A Shark as a Jet and a Jet as a Shark
A/N: Hey everybody, this is my first ever fanfic, so i hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I love west side story and all, but I only own the plot.
I flicked open my knife and stared across the circle at the jet leader. We started rotating in a circle, but suddenly I heard the weirdest thing: a voice, a girls voice, she sounded like Anita. Don't do it Bernardo.
Across the circle Riff had started, I could tell he had heard it as well. But it had almost felt like she was in my head.
"What is it American? You turning chicken too?" I asked him.
"Thought I heard the cops." Riff replied smoothly. "
We continued to rotate, to plan out our strategies. To be honest, i don't want to be a killer, even if he is a racist jet, but i'm only 19, technically still a kid. I could have a nice life ahead of me, if these americans would realize that we Puerto ricans are people too, just as good as them. I shouldn't have pulled out the knife in the first place. Then i wouldn't be in this kill or be killed situation. But I had taunted the polack and called him a chicken a few minutes ago, i couldn't back down. I don't want to look like a coward in front of the other sharks.
So you are still going to do it Bernardo? You are still going to fight him? You will come to regret this.
It happened just as I lunged at Riff, aiming for his arm. I could get out of this by giving him a few slashes. But I missed, and so did he and then… I blacked out.
When I woke up, I could here voices mumbling near me, they weren't very clear yet, but they were growing clearer pretty quickly. As the voices grew louder, I heard one say "You okay Riff?" I sat up and looked around. We were still on the black top under the high way. I didn't answer, they were probably over there in the other group talking to Riff, who had apparently lost consiousness too. I looked at the worried faces of the boys surrounding me, to see that they were the jets.
That didn't make sense. I was Bernardo, a shark, a Puerto Rican. Why would they be leaning over me?
As I got up to get my knife from the ground a few feet away, i looked at the other group and caught a glimpse of someone who looked a lot like me get off the ground and approach his own knife. As we both looked up from the ground with our blades in our hands, our eyes met.
I was looking at my own cold, dark eyes, my own face, my own body.
Slowly, I brought the knife up, in a threatening pose, angling it so that i could see my own face. Riff was staring back at me from the blade, his face as white as a sheet, displaying nothing but shock.
What was going on? I looked just like him, and he looked like me. Had we swapped bodies?
Ai/N: sorry for the cliffy but I need something to keep me going. Please review, constructive and encouraging comments only please! For anyone who read it before, i decided i didn't like some of the writing, so i changed it. I didn't like how malicious they seemed.