Imoral Imortals

IMORAL
IMORTALS

by Josh Cutts

1 "SHINE

I'm sitting down, wondering why they keep playing the same Rianah song over and over again. It doesn't really mean anything mind, just a bass, some stereo phonics, the odd keyboard, but always the same auto tuned, prestigious voice , that creeps out of nowhere, reminding you just who is the singer here, and just who is getting all the money for the same song being played endlessly on the radio.
Not that we're listening to the radio. The bass emitting from the speakers is so heavy that I could reach out and touch the sound waves, as they destroyed the attempted phone conversations to angry parents wandering just what time their kids will get back.
Some rich girls house. 
Some rich girls birthday.
Graduation.
Dead grandmother.
I don't really know or really care, sadly, since all this means is an excuse. An excuse to release endorphins, to get dehydrated, intoxicated and maybe, just maybe forget everything except the name of the girl I'm trying to kiss. Or run away from. I have had enough of Rianah because she keeps telling me to shine bright like a diamond, which is stupid and wrong. Diamonds don't shine, they refract light. Your secretly telling me to be dull, dark and pointless in times of need, like how useful a picture of oxygen is to a drowning man. You're dumb, and trying to make me dumber.
 I also hate Rianah because I can't spell her name. It keeps me up at night "was it with two n's or one?" I cross from the sofa which I'm sitting in, to the stairs where I'm standing. Everything is blurred and stupid, but fluid and beautiful.
People are at that stage of a party now, they're either making out or crying helplessly on the floor. The part where it tanks. No one likes this part, unless you're not the helpless one crying.
What ever arse-holes.
 I climb the stairs slowly, and stupidly, because the vodka shot is telling me to trip and break my neck. "Wanna be free forever? Wanna fly?"
At the top, I see a much more varied set of people; still talking, flirting, or arguing. Either way, it's much nicer up here than it was down there. The tall blond girl whose two years older than me and from Texas says hi. I smile and say hi back. She asks if I'm drunk, and I say I'm drunk enough to kiss her, if that's what she meant. She didn't, but thanks anyway, on to the next one. I crossed through the roofed part of the garden, it has a French name, but I have no idea what it is. People are laughing and chasing balloons without me. They are laughing and running and I am pissed off at Rianah because I don't know if it's two n's or one. I don't really know anyone here, I'm here by complete coincidence, by a fluke of a chance. Some girls surprise birthday, who I met once at the bus stop on the way home. I don't know her name. I was invited because I know her friend, and a party needs all kinds of people to work. It needs just one loner so that everyone can feel better about themselves. Lol, wtf, why is he so retarded. No one actually made fun of me, and I don't think that was the main intention of inviting me, but I couldn't really think of any other reason.
Someone just fell into the pool, laughing, screaming, chasing balloons. Bright blue, orange, green.
Red.
I keep looking for the stereo or iPod that is connected to the speakers. I hate her so much.
I see it behind the patio door.
Stupid idiot
I reach out for the door
Diamonds don't shine
And I-
-"hi josh." I turn and see Michone. Or is it Michelle? Or Mika, or Michaela, or Matilda or Mallory? Gotta think of a name, and quick, she's looking at you like you're retarded. "Hi, M." Smooth. She tells me to hi myself, and asks how's it hanging. I say lose and slightly to the left, but she just looks at me weird. If good comedy punched theses people in the face, they'd not realise that they'd been hit in the face. She says whatever, and that there's someone who wants to meet me. I say who? She says there's a friend of hers whose new and couldn't take her eyes off me the entire party. I feel weird, scared and happy. Don't mess this up, don't mess this up, don't mess this up. She says she's new, and I've never met her, because she started school yesterday and had just started getting her schedule sorted. She says she's the red head girl by the chairs.
So I walk to the chairs.
I look at her.

 Holly shit.

































2 BRIGHT."
She's, she's, she's she's she's she's she's she's she's she's she's.
Beautiful. Holy shit she's beautiful. I'm quite convinced. That it must be love.
These don't feel like my words, yet they burn into my mind as I look at her.
 Her hair was a deep scarlet, her skin sort of tanned, like it used to be a pale milk white, but now has been stained by the sun, a piece of paper that was rubbed by a wet tea bag. no freckles, but marks. Not quite pot holes, but almost like character smudges. Something that gave interest. Her lips are a deep red maroon, that lie flat and slightly pursed. But her eyes. Oh god those eyes. They stare not just into my soul, but to my very atoms, taking note of how much every electron jumps every time she looks.
And she looks all the time.
I suddenly remember that I actually exist, and walk what I think to be, a smooth walk. She blinks. "Hi" she blinks some more "I'm Zack." her lips stop being pursed, and flatten slightly. Not to A smirk or a smile, but more like they were strained. I feel uneasy, and looked worried as her head slowly shakes. She's going red. Her brow lowers and her head keeps shaking. She's frowning, looking at my atoms. "Are you uh... Okay?" Nothing. She's red now. Really red. Blood red.
My hand reaches out for her and clamps around her shoulder. I'm scared.
She's red.
 She stops shaking, the blood drains from her tomato, thin face. She looks worried now, and the ends of her eyebrows curl, making the top Half arch. She's crying, but only with her eyes, not her mouth. No noise is made. My tongue licks my lips in a nervous manor and I ask her if I can get her any water, but she just stares at me, worried, like I've killed her. But then how could she be?
 If she were dead, how could she be?
Her hands are thin and pale, with long polish less nails, and they're reaching for my face. They are so soft, they are clammy from the sweat and condensation of a beer bottle. They are so cold. Ice picks. But I don't want  her to ever let go. My suspension of disbelief, eliminates the fear of frost bite, and I have No idea that her fingers are tensing, and pulling me closer. She's really frowning now, almost as red as before; here we are ladies and gents, red just got beaten by redder! Hold your applause, hold your applause, I'm sure God-damn red will kick redder's arse soon!
Her head touches mine, and that's when everything stops. That's when everything slows down, and everything else doesn't matter. Because I'm floating, we're floating, in space, together alone. Her dress, her hair is bobbing slightly, as her chest moves up and down. "Who are you?" The voice is mine, but it's hers, it speaks softly, like a woman. I open my mouth to speak, and her hand reaches up, and softly closes it, as we float through eternal darkness, as we sink into what must be the part of george bush's brain that comes up with good ideas. "No words here" I say she says. In my head I mean. "Why am I floating?" Says her voice in her head. It's deeper than it should be, and strains against my English accent, but it pretty much is what I wanted to say. Freaky. "Because I want you to." I say. She hasn't changed her expression, she's still extremely hostile. "Who are you?"
I'm panicking now, and the girl that impersonates my voice in her head is panicking "what the hell is this?!? What the hell!!?"
Sharp, blunt pain.
"If I have to find out who you are, you'll be sorry."
"Please, stop!"
Who are you?"
"I... I ..."
"WHO ARE YOU??"
What I said next was quite weird. I was so panicked, so shocked that my mind didn't seem to want to work properly. And it wasn't a particularly brilliant mind anyway. So why start the longest chase of my life? Why start something that could have ended so shortly, so simply? From the darkest corner of my head I pulled out something that was both philosical, and utter bullshit. I said the answer to all of the questions; I said "I don't know."



"Fine then." my voice said.
Owe. That, like, hurts. Owwwee that, like, really hurts.
LikeOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOO. Owwwee that really hurts. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOO. Owwwee that really hurts. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOWOWEEWOOOOEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
4 WHY
"Hello!"
"Yes?"
"You are the unaccompanied minor, yes?"
She looked left, then looked right.
" I guess I am."
"Ah ha, very good, would you like to come with me?"
"Do you only talk in questions?"
"Um, I'm sorry?"
"Never mind, let's go."
She sat up, got up, and walked with the small air stewardess.
"Where are you going?"
"The Philippines."
"Ahh, are you Filipino?"
"I guess."
"Sure thing. Where are you-"
"-I like your lipstick."
"Umm, thank you!"
"It's different from everyone else's."
"Yeah, it is. I ran out of red, but they don't mind if I wear pink, as long as it's uh, not too bright."
Silence as they walked.
"So uh, do you have any boyfriends?"
"No, I never have."
"Really? But you're so pretty!"
"Thanks."
"Did you go to the states?"
"Yes"
"Are you looking forward to anything now you're home?"
"We'll I was hopping to score some tits and pussy."
The tiny air stewardess looked horrified as the fifteen year old girl suddenly broke her strait, constrained lips into a smile. And even more so as she winked.
-
I wake up in the dark, surrounded by fat people who smell of fish and curry. It's dark, and I'm squished between a fat Filipino woman and a fat American business owner. I hate them all. Every time an air stewardess walks past, I get a tingle in my stomach, and I get caterpillars in my under wear. My nipples are a bit hard as I imagine the Romanian woman slowly undressing and stroking my breasts. I'm a horny bitch, I know. Can't help myself. I had a real serious talk with my coach before school ended. She said, no more masturbation, because ever since I squeezed out the truth from you, about why you take so long to change in the girls changing rooms, all I've seen is your performance drop terribly. But this was not just something that was so easily dropped, as it was picked up again. It was a part of my life. Ever seen American Reunion? I do that shit with the shower head two times a day at least. I'm addicted to the drug, and the drug is pleasure. My body isn't just in the presence of something that it is now tolerant of. It is in need of the release. The best time is when I'm about to drop a muffin, around between day twelve and day twenty four of my Ovulation. I think these things and feel an urge. Do I dare climb over the fat, hairy man who has fallen asleep? Do I dare flick the bean for the third time today? Well, technically, it's twelve thirty, so that means l haven't done "it" today. Why not start the new day with something brilliant?
And performance crippling.
And leg ruining.
And bad, so very very bad.
I really don't know why I'm this way. Sometimes I think it's a trial from God. I know I have to give it up, but I really can't. It's not as simple as; just don't do it.
I HAVE to do it. It's a part of me now. Apart of my very atomic structure. Left of the electrons, just slightly right of the neutrons, next to the proton at the core of the nucleus, is inscribed, "Patricia Hartlip must masturbate." Everyone needs a hobby. Mine only involves two fingers.  I decide to climb over the fat American, I think I nock his arm as I climb over him, standing on the arm rests, but I don't care because I hate him. As I make my way toward the toilet, I see a line. Well that sucks balls. I wait as the line slowly, and I mean real fuckin' slowly, crawls closer to the door. I wait half an hour, because a kid vomits in the toilet.  Fuck. Then a couple go in together, and come out together. I have waited an hour and a half. I might just do it right here, in the god damned walk way. I watch as the hour and a half of my life spins away, from green to red, from green to red. Green green green.
Red.
 And as the door sign stays on green, just before I open the door, a person grabs the door and pulls it open. Slowly. I don't look at them, just their hand. "Fuck off, I'm here, I was here first!" I say, and then, she stops. I follow her hand, her slim, nail polish-less hand, up her tanned arm, her arm that is slender and beautiful, and should be pale white. Like a piece of paper stained by a wet tea bag, and I follow it to her torso, with pleasant sized breasts and an hour glass figure, and only then, do I look at her hair, draped in scarlet silk.
I look at her.
Holy shit.
















































5 IS THAT A
She didn't say anything, the girl with the beautiful face. Her green eyes. Her tight maroon lips. Her hair. She just stares at me, with a kind of rehearsed face. Her pupils are going crazy though, they're big, then small, then almost the entire eye, then not there at all. Her hand slowly reaches out for mine, and touches it. Her skin is wet and clammy, soft like a baby's butt. Her hand is caressing mine, then it is moving my hand to her chest, and it is applying pressure there, holding it like you'd hold an upside down glass with a fly trapped in it. Delicate pressure. She reaches into her pocket, and rummages. She pulls it out. I ask, "is that a"- it is. The lipstick is applied slowly on her now plush lips, and she drops the vial on the floor. She kisses me as my hand is on her boob. My eyes sink slowly, closing slowly, and move further into the lock of lips. She has such force, such power. Her hand is reaching through the top of my jeans now, ripping past the under wear, and she hits the perfect spot. And then she gets faster, and faster, and faster, and aster ad stre ad fsr, and then I EXPLODE. I look at her as we're locked in tight, and I speak up. "What's your name?" Silence. "I'm Patricia, what's your name?" Her eyes light up at the word Patricia. She looks at me, and her thin, strained lips crack. They break twist, contort into a disgusting smile. Her teeth are yellow and brown and disgusting. What the fuck did I just kiss? She doesn't laugh, not one bit, she just smiles. And then she holds tightly, down in my pants, she digs her nails into the wall of my vagina. I'm screaming my ass of here, how could I not? She's backs away from the toilet, towards the emergency exit no one pays attention to during the safety talk during the drooling first five minutes of the flight. She backs away and smiles whilst doing this. She opens the hatch. And the door flies open. And I am gone in a mess of blood from my scrapped vagina and hair and she is gone and I'm falling and there's nothing but sea below me and I'm going to die and holly shit ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnhhhhhhyhyhhhhnhnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I am about to hit the ocean,  ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm on the floor in the bath room floor. And I stopped screaming. And blood is everywhere, my blood. My hand is in my vagina, and my throat is soar from screaming. And it hurts so fucking bad. In my other hand is a tissue. People are banging on the door to see what the hell is happening. As my now tearing eyes widen, I open my clutching hand, so that the tissue now roles open. Inside, it has words written on it. Just before people smash in, before they get through the door and see me, I see words written on the piece of tissue.
In scrawled hand writing, I see just in time;

"Now I know who you are"




7 AREN'T THERE
Alisdair Lindsy-Sinclair sat with his back to the door.
Not with his back pressed against it, but he may as well have.
He was online, reading web comics. Not that he cared much about what he was doing, and he was doing this more as a distraction than an actual endorsement of time. He did this because his father was behind the door.
"Alisdair, I just baked a fresh batch."
"..."
"Alisdair, you spend all god damned day in that room! Come on, get out, some fresh air! It'll do you good!"
"I'm fine, thank you father."
"We'll, I'm just gonna leave this plate outside, and go get more baking things.
I don't mind if they 'disappear'."
 You only need more supplies because you won't stop cooking... Thought Alisdair. Social interaction with his father, however helplessly imminent it may be, was dreaded. For Christ sake, the man had a collection of clown dolls. Who the hell collects clown dolls!?
Alisdair heard the click of a front door, the slam of a car door, and the hum of an engine. At least he'd be gone for ten minuets.
As Alisdair pushed off from the desk, and rolled backward on his wheelie chair, he slowly span In a manner of boredom. From his view, could the slowly resolving contents of his bed room be viewed, in a most dull manor. Justice league posters, bookshelves, more bookshelves, and even more bookshelves, Jesus Christ, book shelves, seriously is there anything other than book shelves, fucking hell bookshelves, and believe It or not, a bed beneath it all. Several comics lay on his bed.
Before watchmen, Scott pilgrims precious little life (colour edition), Scott pilgrim vs. the world (colour edition), kick-ass 2, bone, the walking dead volume seventeen ("something to fear") and ultimate spider man issue number one. Quite a bounty for a man's sixteenth birthday. Quite one indeed.

Alasdair's room was well lit by the extravagance of the brilliant sunlight, spilling itself into the room.
Alisdair hated it. Who could possibly read a web comic with this much lighting? Impossible.
And if he dared to close the curtains, his father would surely see it from the front, and demand he open them again. Social interaction with this man was truly inevitable .
He was his father after all.
Alisdair dared to journey downstairs, where his mother was knitting fanatically  as usual. No one needed a jumper, or hat or mittens in this god forsaken 30* country, as a pose to the regular cold climate of Canada, from which they were from.
 It royally pissed of Alisdairs mother.
She knitted despite the climate, and often made plush toys from the numerous comics and games he read and played.  And of course, she made more from the fictional characters her other, younger children's games and stories that consumed their tiny lives. Alisdair made a polite gesture towards his mother, to which she returned.
And then she carried on knitting.
He was waiting for it.
The thing which should have been posted three days ago.
But it wasn't here.
Or at least, not yet.
Surely his father had something to do with this.
When shit flew everywhere, he could usually be the suspected dog crapping on the fan.
Oh well.
He was Alasdair's' father after all.
Alisdair went to the kitchen, and opened the fridge.
Cake; Victoria sponge, cake; double fudge, muffins; blubbery and toffee, cookies; chocolate, brownies, brownies, brownies.
If there were any more brownies, there may as well be a marijuana plantation in the back. A figure in a grey t-shirt walk into the peripheral view of Alisdair, causing him to flinch slightly.
People often surprised him.
The figure in grey, was in fact a woman.
Employed by his parents.
Her name was Mealony, and she worked as a maid. Or, as they are better known in Asia, as a yaya. Alisdair liked her very much.
"Where did dad go?"
"To da store I tink."
"What for?"
"He said he needed cooking tings. He said there was not enouf for evewie one."
"Aren't there?" Alisdair said, as he opened the fridge door.
Mealony giggled at the sight of all the cooked goods.
And then silence.
As the feeling that something should be said grew more intense, Alisdair felt more of a rising urge to leave.
Immediately.

The day slowly Bled away, seconds to hours, minuets to years.
Alisdair was in a safe state of seclusion.
A state of expecting, a state of standards. Nothing would happen, but then again, something just might. It was getting dark now, the other siblings would soon join Alisdair In The house for dinner, after which, there was a gaping black hole waiting for them all. It was this darkness that consumed him, that ate his soul, and would not dare open its mouth again to let it go.
Alisdair was afraid, he was unsociable, and he was desperate.
He was bored.
 He was somehow in the kitchen, he'd forgotten how in the haze of depressed discontent, he had arrived to be seated at the kitchen bar, but he was there.
His father would be home soon. Another reason to not exist.
But of all the things that had never happened between Alisdair and his father, the worst thing was the absolute lack of conflict. Large amounts of money would be left out on the side, with no fear of disappearance. If a young sibling had picked up a new swear or cuss, Alisdair was the last to be suspected.
Alisdair was a good boy,
A quite boy,
Docile.
Did as he was told because it was easier, simpler,
Made more sense.
and because of this, he was left feeling like a hollow and unresolved, quite boy
Life was not the comic book he read every evening. Life was not Scott pilgrim.
Life was not before watchmen, kick ass-2, bone, and it certainly wasn't the walking dead or Spider-Man.
Life was this, and life was now.
Life is going to kill you one day.
Alisdair looked at the plate of brownies on the side. What he wouldn't give to smash the plate and just be free of all the stupendous confinement. Why?.
Why not?
As Alisdair sat there, glaring at the inanimate object, he grew more frustrated with every passing second. That was until the front door opened. His father walked in, accompanied by three people. One was tall, a man, with red hair, that was deep and dark. It was short kept, and formal, almost like military. The woman whom he was holding the hand of, was much shorter, pale, and plump, but had a stern way in which she looked around. The third was behind them.
"Alisdaire! This is mr And mrs burent" His farther declared, "they've just moved in a few houses down, and they're sending their daughter to the same school as you!" The way he said it, Alisdaire would have expected to have just won a yacht or some car o a games show.
Alisdaire shook their hands, fumbling to come to terms with sudden realisation of self awareness, and mumbled a hello, to which they smiled and replied.
They then parted, and let their daughter pass through.
But oh god
She's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she's, she'
She's beautiful
I'm quite convinced. That its love.
She is perfect in every way.
These words may not be the most original, thought alisdaire Lindsy-Sinclair, but dear Jesus Christ, am I dreaming?