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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 21, 2004 13:49:24 GMT -5
The Coward By George Donaldson
One. MEMORY
Little Brett Stephenson. The nickname everyone at school gave me. I was the coward, hiding, running, never and stopping to sniff the flowers. Well…that’s a saying. There are no flowers at our school to sniff-it’s a dirty place, remind me of a prison, with small barred up windows, and blank grey floor. It didn’t have look like one from the outside either. And when I was there, it felt like prison, with everyone’s names and jokes about me. I admit, I’m a bit of a wimp…a bit uncertain and worried with everything, but is all this really necessary? Well, no point telling anyone that…they won’t listen. Not to Little Brett Stephenson. Why not tell the teachers? That’s what everyone who I didn’t know from school would say when I told them the problem. Why? Because the teachers at our schools are bastards. Of course, I’ve suggested telling the teachers, seeing what they could do to stop it…but then this other kid in the class, Tyrone Clutch, who also got picked on told our teacher, Mrs. Farnsworth after everyone went out for break. Tyrone was a real weedy figure, always hutched down, very quiet, into “adult novels” or whatever. Not that I don’t like books…I love books, I want to write them…but at the age of twelve, he reads some really pants books: economics, politics, that kind of thing. I saw him reading one day, and peered over his shoulder to see what he was reading…I didn’t get it. It were something like “The visual concept of interpolation can be seen by the-“ I was uninterested, and walked off. So he told her with his wobbly weedy voice, and she put an arm around him and said it would be all right, and thanks for telling me, it was the right thing. It was the wrong thing. I was the only person who knew he had told. I had walked in, to grab my coat, because it was cold, and I accidentally heard. Neither of them seemed to notice me, strangely enough. Then the next day, I accidentally walked in again, to Mrs. Farnsworth talking to the bully, Jonas. I didn’t hear much, but after school, I saw Jonas beating up Tyrone…actually throwing him to the ground, kicking, whacking him. It was horrible. I didn’t know what to do. “And that’s for squealing!” Jonas cried,” Don’t do it again, wiener, or I’ll punch your lights off.” He stomped off boldly, and angrily, and grabbed his bag from where he had carelessly dumped it. I had rushed over to Tyrone, helped him up, and asked if he were okay. He just mumbled the usual “Yea, yea.” Then I said, “I’ll tell the teacher.” He grabbed my sleeve. “No, Brett, don’t.” Then he grabbed his books, and slowly walked off. I didn’t stop him or ask why. I knew why. So the teachers didn’t help. But no one realizes why I’m a wimp, no one knows the story. Two years ago, when I was ten, I was a brave kid. I’d climb up dangerous trees, swim through mysterious, deep, mucky water, I’d do all kinds of things. And then I wasn’t picked on, I was popular. Brave Brett, I remember people calling me. Beats Little Brett Stephenson. Those were fun years. Yeah, sometimes I cut myself, or hut caught in mucky sticky sand in the water, but I didn’t care-it was fun. Fun, fun, fun. But one winter holiday, December 21st or summin close to Christmas, my, my mum and my dad went to my Grandmas, for Christmas. We went early…a few days earlier, just for some random reason. Our other relatives were there already, cousins, aunties, uncles, among others. Anyway, we were in a car, a small mini, I’m not interested in which kind or type or whatever, just driving the two hour drive to my Grandma’s, dad and mum arguing over directions or whatever. “Oh, the bloomin’ snow!” dad cried. Dad was a tall figure, bald except from tufts around his ear. He had a red face, especially his nose, and a kind, warm smile. Mum was quite tall, slim, and curvy, and always happy. She had dark red hair, almost brown, and a huge, clean-tooth smile. But neither were particularly smiling at the moment. “The snow isn’t that bad,” mum chuckled,” It’s you that is-or your driving anyway.” She sniggered. Dad frowned. “Ugh…I have no idea where we are,” he said, ignoring mums joke. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it, not concentrating on the road for a second,” Turn on the radio please, love,” he said, turning back to the steering wheel. She flicked the switch with her ling nails, and turned the knob on the CD player until we got a clear sound. It was halfway through the news, well one of those crappy traffic-watching things. “….and everyone, be careful on the roads today,” the cheesy presenter mused. They all sounded so happy, but they weren’t. They had depressing lives like anyone else, except had a decent job. Was it even decent? “The roads are very slippery and-“ Flick. Dad turned it off. “Ah, bloody traffic watch,” he growled,” We know what to do…so manipulating, they are.” He puffed into his cigarette. He turned back to me, and smiled. “I think we’ve made a wrong turn, Greg,” Mum said,” Want me to get the map out?” “Wait,” Dad said,” Let me just see.” He drove around another snowy corner. “I don’t think we’ve gone the wrong way,” he said, and puffed again,” I think we’re on the right track…just the damn snow…makes everything look the same.” “Snow is cool!” I piped in. “Yeah, yeah,” Dad wheezed,” When you’re a kid it’s great, playing with snowballs, making snowmen. But when you’re an adult, it’s just a bloody nuisance…and cold.” I shrugged in the back seat. “We’re almost there I think,” mum said. “Naw,” dad insisted,” We’re ages away…an hour or so.” “Well,” mum said,” That’s halfway.” Dad nodded. “Still not near,” he replied with a shrug. Suddenly the car in front of us stopped suddenly. Mum screamed, and dad just grabbed the steering wheel, pushed the accelerator. There was a large creak, and we all shifted right forwards. We didn’t crash, but the cigarette moved it’s way from dads mouth, and went onto his bare ankle. “Ah, Christ!” he cried, as were still went on. He bent down and looked at it. Then it hit us. A huge lorry kid of thing. The car wouldn’t have been too badly done, and we hadn’t, if there were a fence, or a wall, or even a hedge. But their wasn’t, the lorry pushed us through the measly barbed wire as a fence by the edge of the cliff-hill thing. The car rumbled down, and the lorry put on brakes just in time. Our car rolled down the snowy hill, all of us being pulled around, with our seatbelts still securely put on. Mum was screaming. Dad was swearing. I was just there silently, trying to stop it, although I knew I couldn’t. It finally landed, and bashed around. Metal on metal, screeching, crashes booms, screams, swears, the sounds around were terrible. Until it hit a tree, and the car was submerged in deep snow. When I say deep snow, I mean really deep snow. Feet taller then us. We were trapped, and in pain. Dad pulled himself up over the metal covered chair. “Ah, bloody snow,” were his first words. I got up, and found myself crawling along the remains of the comfy seat. “Dad,” I said,” I’m cold…are you alright?” “Yea,” Dad replied,” Flippin’ freezing…aw salsa, the heating in the cars not working.” He tried turning the switch once more. Nothing. I cursed. Dad didn’t seem to mind. “Did you bring the phone?” I mused, wrapping my arms around myself. “Eh?” “Your mobile,” I explained,” You did bring it, didn’t you?” “Oh…the mobile,” he hugged himself.” It’s somewhere around here.” “Oh.” “Eh?” “Never mind,” I choked,” Is mum okay?” I couldn’t really see where she was, throughout the crashed metal that still gave off a horrible grinding sound. “Not doing to well,” Dad said with a frown,” See, I told ya’ that the snow was a bloody pain in the ass.” He scratched his read nose,” She’s unconscious.” I stayed silent.
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 21, 2004 13:51:04 GMT -5
We were going to die, weren’t we? We had to find the phone; the only way to help us out was to call the police, firemen, ambulance. Tears began coming from my eyes. I was scared, cold. I was going to die…no. “Lucky her,” I finally said, and dad snorted. I breathed heavily, my breath was visible. I always found that amazing, I dunno why. “So, Dad, we need this phone.” I said unusually casual. It wasn’t too bad; as I saw it, we’d find phone, call for safety, get free. The temperature was cold, but I didn’t realize that everything what not at it seemed. Seems corny, but I dunno. “If I can find the bleedin’ phone, then yeah,” Dad said,” My damn legs are kind trapped in metal…isn’t easy. You try, Brett.” I nodded. My face was freezing; it felt like I was cracking it free from ice as I did so. Dad nodded back, and I clambered from the worn out cushion that used to be a seat. It was now getting all crinkly and frosty from the fall and the weather. Christ, it was so cold, yet I seemed to adapt to it. But sometimes, as I clambered onto the freezing cold metal or whatever, I would suddenly get a sting, and feel the cold, how bloody cold it was, and I’d feel pain. Just keep moving, it warms you up. Not that I could move particularly fast as it was. But I looked all around, dad panting. At one point, I caught a glimpse of his leg; it looked all mangled and bloody. It made me feel sick, which was good. It made my stomach feel slightly warmer. But then there was the downer of actually being sick. Bleach. Whoops: I was sick over the metal. Not a big problem, but I just hate the feeling after you be sick. You feel twisted around and inside out. The feeling made me puke again, and I began choking. On my own sick. Great. Then it spat out, and I was all right. Dad watched, snorting the whole way through. Thanks dad. So there I was, puking, kneeling on cold painful metal, in a damn-freezing car, with my trapped Dad, and my unconscious mum, who were hurt in the huge crash we just had. Scary. I sat up, and felt the cold. It burnt my body, and I gasped in pain. I fell and rolled back onto the cushioned seat. I wrapped my arms around myself. I was going to die. Was this my destiny? Was this my fate? To die a slow and painful death at the age of ten-it didn’t seem right. I had been born, and I had grown up, for this? I closed my eyes. Just die already…I can’t put up with it anymore. But then I began thinking again. Maybe my fate was to survive this, to find the phone, and ring for the ambulance, and then learn from this. Fate was a strange thing. I never believed in all of it…I never even thought about it, but now I did, because it might be all true. But when you’re in strange situations, you think what you want, and believe anything. Just as long as what you’re doing has an explanation. I heaved myself up. Ignore the cold, ignore the cold, find the phone. I thought of mum and dad. I wouldn’t let them die. I crawled over to dad. It hadn’t struck me why Dad hadn’t talked at all, with his usual whining: “Come on son, get the phone.” But as I arrived my his blooded up legs, I noticed his was lying back, eyes shut, mouth open. “Crap,” I snarled. It sounded like I was irritated in the way I said it. As if I was casual. But I said it in a worried way, I wanted to pass out and burst into tears-I had never been this scared. I shook my head, as if to get all of my thoughts flying away. And I focused. I kneeled up, and I was the same height as dad. Where did he keep his phone? If only I had asked him before, I would know. Did he keep it in a bag? His pocket? Oh well…don’t think about regrets. You’ve done it now. I looked at dad, to see why he had fallen back. Was he dead? I felt the pulse on his limp hand. No, he was breathing. I suddenly felt like weights had slid off my shoulder, and I felt more relaxed at the news he was still alive. But why was he like that? Hypothermia, most likely so now I needed to get the phone even faster, before it was too late. Despite the pain of the freezing cold of the car, I found I had soggy beads of sweat running down my forehead. I frowned as I wiped them off…that seemed strange. It must be of worry. I bent down, and peered along the ground, like dogs did. I was even panting as I searched, and didn’t noticed it until a while, when I made myself stop. I couldn’t see anything, through all the crumpled metal. The steering wheel had been brought right down and twisted into one of the pedals…I didn’t care which one. The ceiling was badly shoved into us from when we were rolling around. Luckily, we had landed the right way up, but the car was so obscure now, that you wouldn’t be able to tell. Not a trace of the pale blue carpet was in view on the ground, just clumps of metal causing sparks together, and sometimes scraping along, and changing. It was hell. I looked around, and peered at the door next to my dad. He was in such a state, I felt like crying. The area around the door was all right, although the handle had split, and was sticking awkwardly out. The window was cracked in several placed, but not smashed. Maybe we could get out. I decided it wouldn’t be wise to climb over dad, and the twisted steering wheel was blocking the way to climb around his legs, so I clambered right to the back of the car, and onto the soft frosting seat. Then I looked at one of the doors at the back-the one on the right, just behind where dad was sitting. That bit of the car had been shoved in so badly, that to door was actually just in front of dads seat. The window was smashed completely, and a freezing breeze glided through, and swirled around in the car. Right up to the door, I was getting the worst of it. I looked around the smashed and crumpled door for the handle. Where the hell was it? I knew where it was meant to be; just below the window, on a patch of leather material. But it wasn’t…there was no leather in sight. So how was I meant to get out? Use the other door of course. So, I turned around and crawled across to the other door on mum’s side. That hadn’t seemed to get too much damage, and some sticking out metal from the seatbelt holder there as usual, but almost overlapped the handle. But I could twist my hand through and grab it. Ah. As I touched it, I felt the ice that circled it, and dragged my hand back and held it to my mouth. I slowly reached for it again, almost scared to feel it’s burning cold. But I grabbed it. It stung; it was so painful to feel such freezing cold. But I knew I had to get out-the cold of the car was so horrible. It felt as if there was a barrier of ice that was slowly caving in, to crush and kill us. I twisted it, cringing and crushing my face up together. Twist. There was a faint clicking sound, that got louder as I twisted the handle, until I heard the stiff jamming of something stopping the door from opening. It was ice. That was my only exit, and ruined. Now what to do? Nobody could get in, and nobody could get out now. Then I realized that things did get in. The wind got in through the smashed window, and that was the way I was going to get out. Crawling back along the seat to the other side of the car, I grabbed a rusty piece of metal off the floor, and smashed the remains of the window that was still peeking out around the edges. I backed away slightly, holding my arm out straight and long, so the glass wouldn’t get me. Some scraped at my face, but it wasn’t bad damage-I already had cuts and bruises from the crash itself. Then, I stood up, leaning down as to not hit the crushed ceiling, and stuck my head out of the window. The swift pattern of the wind was unbearable, and I felt like pulling my head back in straight away. My eyes were squinting, my whole face was. I looked at the view of the snowy hills, and the grey sky above me. If I got out, what good would it do? I could climb up the hill, and get help. Fat chance. The hill was huge, and the air was freezing. Well, it was better then staying in the car, freezing to death. I slowly lifted a leg up, and scraped in quickly up a sharp piece of metal. The pain stung, and I fell back. I gazed at my leg. Blood was poring out and soaking my jeans. I had to continue, and I knew it. I stood up again, leaning on my unharmed leg. I could feel air shoving itself into the wound, as more blood came up. I shoved my head through again, and then lifted my bloodied leg, carefully checking that it was away from any sharp metal. Then, I lifted it through, and leant my body down as I sat right in the shaping of the window, one leg outside, and one leg inside. As I lifted the other leg-the one inside, my body twisted around, and I slopped quickly down the side of the car, landing heavily beneath the wreckage, on the soft but yet hard and unpleasant snow. I looked up, and saw the hard crushed metal above me. The thought scared me-the memory of the crash, the way it shook me, the sound of my parents horrified screams. I decided to get out from under the car, and rolled along the cold snow. As I turned back, I saw how much snow the car had been covered by. There were a lot of layers that I hadn’t noticed, and I must have slipped through. I didn’t have much time to lose-my parents were dying in there. I turned to see the hill. It was so steep…how did I survive? How did the car not set on fire? How did we live through it? Because of fate, I decided, and turned towards the hill.
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 21, 2004 13:52:23 GMT -5
The walk up was satisfying. There was the worry of my parents still churning around inside me, but I knew I was to survive. No one dies of hypothermia in your average snow-do they? After all, back in the car was no average snow. It was snow all around them; it was snow crushing the car. But why was that different? I didn’t hassle myself with the question, but I just looked down, and continued the walk anytime it popped up. One thing I loved was the sound of walking on leaves or snow, and here I was, walking on snow for at least an hour. An hour seems quite long just to walk up, but it didn’t seem too bad at the time. I looked down at the white snow as I walked, or sometimes up come to think of it. But I never looked straight ahead. Down was a fascinating view of feet. I know it doesn’t seem interesting, but shoes are really strange if you think about it…I thought what came first; sock or shoe and guessed sock, because it seemed simpler; just a bit of cloth around the feet. Yes, it must be sock. When I looked up I saw the grey sky, and sometimes some birds flapping their wings and circling round. Migrating, or something like that. But the shape of the clouds was the thing that gave interest. They all so different, but they were all the same. I won’t write all my thoughts; they aren’t particularly interesting, but kept me going, kept my mind off my parents for a while. As I arrived at the top, I had the feeling of weights leaving my shoulders again. A satisfied feeling…I had escaped. The lorry that we had collided with seemed to have gone…obviously resumed it’s travel. Stupid twat, I thought, he had the power to call us an ambulance and save us. If I could meet that person now, I would…I dunno. I haven’t thought into detail, because it won’t happen. He was obviously scared he’d get thrown in the clink, and fled. But I’ll never meet him; I’ll never have the chance to tell him what he’s done. But I’m sure he’ll have something coming eventually. Anyway, cars were driving, resuming as normal. I wondered if there were more witnesses, but at the time I could only remember the lorry and us. I wasn’t concentrating on outside, I was watching mum and dad with their usual petty arguments, which they’d always laugh at together. I ran up to a near car that whizzed passed. I was too late. I stood back slightly, and to make someone stop, I jumped up and down, waving my arms in the air, shouting. Not like anyone heard the shouting, unless they had their windows open. And who would have their windows open in this weather? But whether they heard me is irrelevant, because someone saw me nonetheless, and drove away from the road slightly, so they didn’t hold up traffic, and someone got out. She was a woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, with her hair neatly tied up in a strange ponytail. Her hair was light brown, and went well with her pale make-up, that added something to her already pretty face. “um…car…uh,” I began. The words wouldn’t come out. The woman chuckled. “What is it?” she asked, in a rather stern way. I turned, and pointed to the hill. “Our car…it crashed-my parents…my parents…they’re down there…I need help-call the ambulance…” I was panting and sweating, even in the cold weather. The lady gasped, and walked towards the edge of the hill. She peered down, and looked carefully, until she shrieked slightly, and rushed back into the car. At first it seemed as if she was going to drive away and desert us, but then, as she stood out again, I realized that she had gone in to get her phone. She whipped it open, and dialled ‘999’ into it with such agility. I looked away from the car-the sight of crushed metal and the thought of my parents dying in there was too much. The woman held the phone to her ear, and heard it ring. She had a distinctive sad look in her eye. Finally, I heard the small sound of someone answering over the line. “Ambulance.” The woman replied with a cold voice. I guessed someone must have asked her whom she needed. “A car accident, a car went off a hill…it’s covered by snow…a young boy escaped from the wreckage…says his parents are helpless in there.” As someone said something, she smiled slightly. “Great,” she said,” Um…the road? It’s…” she looked at sign,” M45. Yes, okay. Bye.” She hung up, and turned to me,” An ambulance is coming as quick as they can.” She smiled at me and I smiled nervously back. Suddenly, she held out her hand. “My name is Heather,” she began with a grin. I took the hand, and shook it. “I’m Brett Stephenson,” I replied. The nickname, Little Brett Stephenson was not given to me yet…it was after the crash. “Nice to meet you, Brett,” Heather replied.
We sat down, on the snowy grass, and waited in tension for the ambulance, staring at the snow-covered car. It felt like I should have run down, and saved them myself, but I knew that I was not capable of it-I had had so much trouble trying to get out myself, that the chances of me being able to save both of my parents was impossible, especially with them both out of consciousness. But maybe I could go and talk to them…keep them alive. What were you thinking Brett? You couldn’t…no, don’t. You’ve already had your life at risk today, just leave it for now. Besides, the ambulance will be here any minute. Yes. Just sit here and wait. But time was going too slow. Fine, talk to Heather then. Yes, good idea. But try to seem mature, think of something nice and adult-like to start conversation with. “So…are you married?” Agh…Brett, you pratt. Heather chuckled and first, and then coughed slightly. “I’m afraid not,” she then said, with a grin,” I will when the time comes, but you know, I won’t do it for the sake of it, and I won’t…” Oh great, now she’s starting a huge speech. I guess I was feeling pretty moody at the time. Feeling? I was moody. “Yeah, yeah,” I butted in. Heather looked a little startled, but at the time, I thought I was being perfectly reasonable. You always do when you’re moody; you think everyone else is being stupid and unreasonable, when it’s you. I ignored her startled face. “So,” I continued,” What’s your job?” “A librarian.” I snorted. She stared at me, eyes down and confused,” I’m sorry? Was that funny?” I shook my head. “Nope.” Heather gave me a little glare. As she opened her mouth to speak, we heard a faint noise of sirens, and we instantly stood up, ignoring our little fall out, and waved our hands around to indicate where the ambulance needed to stop. We saw it in the distance, a huge blue light, flashing with little red sparks. Then, the whole vehicle came into view, and we waved and jumped even harder, until the ambulance slowed down, and parked next to Heather’s car. We rushed over as the door opened, and two people got out. The doors at the back also opened wide, and three more people got out. One man walked up to me and Heather. “Hi-where’s the car?” I walked round, and pointed down the hill. “There. Are they gonna be alright?” I asked. I knew it was a stupid question. There was no way on earth that they would know at that stage. The man shook his head, but not in a ‘no’ way, but more of an ‘not sure’ way. But then, he backed it up, but saying “Not sure…we need to check it all out.” “Should I come?” I asked. “Best not to,” the man said, and scratched his neck,” But we’ll keep you up to date on information. He gave a slight wave and smiled a reassuring smile, and then walked off, and directed the others down the hill, and they left. I sat down, and waited, watching them all as they neared the wreckage. So, I just waited really, watched them use equipment from the car, and watched them run up, grab loads of equipment, and begin taking the car apart. I sat with Heather, not talked at all-or not much anyway, and we saw them put my parents on loads of drugs and equipment, and then on stretchers, and I watched them pull the bodies up, and put them into the ambulances-one had come recently, for the second adult. I hopped onto one of the ambulances, and Heather walked up to me, but stayed outside. “Sorry, Brett,” she said, twiddling her fingers,” But I’d best be off…I have some things to do…all the best luck to your parents.” She smiled, and leant forward, and gave me a hug, and then a small kiss on the cheek. I was a bit alarmed by this…I had only known her for what…two hours, an hour and a half, something like that, and she was kissing me? Now it doesn’t seem so strange…but then it did. I waved, grinned, and the back doors of the ambulance closed, and it drove away. I never saw Heather again.
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 21, 2004 13:53:06 GMT -5
We arrived at the hospital successfully. Throughout it, I just sat, and watched my mum slowly breathing. It was horrible seeing her in that state…I wished she was suddenly better, and that we could continue in our car to my Grandma’s house for Christmas…but I knew that my parents would not be in a good state at all in four days. After my parents were settled in properly, with the right equipment, I was allowed to go and see them. Alone. I stumbled slowly into the room, daring seeing my mum and dad in such an awful condition. I stared at them. Mum’s face had hardened blood all over it, with closed eyes, and pale skin. Dad didn’t have any blood, and he just looked as if he were sleeping. I couldn’t stand it, and I left the room. After that, they doctors decided it was time for me to go home. I couldn’t…I had nowhere. A nurse asked me where I would like to stay. “With my parents,” I said, springing a tear. The nurse comforted me, and asked where else. I shrugged. “My Grandma’s.” I said. So I stayed there for a couple of days…with the rest of the family. I coped all right. On the 24th of December-Christmas Eve, the hospital rang us up, with the good news that my mum had regained consciousness, and might be out by the end of the month, if things started getting better, not worse. Christmas day, they called again. I had not had a great day-I had still gotten presents, but there was something missing. My parents. We all said a prayer for them at lunch-even though we’re not a very religious family. But the news was, that my dad had died.
The shock was unbearable. I just sat there on the couch for almost half an hour, still, silent, not talked. Then I cried. I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. All night, and most of the next day.
And after that, when mum got out of hospital and we went home around the New Year, I changed. I wasn’t the daring, exciting young Brett I was before all of it. I was quiet-I never wanted to do anything that put my life at risk. I was completely different. I was no longer Brave Brett. I was Little Brett Stephenson.
End Of Chapter One
So, please reveiw, chapter two coming...eventually.
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Post by SlightlyMad on Apr 21, 2004 14:04:56 GMT -5
Wow! That was possibly..better than pardise. MORE!
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 21, 2004 14:42:38 GMT -5
The Chapters take a long time to write, just so you know. I'm not writing it for 667 in particular, I'm just writing it for myself. So, it could be ages before Chapter Two is up.
Thanks for the reveiw, Clem.
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 24, 2004 17:18:54 GMT -5
Two LEWIS, KARL AND HARRIET
Two years later, in September, is where this all begins. I was living back in my old house, with my mum, and her new boyfriend, Gregory. I found it hard that she could replace my dad, and so soon after his death. Looking at it now, it wasn’t so soon-it was a year. But at the time, the year had whizzed by, and seemed like it was just that day after she had returned from hospital. For New Year, we went to the pub with my mum’s friends, and some of mine, and we celebrated. I felt sick, so I left early, with my keys. I was sitting on the sofa, watching crappy, early-early morning television, when mum returned. To be honest, I hadn’t expected her back so soon. I heard the familiar sound of the noisy porch door. “Hey mum!” I had called, and she walked into the room, with a man by her side. He wasn’t tall, about an inch taller then her. He had messy hair, shiny eyes, and a nice smile. “Hi, Brett,” she replied. She was one of the only people who missed out the ‘Little’ and the ‘Stephenson’, but when she got really angry, she’d shriek, “Brett Stephenson!” Oh well, it missed out the word ‘little’. “This…this is Greg,” she said,” One of my new friends.”
After that night, it just began fitting into place. They slowly became girlfriend and boyfriend. Then, the next month, February, mum came back, looking all shaken and pale. She told me to sit down, as she came in. I led her to the kitchen, and took a seat at one of the stools, after I helped sit her down. At first, I thought that Greg had beaten her up, or cheated on her or something, but she had no marks of being beaten up. The adultery option was still there though. “What is it, mum?” I asked, concerned. “Brett,” she said,” I hope you find it as happy as me and Greg do…” My stomach turned to butterflies. I was nervous now…get on with it mum. “…Because, him and I are going…going to have a baby.” I had almost fainted. What the hell? Mum…pregnant again? No way…not in a million years. Go on; pick a prize from the bottom shelf. I blinked, and sat still. “Brett?” I didn’t reply. Was I happy? Was I sad? Was I angry? I was all three. I was happy for them…they were obviously happy with it. I part of me wanted to hug her, and say, “Congratulations!” But then the sad part kicked in…I wasn’t ready for a brother, or a sister. I liked being the only child, the only child to take attention, the only child to get the toys, and the clothes and everything. The only child to care for. Now they’d all be slobbering over this baby, and I’d just sit there, raising my eyebrow, trying to remind them that I was there. That part wanted to make me go off in a strop, and lie on my bed, alone in my room. Then there was the angriness of it all…she was just forgetting my dad, for this idiot she’s known for a month, and got up the duff? What a tart. That part wanted to make me shout, and whack some sense into her. So all these emotions started to fight around in me, and all I could do was sit there, speechless. But eventually, the emotions blended together, and I snapped out of the trance. “Congratulations,” I said, but in a kind of bored way, and then I walked off. I imagined my mum must have been pretty shocked. What was she expecting? For me to just throw a parade for her? Likely chance…I felt like turning back the time, and stopping her meeting that pratt, Gregory. But I couldn’t, there was no point in even thinking those thoughts. I don’t remember much more on that day, but it’s not needed. So, it was September 3rd or 4th-our summer holidays. Most schools just have it end of July to begging of September, but we had it a month later, which was stupid, because whilst it was nice and hot, we were sat sweating in school, but when it got colder, we were out. But you get used to it-after I came back from the holidays, I’d be in Year Eight. Anyway, it was the second day of the holidays, and my mum was seven months pregnant, suffering from bloody irritating hormones, and I was stuck at home for all the six weeks. No holiday, no day trips, just sitting there, reading, or watched Greg nurse mum, who just sat on the couch all day. Or, that’s what I had planned. I would go down to the park, play with some mates-but that misses out the tiny fact I had no mates. I walked into the living room, in jeans and a long sleeved top, and slumped down onto the sofa, scrambling for the remote control. Finding it, I switched the telly on and yawned. I gazed at the flickering program and sighed. One of those boring daytime soaps…a load of crap that’ll get cancelled in the end. I closed my eyes slightly, and rested. As I settled down, almost to sleep, I was disturbed by the ringing of the phone. Probably doctors or something about mum’s baby. I left it. “Brett!” mum cried, from the other room. I smiled slightly. She was one of the only people who called be Brett. There we teachers of course, but that were it really. Gregory called me Brett-o. What a loser. If I had the chance, I’d call him a bastard, but he was too scary looking-he looked like he was high on drugs-to talk like that to. “Get that won’t you?” I yawned. “Sure,” I said in a bland voice, and sat up, and reached over for the phone. I leaned against the arm of the table as a young voice began to speak. “Brett,” it said, it was a boy, I was pretty sure,” Meet me down the park in five minutes.” Then it hung up. I held the phone up to my ear for two minutes wondering. Who was it? No one wanted to meet me at the park…this was Little Brett Stephenson. But someone did. Should I go? Maybe it was someone out to kidnap me. But the voice seemed so young, my age, if not one or two years older. I finally put the phone down. I’d go-if they wanted to kidnap me, they wouldn’t do it at the park-there’d be so many witnesses. Everyone would be down at the park in this hot weather. So, I left the couch, and walked upstairs, where I grabbed a bag, and stuffed a few things in; books, paper, pencils, so if it turned out to be boring, or a trick, I could sit on a bench and do whatever. I left my room, shutting my door carefully. I was a bit nervous…this was a bit risky, wasn’t it? Just stay with people…that way, there’s no way people will kidnap you. I entered the kitchen, and grabbed a plastic bottle from a small cupboard. With the bag swung around my shoulder and neck, I filled the bottle up, and shoved it in, then added a bar of chocolate. Then, I grabbed my jumper off the side, and slung it around my waist, tying a decent knot. “Mum!” I called,” I’m going out!” “Where?” Mum replied, from the other room still. “Just the park,” I said, then walked into the main hallway, and headed for the door. I swung open the porch-a distinctive loud noise striking, and then opened the front door, jumper around waist, bag around shoulder, and stared at the distance with the sun shining. I started taking long strides out of the driveway, and onto the small pavement at the side of the road. Our village was quite large for a village, but nice and secure. There was one main street that had a small path connected to it leading to the small beach. It wasn’t that large, and it was always stuffed full on hot days like today. So when I turned round a corner, and arrived at the Main Street, I had no intention of going to the beach, and I turned around after the first couple of houses, and circled three quarters of the Post Office, a broad building at the head of the Main Street, and then continued down a new path, where the sound of people laughing and playing football in the park appeared. I took a deep breath from running all the way so far, and started to just walk down the near street. The heat was immense. It wasn’t usually like this. I arrived at the small park gate. The park was a huge football pitch, and then a small play area. The whole thing was surrounded by a large wall-you couldn’t see anything until you were inside. I stepped up, and swung the gate open. As I had expected, there were many people. There were about fifty playing football, charging for the tiny white ball. Most of them were about fourteen and fifteen, though at the age varied. I looked around, and decided that whoever it was would be waiting for me. So, I started to walk around the pitch, and towards the small play area. I couldn’t really see much from all the way over at the other side, shuffling my shoulder slightly, so it was more comfortable with the bag leaning down on it. As I arrived on the first steps of tarmac, I looked around carefully. The toddler section was full of young, laughing children, with their parents making sure they were safe. It wasn’t them looking for me, I was quite sure. Then, I found my foot slipping on something, and I fell down, face first in the tarmac. “Are you okay?” I saw feet, and a hand fell down, forcing me to grab it. Whoever it was pulled me up, and I recognized it as the voice on the phone. I stood up, and brushed a bit of grass and dusty mud off it, and then looked up, to see who it was who had called me. I frowned slightly as I saw who it was. It was a boy in our class-his name was Lewis. He was one of the quiet ones-the socially retarded people who sat at the back, yet listened. He had no friends-he didn’t care at all. At lunch, he was just sit alone, enraptured in his own thoughts, chewing on one bite of bread for up to five minutes. He was a bit creepy-he never really talked; he only did to give an answer to the teacher. He didn’t seem to care about anything, or anyone, or himself, and now here he was, looking slightly nervous and bashful at me, as I gave a confused look at him.
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 24, 2004 17:19:09 GMT -5
“Hi,” he said, so quiet I almost missed it. He scratched his neck. “Hi,” I replied, also quiet,” um…was it you who called me a minute ago.” Lewis looked down. “Lewis?” “Oh…yeah, that was me,” he replied. “Oh. Okay,” I replied, looking down at my feet, shuffling in the playgrounds tarmac. “Yeah,” Lewis replied, adjusting his glasses. He wore a baggy pair of trousers, and a heavy brown and blue striped jumper. He looked like he was in the flippin’ winter, for God’s sake. And there I was, t-shirt on and denim three quarter lengths. “Why did you call?” I suddenly asked. Lewis didn’t reply, but coughed and looked down. “Lewis?” “Oh,” Lewis looked up. “So…why did you call?” Lewis shrugged. I frowned. What the hell? He just randomly called me up. I was ready to leave, and turned. What a joke…hahahaha…I wasn’t laughing. “Don’t…don’t go,” Lewis said. It sounded almost corny, something out of a romantic film or something. I turned. “Why not?” I asked,” You seem to like to call up people for no random reason…I don’t hang around with people like that.” I turned and began walking. “You don’t hang out with anyone.” I rose and eyebrow and turned. “Nor do you,” I pointed out. Lewis smiled. Why was he smiling? Didn’t he find it offensive? “Exactly,” he said. I was still a bit confused. I think Lewis must have noticed that, and he gave a silent chuckle. But then the smiling face turned back into the tiny little shy, nervous frown. “So…I was wondering…if we could-” he stammered. “-Hang out,” I finished, and shrugged,” I guess so…got nothing better do.” Lewis looked a little miffed that I hadn’t acted so enthusiastic about the idea…as if I really needed friends. But I had gotten used to it-two years is enough to realize they’re just people. They’re not gods, they’re not anything special…just people you want to be around because then it makes you seem…well, normal and cool. But I was way beyond being cool…though I think I was pretty normal-even without friends. I put my bag down on the tarmac, the arms of it looping down. “So…” Lewis said,” What do you wanna do?” I shrugged. What did I want to do? “Don’t care,” I said,” Talk?” Lewis shrugged, and then sat down on a seesaw. I stared at him, and he pointed at the other end, indicating me to get on. The seesaw? That’s for little toddlers. But I shrugged. Wasn’t that where all the cool people hung out? On random places like this? I didn’t know. The last time I was cool was when I was ten, before the crash, and at that age, we didn’t really just hang out and talk…we did other things, like actually using the equipment properly. I pulled myself up onto the other end of the seesaw, which was shifted up high by Lewis’ weight on the other end. Then, as I pushed my weight on it, they levelled out. “So…” I began,” What music do you like?” Lewis shrugged. “You know,” he said,” That band…the one that’s got that song…” “How does it go?” I asked. “You know,” Lewis said, and started humming a very bouncy tune. “Oh…you mean S Club 7?” I said, and snorted,” I think they split up, Lewis.” “They did?” Lewis replied,” Oh…well, I wouldn’t know…I’m not really into music.” “Oh,” I replied,” So what are you into then?” “Books,” he replied. I shrugged. “Yeah,” I said,” Books are all right, I guess…what books do you like?” “David Copperfeild is fantastic,” Lewis replied. “Oh…what books does he write?” I asked. Lewis laughed, and I felt really dumb. I hated feeling dumb. “David Copperfield is the name of the book,” he replied,” It’s by Charles Dickens.” “Oh!” I said, and chuckled,” He’s the one who wrote that book about that boy.” “Which boy?” “Um…you know, the one who wanted more porridge…and then they sing about food or whatever…that might just be the film though.” “You mean Oliver Twist?” Lewis asked. “Yeah…that sounds right,” I said,” The film sucks really bad though…I hope the book isn’t that bad…or that’s some crap you read.” I smiled, but when I looked at Lewis, he was staring down. He seemed offended. “Anyway,” I continued, and Lewis looked up. “Yeah…” he said,” What should w-“ He suddenly stopped. “Lewis?” I asked. At first I had thought he was just being shy and strange around me, but then, he bent down and hissed at me. “They’re coming over…Karl and Harriet.” I nodded, and then stayed quiet. Karl was a bully, a tall and muscular figure, who probably had a six-pack at the age of twelve. He worked out for ages everyday, and flirted with all the girls around. He was in my Humanities class, and he was the founder of the nickname, “Little Brett Stephenson.” He picked on Simon and me individually all the time-what would he doing seeing us hanging around together. I looked behind Lewis quickly, in an unobvious way. He didn’t really have his eyes hooked on us-he might not have recognized us yet, as we now had our heads low. But with him, all over his stupid muscles was his girlfriend, Harriet. She was one of those magikarpty cheerleader type, who moved on from men to men all the time. She had her long dyed blonde hair down, and a mini-skirt with a crop top. They were laughing and talking together. I felt a bit nervous-I had butterflies in my stomach. Karl was a bit scary-his huge figure, his ugly glare. And the way he’s not afraid to hurt people. They arrived at the edge of the tarmac-not too far from us, about twenty metres. I couldn’t see if they had spotted us-their eyes were on each other, but they kept walking towards us. Finally I heard them stop on the tarmac near us, and I guessed they had seen us. It felt like a punch in the stomach. Harriet giggled. “Oh-look who it is!” she cried,” Little Brett Stephenson and geek-boy together!” magee. Karl turned his head, and snorted. “Oh yea,” he said, smiling and walked right up to Lewis. I watched in fear. “So…finally got a friend, huh?” he asked, then stood back, and looked at both of us,” Figures you’d pick socially neglected idiots like each other.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. Harriet pulled out a lighter from her pocket, and held it up to Karl. He lit it, and then puffed into it. He turned around. Was that it? I gave a sigh of relief. Then, clutching his cigarette with two fingers, he swung back slightly, and strode towards Lewis. “So, what do you ‘chums’ do when you ‘hang out’?” he sneered, and blew out smoke,” Play chess? Knitting? Or do you do something like math equations.” He suddenly strode towards me. “But we won’t do anything to dangerous for Little Brett Stephenson now, will we?” He sucked on the cigarette, then blowing out smoke, dropped it to the tarmac floor and stepped on it. “’Cause little Bretty might hurt himself…he might die if he dares go on the swings…or he might topple of the end of the slide and break his spine…I’m surprised you’re not screaming you’re head off as it is on the seesaw. I’m surprised you’re not scared.” I stood there, my mouth numb and unable to speak. I wanted to just whack him in the face…but I was scared, and I knew it wouldn’t do anything. Suddenly, Karl yanked my arm, and yanked me off onto the tarmac. I squealed in pain as I fell, and scraped my face on the floor. I got up, and wiped a drip of blood from my face, but then Karl kicked me down again. “Now you’re scared!” he cried, and kicked me all over my body. Harriet roared with laughter. I felt so much pain. I heard a crack in my arm as Karl kicked in round the wrong way. I screamed really loudly….salsa…have I just broken it? I screamed again. Harriet laughed more. Karl chuckled, but kept a straight face as he continued. “Stop!” At first I assumed an adult had seen, and had come to stop, but no one else had appeared to see it, and I realized it was Lewis. I looked up, bleeding nose, a drip of blood from my mouth, a puddle of blood on my cheek. Lewis sighed heavily, and rushed up to Karl, and shoved his fist in his jaw, then quickly turned, and ran for the nearest gate. Karl stood there, in shock to begin with, clutching his mouth, then broke out into rage, a blood slothed down the side of his mouth. “I’ll kill him! I’ll bloody kill that twat!” he cried. Harriet rushed up to him. This was my chance. Go. I picked myself up, and took great leaps away from the tarmac, then ran at a more sensible pace once I got back onto the grass. I heard Karl cursing and turned back to see him holding up his fist. “That little screw will pay!” he cried, and I left the park, trembling about what Karl was going to do, and when he was going to do it.
End Of Chapter
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Post by Zombie-chan on Apr 25, 2004 14:34:29 GMT -5
*sits in awestruck silence*
Wow. That was really...deep. I'm impressed. Keep going with this!
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Post by SnicketFires on Apr 25, 2004 15:24:18 GMT -5
It was really good. Took me a really long time to read...
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Post by Pester, Rumormonger on Apr 26, 2004 18:41:29 GMT -5
Wow! This is a really amazing story, Dupin. I didn't know you had it in you. Guess I'll have to start reading your fan-fiction, 'eh? This is the type of story I like. You see these people in your classes- but how did they get to be the way they are? Well... I was so surprised and sad when the Dad died. It just sort of came out of nowhere, but I guess that death is like that. It's sort of funny too- the last thing his dad saw before he died was Little Brett puking. The tone is perfect, it's exactly the way a matter of fact kid would go about telling his story. I'm gonna read the second part soon, keep up the good work.
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Post by DetectiveDupin on Apr 27, 2004 9:51:54 GMT -5
Thanks for all the reviews...I've been lacking a bit on Chapter Three, but it'll be coming soon.
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Post by jack2004 on Apr 27, 2004 11:01:53 GMT -5
yay!this is great,as always
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Post by Pucca on Apr 28, 2004 14:17:27 GMT -5
*Claps* That is brilliant. You've done it once again, George!
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Post by DetectiveDupin on May 1, 2004 6:16:34 GMT -5
Three DOMESTIC LIES
A/N: There's always a few short chapters in books...here's one of them. It seemed like an appropriate place to end [/i] I arrived home, panting and sweating, confused. I shoved the porch door closed. “Hi Brett,” my mum walked into the hallway,” Have a nice time?” I shrugged. She suddenly gasped. “What the hell happened to your face?” I suddenly realized I had forgotten about all the blood, and the bruising around my eye. “salsa Brett!” she cried,” What the hell have you been doing?” She rushed over me and gazed at the multicoloured bruising around my eye. It wasn’t best to tell her everything. Not yet…not when she was on bad hormones. Just lie…say what? Just lie…anything that comes to your head. So I did. “I ur…fell out of a tree,” I quickly said. Mum glared at me. “I thought you hated climbing trees.” Crap. Mum knew I had a thing about trees-one wrong step and you could die-fall, or get your leg stuck in a sharp branch. It happens. Anyway, I needed an excuse…uh…what reason would I have to do something I don’t want? This reminded me of these videos that they showed us in school…about drugs and smoking…it was a scenario thing…these nice, average kids walking along, then this big buff popular people come up and ask them if they want fags or whatever. The children are two scared to say no or whatever, and nervously take one. Aha. Stuff like that comes in handy eventually. “These boys…well there was a girl too, but she was just one of their girlfriends in the background-“ My mum gave me a glare, like I’m a sexist pig by saying that, “-well…they were seeing how high people could climb. I was just there on the bench reading…then they asked me, and I was well nervous…I wanted to say no…but they were two threatening…they could have given me worse damage then I have now…anyway…so, the pressure made me do it…lucky it wasn’t too high before I fell…” I rubbed my cheek. That was satisfying. I just hoped my mum wasn’t one of those people who could tell their children inside-out…” I know you’re lying”…kind of thing. Gah-creepy. She gave a small look, one right in the eyes. I kept my face straight…a sudden movement or snigger and she knew I was lying. But her face…the confused expression wrinkled on it was quite funny. However, although that was the case, I kept my face straight, and she strode towards me to get a better look at the damage. Severe blue, purple and yellow bruising was forming around my eye, mum told me later, and both the bottom lip and the top one were split. “Should we go see the doctors?” I asked. Mum shrugged. “There’s not much they can do,” she replied,” We will if it gets any worse.” She gave me a small smile, and patted me on the back as a sign telling me I could leave. I left towards the stairs, and looked back at my mum, and gave a smile in return. She gave me one back, and we both left the separate ways. I trod up the stairs, and twisted around the corner, hiking down into my room-the door was wide open when I got there. “What the hell?” I asked. As I peered out into the depths of my room, I saw Greg, on my bed, with my stuff. He was reading one of MY magazines, listening to MY CD’s, MY computer running on in the background. What the hell…what the- Greg turned to me, eyes huge and full of worry. “What are you doing?” I cried at him. I wasn’t angry…well, yes I was, but I was creeped out. Greg dropped the magazine, and sat up on the bed. He was speechless. I was speechless. We both just stood there-Greg actually sitting on the bed, and me in the doorway, arms by side. What was he doing with all my stuff? Didn’t mum know? Freak…freak… “What are you doing?” I piped up, in a loud, strong voice. I took a couple of steps forward, so I was further in the room-on the mat in the centre. Greg didn’t even move-he just sat there, like a lemon. Like a freak, more like. I shuddered slightly. What did he seriously think he was doing? “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” I screamed, lunging forward at him. He suddenly broke up, standing high off the bed, and I went flying onto the mattress, a he stood out the way. I picked myself up, and stood next to the bed. Greg was right in front of me now. I had my hand in a fist by my side. I didn’t plan to punch him-it was just to let out anger-the thought of whacking him around the nose. “Answer me,” I replied, stern and grave. “You’ll learn when you’re older,” Greg suddenly snapped at me. “Shut up with that crap,” I said,” Now tell me-why are you in my room, with my stuff…it’s not right-it’s creepy.” “See?” Greg replied,” Too young…don’t understand it.” “I understand completely,” I replied. I was so nervous…I’d never been this brave before…not a proper argument. I usually stood there, and I usually just let everyone stand all over me. Don’t get ahead of yourself, I thought, it’ll all turn back to that in a minute,” I understand…you sick freak!” Greg clenched his teeth, and leant forward, and shoved me back. I stumbled back, and landed on the bed but scraped off and landed back on the floor. Here it comes…I didn’t move. Did…did he just push me? That twat. But now I was scared. I didn’t want to get up and argue with him. I just lay on the floor, eyes shut, until I heard a deep breathing, and the quiet sound as Greg walked away, and slammed the door behind him. Then, I finally opened my eyes and looked around. He can’t do that…it’s child abuse. Oh, get over it, he didn’t exactly kill you. So? I looked down at my finger. Mum hadn’t noticed that. It was now really badly swollen, yellow bruising covering the small bumps all over it. Haha…Greg. You’ll pay for being the twazack you are. End Of (Short) Chapter
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