#bluelightsselfpara

[captivismarchive-blog]

blue lights || self past-para

you'd better run when you hear the sirens coming, when you hear the sirens coming. the blue lights are coming for you. what have you done? there’s no need to run if you’ve done nothing wrong. blue lights should just pass you by. xxx.

tw: police brutality, drugs, violence, ptsd.

fingertips were stroking the shaved side of his head, locks piled on top as his eyes stared at the ceiling. he was laid back on the lap of some honey he’d met through his brother’s friends, eyes staring at the strobe lights on the ceiling of the small house party. you wanna get out of here?

he was tripping balls, but his barely-moustached lips still curved into a smile and nodded at the pretty girl. she had this long blonde hair and piercing green eyes, like some kind of fairy out of a book. it didn’t make sense for someone so sweet looking to be at a party like this, where most of the dudes were criminals. though, given that both of them were just over the hump of being eighteen, perhaps neither of them really should have been there.

gun crime to your right and drugs and violence to your left, before our headphones flooding the order into a subconscious wave you accept. you're sitting on the floor back home - where you at g? answer your phone - pulls the poison to answer his message, your voice sounds rush, fists for his adolescence. 

as he stood up, the girl giggled and twirled her hair up at him. she was feeling him hard and he knew that even through the drugs he was on. when he looked at her, her hair floated up like she was in water, bubbles forming around her. dilated eyes squinted, laughing at what he saw. what? why are you laughing at me? 

the way the lights were dancing off of her face made her look ethereal, and he didn’t notice when those lights turned blue. he became so fixated on the way the cold blue reflected in the warm gold of her hair, the artist in him was unable not to focus on the beauty of what he was seeing. “i wanna draw you so bad right now,” he grumbled with a little boyish chuckle.

there was a commotion in other room, and z heard a loud crash. suddenly the house was filling with smoke, and it had all happened so quickly that z hadn’t really been able to process what was going on. suddenly an older man grabbed him by the shoulder. “you drake’s brother?!” he asked urgently.

z’s brows furrowed, “what?!” he asked, yelling over the music as he heard another crash and then some screaming in the next room over. now he could see that the girl he was with was pulling on his shirt, trying to get him to move. “yes! drake is his brother!” the girl cried, the older man jerking z by his collar, mumbling profanities. “run, stupid-ass kid!” the girl grabbed his hand and she and z were running out of the back door of the house.

i wanna turn those blue lights into strobe lights, not blue flashing lights, maybe fairy lights. those blue lights into strobe lights, maybe even fairy lights, not blue flashing lights.

once they were outside z could see the commotion going on, the drugs that he was on making his emotions more intense than they usually would have been. there were people cuffed and sitting on the side of the street in the front yard, multiple cop cars, people running and screaming in all different directions. did they really do a bust with a whole house full of people? his emotions overwhelmed him; confusion, fear, anger. his running slowed to a stop, the girl he was with still tugging on his arm. “zack, come on!” she screamed.

“where is drake?” his heart was thudding out of his chest. he’d been tripping for two hours or so already and he couldn’t remember where drake had gone. did he leave the party? was he still inside with the smoke? 

you! freeze!

“zack!” the girl squealed, letting go of his hand and running away as fast as she could, leaving him standing there. a pair of cops were running in his direction.

put your hands where i can see ‘em!

z’s eyes were pooling with tears, eyes darting around. he’d just turned eighteen a few weeks ago and he felt so grown, and now he felt like a child. the world was confusing and all he wanted was to find his brother and go home. 

“don’t move z! don’t fucking move!” that was his brother’s girlfriend of the week, who was cuffed and sitting on the ground in the front yard with a few other girls he recognized from his brother’s friend group. “they might not shoot that lil white girl but they’ll shoot you!”

they’ll shoot you. that sentence would haunt him for years to come.

on your knees! on your fucking knees, punk!

z’s eyes focused on the faces of two police officers, guns pointed at him. a cold type of fear spread through him, all the color of the world that his psychedelic high had created fading away into nothing but black and white. he lowered down onto his knees with his hands up, looking up at the barrel of the gun with a mean-mug of a face. 

one cop kept the gun aimed, the other going around back to cuff him. he felt a boot on his back, kicking him forward so that he was face down on the grass. he heard his brother’s girl again. 

leave him alone! he didn’t do anything; he’s just a kid!

and that was the moment that z learned that he didn’t have to do anything to be considered a threat. in the context of his acid trip, everything suddenly seemed so clear to him. this was the way the world worked. one minute he was lying on a couch having a great night with a pretty girl, and the next minute that girl had left him for dead with a gun pointed at his head. 

and he would never forget that either.

you'd better run when you hear the sirens coming, when you hear the sirens coming. the blue lights are coming for you. what have you done? there’s no need to run if you’ve done nothing wrong. blue lights should just pass you by.