklahoma founded the scene of doom itself. This story was one I wrote during June 20, 2019, originally called "The Doomed Party." Song belongs to The Beatles, vehicle mentioned belongs to ChryslerFiat, sodas mentioned belong to their owners, while the story and it's characters belong to me.

Part 1: I Look at you all...
John D. Edwards had been waiting outside, on the hood of his best friend's 2003 Dodge Dart, while drinking a 12-pack of Dr. Pepper and listening to some Peter Frampton on his MP3. "Good God, where is he," he questioned, "if he's still in that party, I ought to slap him serious." As he walked to the frat house that the party was held, John should have stayed back, but he needed to find his roommate. "Excuse me, ma'am," he asked to one of the partiers, a woman to be exact, "have you seen one Ralph Moore, my roommate?"

"Yessir," she said with a hunch, as she pointed to her Northwest. The basement, his mind went, why the devil would he be down there.  He ventured to the sublevel, only to find his horror. There it was, the body of his roommate with more than enough needles to pass out a coma, or worse. "Yo, I take it you're Ralphie's little rommie," said lead jock "Breeze" Johnathan, "are you? If you are, I'm sorry for your man's loss.  OD'd to a heckton of the worst drugs known."

Part 2: ...And the floor, it needs sweeping
Oh my God, thought John, ''if I only supervised him instead of refusing to go to the party. ''"Wait, 'Breeze'," began John, "I have only one question: are you telling the truth or are you just flat out drunk?" "I'm not even that drunk AT ALL," answered "Breeze", as his cup only had Mountain Dew in it, "and yes, I'm telling the truth, yet I didn't prompt him to overdose." "Oh, thank the Lord," exhaled John, "you had me worried, 'Breeze',, do you know who might have?" "Try upstairs," answered "Breeze", as he details that's were the kegs and horrid drugs contain, "once HE confesses, call 911 on him and put that shady sunofagun to death!"

As John took a breath to head upstairs, he forced his way from the party by playing some Nirvana on his MP3 and silenced the noises. "Hey", as he whisteled and barged into the room of Hector Elyseum, the campus' drug lord, "are these one of your needles?" "Yes," replied Hector, "but look at the money I made!" "Screw this, I'm letting the cops confess your behind, "as he pulled his flip phone, but to only realize the fact that Hector camed armed. "Put down the phone," threatened Hector, "or you'll end up being the same as Ralph, bud!" John refused, only to find Hector a phoney as his pistol happened to have no bullets.

Epilogue: Still my Guitar Gently Weeps
"Move along people," said the officer as he warned everyone to evacuate the "Party House of Horrid Hector", as the news called it. John only took a sigh and was granted his friend's Dark; as he drove off, drinking Dr. Pepper and listening to some Beatles on his MP3, the good ol' days.