Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
“Shit.” I said.
The man turned on his side and threw up more blood.
“Oh, that’s gross.” I said feeling queasy myself now. He coughed again. Then groaned. He turned his head and looked right at me. He seemed to grin at me, in a rather sports-manly manner, as if congratulating me on my win before collapsing face first into the pool he’d just created.
My half-digested supper (left-over rice and spare ribs for what it’s worth) hit a nearby tree as I retched and coughed.
I walked away. That was the best thing to do, just get outa there. I began to feel shaky, weak and tired as I trudged through the wooded area. Was this not impossible? I mean, bad guys were only in my infantile imagination, weren’t they?
I winced as I trod on the twigs; not only did it make too much noise – I had to be stealthy – but it really hurt the sole of my feet. God I was missing my trainers! Why’d Dick take everything but my jeans and underwear, anyway?
I practically dived to the ground – out of sight. I was sure I’d just heard footsteps other than mine. I readied my knife as best as I could in this position.
I waited there for nearly five minutes turning my head from side to side trying to look everywhere at once. I could hear birds or bats or something twittering and flapping through the trees. And eventually my eyes rested on a shadow. Had it been there before? I couldn’t tell but it wasn’t moving. Or was it? I stared intently at it, hardly daring to breath. If I couldn’t see him properly that meant I was surely just as obscured, Right?
“Hello?” I said bravely and preparing myself for another attack. The shadow said nothing. I wanted to move but I seemed momentarily paralysed. I pulled myself up, the air felt like treacle, it was like pulling out of a dream you could no longer cope with.
I looked at the shadow and from this angle it looked suspiciously like a tree. Fuck’s sake,
“Don’t call me an idiot.” I muttered.
I started trudging through the trees again, horrible little pine needles getting stuck in between my toes. I kept imagining Imhotep following me, and could not shake the feeling of being watched. I supposed it was something to do with the dark.
I came to the edge of the trees onto the green of hole seven. I crouched down to stop myself being visible to anyone that may be stalking the grounds. There were still two other guys out there and the woman in the car. Plus they mentioned more people coming up. I looked right and left, as if crossing the road. Something caught my eye.
A figure standing just separate from the next miniature forest. Right at the top of the slope. Another lying tree, I guessed.
I stepped out of the trees I was taking shelter in with the intention of getting across to the next set of trees (from then on going through the trees and get back to thirteen). The tree shouted at me incomprehensibly and then began to run in my direction. I bolted out of my hiding place. Instead of going for the trees across from me I ran down the slop. I knew that if I went straight for those trees he’d catch up for sure.
I fell. I must have stood on a stone or something as a pain hit my foot when I thumped it down. It debalanced me and I tumbled head over heals two or three times before I managed to pick myself up.
I was aiming for the stream now. Get across the stream and then see what happens. Maybe he’s a witch and won’t be able to cross it. I thought inanely. Or is that vampires or something else entirely? The “bridge” across the stream was nothing more than a slab of concrete, maybe about a metre across and maybe eighty centimetres wide. I was just five seconds away from it.
I looked back to discover that he was two seconds behind me.
I felt a hand grab my shoulder and I toppled of balance my face hit the slab of concrete and I felt bits of gravel poke into my face.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
“GO FIND HER!” one of the men shouted angrily. Her!? I thought to myself, offended. “And get everyone else up here!” He added. More people?
The three men split up and started running in different directions “their mother” got into the car and started driving along the path. Throughout the golf course there was a dirt road primarily meant for the caddies but it was wide enough for a car too. I suddenly had a feeling of being trapped. I know, I’m outdoors, but recently the golf course had gotten tougher on security. Great big electric fences to be precise. All around the perimeter. It was apparently to keep out the cows and sheep that had been coming in from the surrounding farms and tearing up the course. They hadn’t fenced up the entrance at hole thirteen because there would be no livestock coming in from that direction and it made sense leaving another entrance. After all there was a residential area close by there, it’d be pointless going miles around to the members entrance. Me and Shawn had visited there before, it’s even more hyperbolic than these new fences. Every exit was blocked off except the way I came in.
One of the men was striding towards me. Or at least my thicket of trees. He was tall dark and greasy. His face was locked in an angry sneer and his shoulder length hair was clumped together like worms. His walk seemed purposeful and I was a little worried that he’d spotted me (though with the car gone it was hard even for me to see him) so I crouched down further and took a few steps backward. He was up to the tree line now and seemed to be peering into the darkness. He made a nasal sound as if thinking before he marched into the trees. It looked like he was going in a different direction but then he spun around – too quickly for me to react – and dived at me. He knocked me backwards and grabbed my arms pinning them to the ground. I could feel twigs and pinecones dig into my back, I could smell the earthy grime and a faintly minty chewing gum. Altogether it was much less comfortable than the pool table.
“Why’d ya kill him, huh?” the man asked shaking me.
“It’s not exactly fair that all the blame rests on my doorstep.” I said. He had a much shorter fuse that Dick, I deduced, from the way he thumped me across the face.
“He was my brother!” He yelled I could see him burning with rage and for just a second I could empathise. But then I regained control.
“I’m somebody’s brother!” I lied, but I knew got my point across due to a second thump.
“Why are you a boy anyway?” He asked as if only just noticing. I thought about giving him a biological answer but quickly realised I didn’t know.
“Apparently your brother was a bit of a fag. Tried to rape me and everything.” I said trying to maintain a casual tone as a particularly sharp twig jabbed into my back.
“That’s not–” He went to slap me again but when he lifted his hand off my wrist I grabbed him by the throat. I pulled my other arm away and made him loose his balance. I rolled over so I was on top of him. I still had my hand on his throat but I released a little pressure, so he could breathe.
“Sure we can play rough if you want, but I’m on top, alright?” he wasn’t gonna give in easy. He started bucking under me and because I wasn’t positioned on him properly he threw me off with relative ease. He then leapt back on top of me, I was face down this time but he started pounding the back of my head with his fists. I was starting to see stars and felt almost like I was gonna pass out again. His legs were either side of me and he was sitting on my lower back. Almost as if he was giving me a massage; my left hand was trapped between my side and his thigh. I know it was hardly “fighting like a man” (like my dad had jokingly tried to teach me once) but I pinched him in the thigh. And held it digging my nails in.
It took a few seconds but he eventually noticed the pain and yelped. At that exact moment I arched my back and threw him forward like a Buckaroo face first into a tree. I scuttled backwards a bit and managed to get on my knees.
He turned round, dark rivers of blood running from his nose. His glare was pretty terrifying, a glower of pure rage that looked like something from 28 Days Later.
I was genuinely frightened when he leapt at me again. But I really started to feel the adrenaline pumping. It was exhilarating.
Dick had been easy to run circles around but this guy was clearly not a words man. I swung my fist rather carelessly in his direction and made contact with his head. But he swung his fist at me twice as hard smashing into my jaw. I fell backwards instinctively trying to grab a hold of something as my attacker came back cursing and snarling with uncontrolled anger. He came down on me hard winding me as I felt pain erupt around my lower ribs. My hands were still free so I scrabbled around with them, finding a dead branch with a pointed – but not particularly sharp – edge. I took another smack to the face, this time I was sure he’d dislodged a tooth as I started to taste blood. As he was pulling back for another go I pulled myself up and stabbed at his face with my stick.
I burst an eye ball and caught a brief glance of dark patches of thick goo flop out of the socket before he turned away yelling – screaming – in anguished suffering.
I noticed him reach under his shirt withdrawing a knife from it’s sheath. I had a similar thought and – abandoning the stick – I dived into my pocket withdrawing the knife, but not quickly enough.
His aim was clearly off, though, I’m sure with both eyes the blade would have ripped into my torso. Instead the metal cut a deep gash in the side of my arm just below where Dick had cut me.
My left hand was trapped between myself and him. I started to feel a wet warmth spread across it. His body tensed and he grunted. Coughed, throwing blood into my face. I pushed him off of me and I heard the knife pop out of his stomach with a squelch.
Nice one Rye.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Apparently he was trying to grab my legs but he missed only succeeding in making me loose my grip. I fell straight down and landed on him. I felt my ass hit his back and I heard a crack. I was sort of sitting on him for a second before I fell backwards. I landed on my back this time which winded me. After a few seconds I scuttled backwards away from Dick in case he tried to grab at me.
But he couldn’t.
I looked at the body hanging there half-in half out of the window. There was blood trickling down from the window ledge in small rivulets. He must have impaled himself on a piece of glass. As well as that his spine was odd. From his neck it sloped up until roughly the window ledge, then it rose up sharply, returning to a normal angle as it went down to his lower back which was inside. Between me and the window he’d been almost torn in half. I was numb. I’d kinda killed him. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I did, though. I stared for a few minutes until the sound of an approaching car dragged me from my shock.
I cursed to myself as I started to get up and run away.
The club house was just at hole three (like I said there was a funny layout. Holes one and two were behind it and too the left respectively). I ran across the pitch black green as I heard shouting and doors slamming from behind me. I was aiming to get to the thicket of trees without being seen. And apparently I had. When I was there I needed to pause for a rest.
I looked back at the club house. There was a pool of light given off by the headlights from the car. There were four people three men and a woman. The three men all looked to be about the same age as Dick but the woman was much older. Their mother? I thought to myself and I found the notion amusing. Like one of those all-in-the-family murder rings you hear happening in
“She’s well guarded,
“What level is the mummy?” I needed to ask to make sure I knew what I was up against. A level one mummy, for example was, still very hard to kill, but relatively powerless but a level five had all sorts of magic at her disposal: telekinesis and elemental weapons and spells and such.
“Four.” He replied sighing with concentration as he worked out a strategy. We ourselves were armed with weapons from Time Splitters 2. I had my Tactical 12 gauge automatic shotgun and two Lugar pistols in holsters around my belt. Shawn was currently equipped with a plasma auto rifle and a belt full of plasma grenades. We were crouching, out of sight, in a ditch ankle deep in mud.
“So what we gonna do? I say we attack!” I said with all the simplicity of an inbred Geordie.
“Duh.” Shawn said. “Give me your radio, I’ll call for back-up.” I did. He spoke into it. “This is captain Green, code four-eight-one-five-two-three, we are need of assistance. Get a chopper over hear now we have a level four mummy on the loose. Repeat level four. Over.” He said in his best American accent (which wasn’t very good). “Right the chopper’s on her way. Now we can attack.” He said leaping out from our cover and launching blobs of plasma out of his gun. I took out my Lugar’s for better long range shots and started firing madly.
“God Shawn did you see that head shot!?” I cackled.
“My guy’s on fire look!” he laughed.
Then she noticed us.
After jumping out of our trench we showered her in bullets and plasma but with little effect. She started throwing fire spells at us. Trees behind us burst into flames as we dived and rolled. Then she tried another tactic: throwing her earth spells – balls of sand – at us. It was a good job we’d been wearing our goggles (Shawn had a really cool pair – like the ones that Tai from Digimon wears – that he’d ordered off the internet) or she could blind us.
I ran out of ammo for my Lugar pistols so I threw them aside swearing before pulling out my Tactical Twelve Gauge again and blasting the Mummy in the chest. Bits of dusty flesh and bandages went flying but she was unfazed and grabbed me by the throat.
Shawn rugby tackled her and the three of us ended up in one of the sand traps. Shawn let me get back a bit as he started smashing the butt of his gun into the Mummy’s skull.
“The choppers here!” I exclaimed tiredly (the sky was starting to get dull and we’d been up here all day). We ran away while the chopper pelted the mummy with bullets and then a couple of missiles.
“It’s getting kinda late,
“Yeah I got this movie called The Beach.”
“Better go home then!” He said referring to my house.
Friday, July 18, 2008
“Where is that picture?” I said as I hooked a few fingers around the handle of the rest. Was one of those clawed ones as well.
“It’s at the reception.” He said sneering and then grimacing in pain. “I could take you if you’d like” is said in a pseudo-sweet manner.
“No, thank you, air hostess.” I said. He was about to say something but I didn’t let him. As quickly as I could I dropped the ball I was holding and took a proper hold of the rest then swung it at him putting as much force behind it as I could and only just refraining from making a light-sabre noise. It cracked against his face and I dropped the pole instantly running towards the door not stopping to look if I’d knocked him out or not. I slammed the door shut behind me, buying those vital seconds.
I vaulted over the reception desk and snatched up the picture. It had been gathering dust on shelf with other bricka-brack: an Eeyore key-ring and a set of prayer beads were other things that caught my eye.
Unbelievably the picture was still in its original frame. The stupid tatty thing was almost twice the size of the picture and looked ridiculous. The picture was still in good condition though, I noticed as I removed it. I looked at it. It was just us, smiling. Shawn was hugging me from behind and our cheeks were touching. Whoever this “Janice” was had a pretty strange idea of how brothers, generally, acted.
It was a roasting hot day but inside the base we had some shade. Shawn’s dad had recently bought a Polaroid camera which Shawn had decided to steal for the day and see if we could get any decent pictures of us. We’d tried quite a few times to take it ourselves, by holding the camera out in front of us (like what people do with mobile phones now) but it was too bulky and our arms were to short. A small collection of miss-taken pictures of us littered the ground (he’d actually kept these but when his parents were clearing out his room they threw them out).
“Right, fuck this, Rye.” He said standing up and making to leave. “We’re gonna get someone to take this for us.”
“And how’s that gonna look?” I asked.
“With me in it? Fabulous.” He said ignoring my actual question.
“If he thinks we’re gay then fine. It won’t matter if a stranger knows.” He said cutting me off. “Now come on.”
“What if he tells people?”
“Oh for Christ sake!” he said like an exasperated parent and making me feel like an incredibly slow child. “You worry way too much Ryan, if people don’t like it fuck ‘em. They aren’t important.” That was pretty much his philosophy: fuck what others think.
It took me too long to realise he was right.
“Now come on, I’m getting our picture taken with or without you.”
I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall way.
“I am gonna fucking kill you!” he shouted at me when we made eye contact.
“Do you realise what a cliché you are?” I baited while darting for a near by cupboard, praying it had a lock or something. Shit. There wasn’t a lock but there was a book case stacked with boxes of paper. I pushed it out in front of the door, it was surprisingly light, and then I pulled it over causing it to wedge between the other book case and the door. A second later the man slammed against it.
Fuck! I thought to myself as I found the light switch. Running into a windowless closet. Now that’s a cliché! The man slammed against the door, shouting more aggressive threats of rape and torture and such. I still had the knife so I could still fight him off if necessary. I sighed and looked up. Well the cupboard wasn’t completely windowless. It had one of those pyramidal shaped windows in the ceiling. The ceiling was pretty low. I tried jumping a few times, but I couldn’t reach. My would-be killer slammed against the door at a steady rate. I climbed the book case nearest the window, it was slightly off centre, and reached out and grabbed the boarding around the window. I was hanging on by little more than my fingertips and my arms weren’t used to having to hold this amount of weight so I was struggling.
For some reason I had thought there would be a latch here or something for opening the window but, of course, there wasn’t. I was using both hands to hold my self up but I let go with my right and then reached into my pocket for the knife. I flicked the blade out so I got some length. And then started stabbing the window.
I managed to crack it before I had to let go of the skirting. I hit the floor ass first and pain shot up my back. My fingers and arms too were numb. I decided to wait a minute or two before trying that again. The banging stopped.
“What are… you… doing in there?” the man asked gasping for breath.
“Masturbating.” I said casually. “Can I have some privacy?”
He didn’t respond.
Reality started hitting me. My arm started stinging where he’d cut me and they were still tired from the exertion of holding my self up for so long. I really needed to get out of here. If more were coming they’d easily be able to get in. I searched around to see if there was anything – a sturdy folder or a hardback book maybe – that would allow me to break the window without climbing up first (I knew I could throw the knife but I didn’t want to risk it going through the window and getting lost outside). I looked around in a few boxes, most just had files in them and proved useless, but then I found one that was clearly “Lost Property”.
Aside from about fifty Golf balls (of all possible colours) there was other lost property stuff but nothing else immediately useful. I started throwing the golf balls at the window.
“Hey, Ryan, What are you doing in there?” The killer asked. I ignored his question.
“This doesn’t seem very fair. You know my name but I don’t know yours…”
“What do you want to know my name for?”
“Well I’m just sick of calling you “The killer” in my head” he made a witless noise, though I couldn’t see I imagined his moth hanging open gormlessly. “Do you mind If I just call you Richard?” I asked as I threw another ball that cracked the window further.
“Erm… sure.” He said clearly throw off.
“I thought we agreed Richard?” he said indignantly, almost hurt.
“Yeah.” I confirmed. “Dick is what Richard gets shortened to.” I threw a Pink golf ball and this one actually broke the window. Already riddled with cracks and being pretty old and thin most of the glass collapsed and fell on the floor.
“What are you doing!?” Dick said with a renewed urgency.
“Escaping. Bee-beep” I said impersonating road runner as I climbed the book case again. I clung to the edge as before. Then I reached up with one hand and took out as much of the glass that was still stuck in the frame as I could. I gripped the frame this time and pulled myself up feeling tiny jagged bits of glass tear into my hands. I had to drag my tummy over the glass too as I hauled myself onto the roof. I lay on my back for a while panting and hoping that those cuts on my perfect torso wouldn’t scar. They probably aren’t that deep anyway. I told myself throwing the bleeding cuts out of my mind.
I walked to the edge. It looked pretty high. I didn’t want to risk jumping; if I broke an ankle I’d be dead for sure. I lay down parallel to the edge and swung my feet over, clutching to the ledge much like I had been doing moments ago. My legs were flailing and I felt them kick cold glass once or twice as I tried to steady them (I really didn’t want to sprain anything).I must have got Dick’s attention when I kicked the window as he dived through it.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I knew almost immediately that I was in deep trouble. Even if it wasn’t for the vague memories of being dragged under my arms floating in and out of my head, the fact that I was tied to a pool table gave it away. I was spread eagle my hands and feet tied around my wrists and ankles to the corner pockets. Most of my clothes were missing. I was left with just my jeans and underwear. What underwear am I wearing? I thought to myself. It's not my Spongebob boxers is it?
I opened my eyes, only to be half blinded by the lights. Squinting I could tell that I was in some kind of side room to a bar. The stupid pictures of local scenery and the stench of cigarette smoke betrayed it. As well as the dart board with two darts still in it and the chairs, seat-up, on the tables; except for one which was down on its feet. A smouldering cigarette lay dying in the ashtray beside it.
I clenched my muscles, testing to see if I could tell if I’d been raped yet. Everything seemed fine.
As I squirmed, testing the ropes security, I could feel the velvety surface of the table top against my naked back. I felt around the ropes too, trying to find out what they were made from and if there was any weakness. There was too! The knot at my left wrist wasn’t tied nearly as tight and I set to untying it immediately.
I heard footsteps.
I stopped squirming. I could hear the thud, thud, thud of the man’s purposeful strides coming up the hall. I imagined my captor to be one of those walrus like business men that had a smoker’s chuckle and would insist on giving the secretary a ‘friendly’ slap on the behind whenever she bent over to retrieve a stray office utensil. I was surprised, however, when the door opened, to see a stunningly average man of about twenty nine. Brown hair in disarray, an angular face, pale blue eyes with a sadistic glint to them and beaming at me like I was his childhood dog returned, he reminded me of a deranged uncle.
“Ah, you’re awake!” He said clapping his hands together.
“Well congratulations, Captain Obvious.” I drawled, I needed to keep him distracted from my left hand.
“Now, now, Ryan, no need to get cheeky.”
“How’d you know my name?” I asked calmly, I hadn’t had any ID on me so it was puzzling.
“Oh I know all about you. And Shawn. Janice keeps a picture of you two, says you’re her kids… The caption on the back tells us different.” He smirked looking me up and down “Tell me Ryan, will he be worried?”
“Yeah, he’ll be worried sick.” I misinformed. He surly couldn’t be talking about the picture? Although no other even existed. “Cos you see this isn’t the first time I’ve cheated either.” I added hoping that if I played along he’d let me go. Apparently this was quite transparent.
“I’m not untying you.” He said flatly. Though I was almost done with the knot.
“Worth a try though wasn’t it?”
“Not really…” he looked out the window. He seemed like he was waiting for someone. Or a group. Christ I’m gonna be gang banged!
“I’m horny.” Or maybe he wouldn’t wait. “How about you suck me off you little cumslut?” It didn’t sound right; people saying that outside porn movies.
“Well I could…” I started “but can you give me any good reasons not to bite your dick off?”
He paused for a second. “I’ll kill you if you do.”
“Great! Then you’ll be a dickless murderer.”
“I’ve killed before.” He said impassively.
“Still be dickless.” I pointed out. Wondering how he got away with murder in as small a town as this.
“I don’t think you’re nearly scared enough.” He informed. And in fact he was probably right. I was too busy for fear.
He withdrew a knife from somewhere and flicked out the blade. Now I was a little scared. Especially after the whole “dickless” idea.
“Oh I’m gonna make you scream.”
“Thank you, much appreciated.” I said nodding.
“You’re a smart arsed little prick, aren’t you!” he sneered as he jumped up on the table, his knees between my legs and his bad breath in my face.
“I like to think I have a smart arse, yes. It’s probably smarter than you anyway.” I gasped in air as I felt the knife rip across my arm.
“I’m gonna fuck you good, bitch, it’s their turn for sloppy seconds.”
“Sloppy seconds?” I asked incredulously, I didn’t think people actually said that. “What am I? A school dinner?” I’d managed to distract him long enough to undo the rope. I was untied! I don’t think he’d noticed; he was trying to undo my jeans, oddly pulling the zip down first. I slipped my wrist out of the untied rope as stealthily as possible and reached into the pocket as he started grabbing at my belt furiously trying to tear it off. I was going to be proper fucked (literally) if there were no balls in this pocket.
“You’re going to love my big dick, fag boy.” He said sounding almost comical.
“I’m sure I will, but I should warn you I haven’t taken a shit in a while.”
He stared at me blankly for a second “You people make me sick.” I slammed a red ball into the side of his skull then dragged him by his hair off the table. I grabbed the knife that he’d abandoned and cut the rope at my other wrist. He popped his head up at the edge of the table so I swung the knife around at his face. I didn’t stop to see what damage I’d done I just cut my left foot loose. He grabbed that foot and I turned around briefly noting that his cheek was gashed and bleeding. I kicked away from his hand then cut loose my other foot. In one swift movement I rolled of the table and landed, cat-like, on my feet facing the man, leaving the table separating us.
There was a door directly to my left that stood open. I could make a run for it but he’d catch me. I needed a way of getting a bigger head start. But there was something I wanted to ask him first.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
This story is dedicated to you, Shivy.
Without you this story would only be half as good or non-existent.
All I could hear was my jeans, as they brushed against the tall grass, and my feet as they made soft thuds against the dry mud. I had just left the last residential area, on my way to the golf course. Between the two was an unclaimed stretch of moor-like-waste-land that no one really used unless it was to speed around on mopeds and quad-bikes.
A cool breeze breathed against my damp face making it refreshingly cooler; I’d kind of overdressed with two t-shirts and my jumper. It was too warm a night for all those clothes. I looked up at the cloudless, starry sky, noting that the lack-of moon seemed to make the stars brighter. I pulled my sleeves back, aimed my torch at my wrist and looked at my watch. It was just coming up to
I remembered me and my friend, Shawn, used to come up here all the time when we were younger. At ages
I came to the end of the moor. There were two ways I could get on to the golf course from here; I could take the “spiky path”, as I (lamely) called it in my head because of all the gorse bushes or I could take “the other way” as I (lamely) called it because it had no defining features.
For fun I decided to take the spiky path. As I battled my way through the gorse I stumbled and almost fell. I remembered one time when Shawn did fall, head first, into one of these bushes. I’ve never heard anyone swear so hard for so long! I giggled at the memory as I fought my way past the last gorse bush and came out halfway through hole thirteen.
“The base” was nearby. It was a clearing in a small thicket of trees just between holes thirteen and eleven (the layout of the golf course is a little confusing). A few years back there had been a really bad storm that had essentially ripped through the base and destroyed its natural camouflage. Before the trees had covered the entrance but now it was just a gaping hole that may as well have been flashing neon lights saying “BASE HERE!”. Sucks how things change.
I trudged my way into the clearing, avoiding the fetid compost heap as I did so, and shone my torch around. This place was essentially barren now. When we were younger it was greener. And there’d been more stuff too. We brought up some old cabinets from his garage to keep stuff (porn and golf balls) in; there was also a whole array of useless boy scout books that we stole from the old scout hut and there was two old tyres that we used for seats, they were the only things still here now. There had been a picture of us too. We’d had it taken by some random golfer and we framed it in an old frame that was way too big for the Polaroid. It really upset me that that had been stolen; it was the only picture of just the two of us. I looked at the tyres, weeds were poking up through them, we’d positioned them so they’d be in the sun on sunny days and I could almost picture it. I imagined it’d look like some cheesy sepia-coloured movie.
“I’m not gonna cry.” I told him. “I’m not.” My voice cracking.
“Oh my god can you actually believe Fred gave me a detention!?” Fred was our art teacher. Well at least that’s what we called him cos he looked like Freddie from Scooby-Doo; he wore the ascot and everything.
“In all fairness you did turn me blue.” When we were messing around in art today he’d ‘accidentally’ thrown a pot of cerulean coloured paint at me.
“Oh you always stick up for him – he’s such a dick too – I recon you have the hots for him.” Shawn asserted. I looked at him. He was really cute. His dazzling blue eyes and his spiky blond hair. And his boyish rounded face with the smile that rarely concealed those brilliant straight white teeth.
“Naw, man, I have the hots for you.” I’d intended it to sound like a joke.
I was howling now. Tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. I looked up at the stars. Mum always used to tell me that’s where he’d gone: to heaven to watch over me. The thought disgusted me. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that. If I did I’d want to die.
I looked at my watch. It was about twenty-five-past now. I walked out of the base, trying to make up my mind if I wanted to go home or revisit some of our old haunts.
Whatever I was going to do I needed a piss first. I was just about to turn back and go in a more secluded part of the base that we always used to use, but then I noticed the flagpole. I frisson of mischievousness spread though me.
“You’re such a tosser.” I muttered to myself as I sniffed and made my way over to it. I unzipped and aimed for the hole. It’s always weird peeing outdoors, you get that horrible sensation that someone is watching you. I had to twist my head around several times to try and shake the feeling,
I zipped my jeans up again. Disappointingly the hole had holes in it; presumably to let water drain out. I zipped up, pleased with my little rebellion.
“FORE!!!” a deep voice hollered as I heard the twack of the club hitting the ball.