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All was silent, only the sound of the tide gently crashing against the sandy shores and the cries of seagulls could be heard throughout the seemingly abandoned Paradise Springs housing development. As the sun rose over the horizon the partially constructed ghost town emerged upon the coast, it was not far from the beach but a good distance away from the chaos of city. Rows upon rows of houses in different states of construction were lined up in a typically suburban style, some were almost finished and just missing windows, electrics and water while others were just foundations in the ground. Paradise Springs was supposed to be a brand new housing development that would have provided high quality low cost living to many local families, however the recession came and the project fell through and for almost ten years the skeletal houses stood abandoned and forgotten. Surprisingly they remained untouched by the local homeless and criminals, leaving this pseudo hamlet open to anyone willing to travel the long distance from town. Though the seclusion of Paradise Springs was a welcome setting to the local alternative scene looking for a place to party.
First came the punks, settling like anarchist pilgrims they made themselves at home and their parties became the talk of the town amongst the cities youths who chose to reject mainstream society and it did not take long for Paradise Springs to become a small community for alternative youths looking for a place to party far from their parents and the police. However to live in such a lawless land came at a price and in Paradise Springs that price came adorned in swastikas, combat boots and shaved heads. Unfortunately the city had a major problem with white supremacists and Neo-Nazis, the young ones of which found their way to Paradise Springs.
It was 6:15am and those who did not make the long journey back to the city the night before and those who chose to live here in Paradise Springs were sound asleep, fatigued from another night of partying. Though one person was awake, a tall slim yet slightly muscular punk stood leaning against the open window frame of the main punk house. The actual window had never been fitted and only a large rectangular hole was in its place, with his left forearm resting against the window frame the young man who was clad only in a pair of red boxer shorts stood casually smoking as he watched the sun rise through tired blood shot eyes. This was Blake Talbot, the self proclaimed leader of the punks and savior of Paradise Falls. Blake was a 25 year old punk and one of the first people to come here, like most he wanted to get away from the city and of coarse his family.
Blake's naked arms and torso was almost covered in tattoos in a punk rock style, spider webs and skulls making up the most of his ink while a large anti-fascist logo was worm proudly tattooed on the left side of his chest. Blake had a long bright red mohawk with the sides shaved down to the scalp, his face was clean shaven and piercings decorated his handsome features; a silver horse shoe ring hung from his septum while a a pair of silver rings were in his lower lip in the snake bite fashion and numerous silver rings adorned his ears. His ice blue eyes were blood shot and dark rings surrounded them, he led a life of sex, drugs and rock n' roll and saw no need to change his ways. With a sigh he finished of his cigarette and tossed the but out of the window, his mouth was dry and his head a little sore. The empty whiskey bottle next to the mattress on the floor that he called his bed was obviously the cause.
With a playful grin his eyes fell upon a naked punk girl wrapped in his bed sheets snoozing away. "Oh, shit.. who are you?" Blake whispered to himself not really sure who she was before rubbing his tired eyes. The parties that took place in these houses were known to get wild, bands would play, people would get fucked up on what ever drugs or booze they could get their hands on and at some point later in the night it was no surprise to see people fucking. Carefully Blake sneaked toward the bed, trying not to wake the woman in his bed, lifting a sleeveless black 'The Casualties' t-shirt from his pile of clothes at the foot of the bed he covered his naked torso before leaving the room.
As he walked out onto the landing he was greeted by the familiar site of unconscious punks and other misfits sprawled all over the house, as he descended the stairs he had to step over bodies to get down to the living room which was even worse. Snores and grunts occasionally came from some of the seemingly lifeless people who lay on the furniture and floors of the house, Blake was used to this and without a care entered the kitchen in the hope of getting some coffee. The kitchen was strangely darker than the rest of the house, but then it was one of the smallest rooms. With no real appliances in it, it did not look like much of a kitchen however there was a gas powered camping stove and a few pots and pans one of which Blake lifted and carried over to a large bucket of water. Dunking the steel pot into the water until it was almost filled Blake then carried it over to the camping stove to boil it.
First came the punks, settling like anarchist pilgrims they made themselves at home and their parties became the talk of the town amongst the cities youths who chose to reject mainstream society and it did not take long for Paradise Springs to become a small community for alternative youths looking for a place to party far from their parents and the police. However to live in such a lawless land came at a price and in Paradise Springs that price came adorned in swastikas, combat boots and shaved heads. Unfortunately the city had a major problem with white supremacists and Neo-Nazis, the young ones of which found their way to Paradise Springs.
It was 6:15am and those who did not make the long journey back to the city the night before and those who chose to live here in Paradise Springs were sound asleep, fatigued from another night of partying. Though one person was awake, a tall slim yet slightly muscular punk stood leaning against the open window frame of the main punk house. The actual window had never been fitted and only a large rectangular hole was in its place, with his left forearm resting against the window frame the young man who was clad only in a pair of red boxer shorts stood casually smoking as he watched the sun rise through tired blood shot eyes. This was Blake Talbot, the self proclaimed leader of the punks and savior of Paradise Falls. Blake was a 25 year old punk and one of the first people to come here, like most he wanted to get away from the city and of coarse his family.
Blake's naked arms and torso was almost covered in tattoos in a punk rock style, spider webs and skulls making up the most of his ink while a large anti-fascist logo was worm proudly tattooed on the left side of his chest. Blake had a long bright red mohawk with the sides shaved down to the scalp, his face was clean shaven and piercings decorated his handsome features; a silver horse shoe ring hung from his septum while a a pair of silver rings were in his lower lip in the snake bite fashion and numerous silver rings adorned his ears. His ice blue eyes were blood shot and dark rings surrounded them, he led a life of sex, drugs and rock n' roll and saw no need to change his ways. With a sigh he finished of his cigarette and tossed the but out of the window, his mouth was dry and his head a little sore. The empty whiskey bottle next to the mattress on the floor that he called his bed was obviously the cause.
With a playful grin his eyes fell upon a naked punk girl wrapped in his bed sheets snoozing away. "Oh, shit.. who are you?" Blake whispered to himself not really sure who she was before rubbing his tired eyes. The parties that took place in these houses were known to get wild, bands would play, people would get fucked up on what ever drugs or booze they could get their hands on and at some point later in the night it was no surprise to see people fucking. Carefully Blake sneaked toward the bed, trying not to wake the woman in his bed, lifting a sleeveless black 'The Casualties' t-shirt from his pile of clothes at the foot of the bed he covered his naked torso before leaving the room.
As he walked out onto the landing he was greeted by the familiar site of unconscious punks and other misfits sprawled all over the house, as he descended the stairs he had to step over bodies to get down to the living room which was even worse. Snores and grunts occasionally came from some of the seemingly lifeless people who lay on the furniture and floors of the house, Blake was used to this and without a care entered the kitchen in the hope of getting some coffee. The kitchen was strangely darker than the rest of the house, but then it was one of the smallest rooms. With no real appliances in it, it did not look like much of a kitchen however there was a gas powered camping stove and a few pots and pans one of which Blake lifted and carried over to a large bucket of water. Dunking the steel pot into the water until it was almost filled Blake then carried it over to the camping stove to boil it.
