Brenton
itumeleng kganyago
Shea
Always Eighteen
AhmedStars in My Head: Part One; Chapter 7
December 24th 2007 12:58
SHARNEE’S BOOK
Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.
Why can’t I be like that chick on TV? Wave a little incense, meditate, all that bullshit. Oh, I love myself.
I’ve got nothing to love.
Bitch.
It was war along the streets of Townmountain. Posters everywhere fought each other to the bitter end.
VOTE 1: Arnold Adams
VOTE 1: BOOTLICKS, Maverick
VoTE 1: Barry Garrys
VOTE 1: ROBERT GRIDDLE
Vote 1: Tanya McJoseph
VOTE 1: BOOTLICKS, Maverick
VoTE 1: Barry Garrys
VOTE 1: ROBERT GRIDDLE
Vote 1: Tanya McJoseph
Michael’s Gran stormed past them all and turned the corner to cross the field to between the shops and the Herreby House. While passing by the posters unwatched, she also took the opportunity to give Tanya McJoseph a goatee and a Hitler mustache.
Being subtle was not one of her greater attributes.
She crossed the field to the Herreby house. Her hands tightened on the documents she held. Crossing the ground, she arrived at the door and pushed the doorbell.
‘Ding dong,’ it said, in a tone which clearly suggested it was bored of being like every other doorbell.
The door opened and Maverick, metal covered and silver faced appeared in the doorway.
“Tell me something good, and tell it to me fast. I have a performance to leave for in twelve minutes. I won’t be late”
“Well for Gods sake, take that stupid hat off while I’m talking to you. Now, I’m afraid the news is unfortunate. You’re losing the poll. Badly.”
“Dammit! I told you this would happen! It’s all because of that typo! People want to be controlled by people who know their way around the Scrabble board.”
“Quite on the contrary Mr Bootlicks. The person topping the poll has thrice the mistakes made on the poster advertisement. And despite your generous expenses in order to gain a fruitful result, he appears to have ignored the offered olive branch and deter from humbling our television screens with his noble presence. I shall tell you way you appear at the bottom of the biscuit barrel. It’s because they hate you.”
“Well how am I supposed to deal with that!? I don’t have time for kissing babies! And who knows what germs they carry.”
“Well, to your misfortune the time for silly little stunts like that is long over. Your only hope now is to perform an extreme act of obvious kindness. Adoption and donation are meant to silent, so that’s no good. Working at hospitals is clichéd. You need something new. Something… pure. Kind. From the bottom of your heart”
“The bottom of my heart is bullshit Agnes, all I want is to win this thing and let me tell you now; I will not be overthrown like last time. I will do anything. No matter how pathetic or cheesy. You just tell me what to do Agnes. Now, I have a show so, excuse me.”
He pushed past Mikes Gran, slamming the door and storming into his car.
“Goodbye Agnes!”
***
“I’m havin’ a party,” said Tom. Lounging over the port racks, George, Sharnee, Mike and Faith turned to face him.
“When?”
“Saturday week. M’parents are doing some trip thing, house is mine on the weekend. You mob wanna come?”
“Yeah”
“Hell yeah!”
“Kay”
“Um,” said Faith. “I’ll check.”
“Sounds good.”
They sat, leaning against the port racks for some time. There really was nothing better to do.
***
Faith and Michael sat, in the dead field between the Herreby house and Faiths house talking in low voices.
“You coming to Tom’s party Faith?”
“Dunno. I sorta want to, if you’re there. But I don’t like George. He scares me. And Sharnee’s not good with parties. She takes a bit of an excess. Of everything. Anyway, they’ll be drinking and smoking…”
“Sharnee doesn’t smoke.”
“George does. And I think Tom might too.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad. Almost definitely alcohol but nothing too bad.”
“I hope not. In grade nine, last year, early, when Sharnee was still into all that weird shit, I went to one of those parties. I remember Sharnee coming home with me, stoned out of her brain, and me telling her parents she was just tired. And every so often she’d say ‘Pleat!’ and burst into laughter and her parents would ask me again and I’d tell them she was tired. Then she’d say something like, ‘What do you call a stinky shoe?” and her dad’d say ‘What?’ and she’d say ‘Pleat!’ and the whole thing would start again.”
“I don’t reckon it’ll be like that”
“I hope not.”
“May I kiss you now?” The question took Faith off guard.
“I… yeah. OK.”
Michael smiled and kissed Faith on the mouth. Their lips slid over each other like sexy seaslugs. Michael put his arms around Faith. Suddenly Faith began to pull herself away. Michael released her.
“You right?”
“Yeah, just… we’re just a bit, y’know. Exposed.”
Michael looked out to the Herreby house. Faith followed his gaze.
“The water tower?” He suggested. Faith nodded.
They ran across the field, laughing with controlled insanity. At the water tower, Mike opened the door to the small brown cottage under the tower’s long white legs. They ran in, and leant against the walls. Gardening tools surrounded them, rakes, hoes, machetes, spades and other assorted whatnots hung in every possible place. Michael pushed a small family of rakes to the ground and moved Faith to have her back on the wall, then kissed her.
This time it felt different. Faith felt a strong, mad energy burning in her, electricity sparking at her fingertips. It was like a giant green beam of power was rumbling madly in her chest, rebounding off her heart, threatening to blow her into tiny pieces at any moment. It was like…
…A mass of stars had exploded in her head.
The energy only grew stronger as…
“SHIT!” she screamed, grabbing Mike and hurling him to the ground. A red metal pitchfork whirred over his head, crashing into the wall.
“Yaaaaaaahhhh!!!” screamed George, crashing through the cottage and swinging a metal rake madly, trying to totally and utterly assimilate anything in his way. Faith jumped to her feet, trying to help Mike pick himself up.
“What the, BHLARGH!” cried Mike as George belted his chin and sent him hurtling back into the wall, pounding into the wood. George swung repeatedly and ran at Mike, who tore another rake off the wall and clashed it against George’s rake. The prongs entwined and Mike spun his, flinging George’s into a row of leaf blowers. He then jumped forward and whacked George across the face, then threw his rake to the ground as George scrambled to his feet and grabbed a hoe. Faith grabbed Mike and pulled his arm, urging him out the door.
They ran, George swinging the hoe maniacally, the cruel sharp prongs missing Mikes neck by a centimeter. As they shut the door the three hoe prongs smashed out the door in a cracking splutter of splinters.
“Stay out! Stay out! Piss off! Go away! Leave me alone! Alone y’hear! Alone! Piss off!”
They stood, panting, leaning up against the wall.
“I think George’s lost it,” said Mike quietly.
“He never had it. He’s a nutcase.” There was a silence for a few minutes. Michael turned his head to Faith.
“You wanna come to my house?” asked Michael, then moved over to kiss her again. But the energy was gone. Faith kept still a few seconds then pulled away from him.
“I’m sorry.”
And she left, crossing the field to her house.
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