All 2 entries tagged Fiction
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May 14, 2010
There's been drama over a kettle. My friend Chris asked me to write a short story about it. I put in big words he didn't understand and a fuckton of alliteration.
We were two thieves, dancing in the shadows of the deserted kitchen, trying to evade that thin corridor of light that shone through the small sliver of glass in the door. We didn't hold guns in our hands, but mugs of scalding hot tea, trying not to spill them as we laughed in the clinical brightness of the cooking area, where the off white appliances were splattered with the deep reds of chilli and curry, cooked carelessly before the evening began. With our mission accomplished - the successful surveillance of the kitchen for the safety of our brethren - we snuck out with our bounty swiftly, locking the door behind us as if we were never there in the first place.
They'd never realise a thing.
It all started when the maths people from upstairs took their kettle to Rootes. This in itself was a ridiculous notion, considering maths people are a solitary bunch, who with the exception of my compatriot, do not have any friends other than the cold, hard, emotionless numbers that stare back at them from the page, mocking them for their choice of such an endeavour. The maths people, of all people. Through a devious forgetfulness and an understanding of trust, the drama boy came down to borrow ours, then leave it upstairs, absent-mindedly sipping coffee from his enormous mug inscribed with Shakespearean innuendo whilst reading Byron to himself. A conflict of classics; he didn't know how accurate he was. In the end, we told him to go elsewhere - I can't be doing without my fix of green tea and lemon in a morning - and well… it resulted in this.
This, being a shirtless boy standing in my kitchen using our toaster. A shirtless boy, with carefully dishevelled hair, who I didn't know. This was a betrayal. This was all out war.
It seems like nothing, right? Well, it wasn't. It was a clear statement of territory - 'I can use this toaster if I fucking well want to and nothing will stop me.' I had to do something about this. I began plotting; how best could I strike back? It clearly wasn't with maths pictures and a poor example of a giraffe. It may have been the maths people who started it, but I doubted it would be them to end it. I realised that we had one weapon they didn't - keys. Oh, how security matters these days. After that initial affront, I did my washing up, left and locked the door behind me. No way in. I heard rattling and voices. Strike one, completed. To really piss them off, I decided to go and get a cup of tea… and lock the door behind me. No lights, nothing. Guerrilla tactics. They wouldn't know who they were dealing with, but they would know there was no place for them here. My partner in crime followed me, eager for revenge - he was a recent convert to our side - and that's where we stood, in our pyjamas, enjoying our vindictive cups of tea.
Home safe, I heard frenetic rattling of door handles. The crown jewel - their kettle - was still ours. Whoever said that stealing could never be justified?
February 20, 2010
We walk these streets like we've got nothing else, nothing else but the tarmac beneath our feet and a burning sense of the 'fuck you' that we got from our mothers. What was it she said to us all that time ago? "Never back down, never take any of their bullshit, and most importantly, never let them take you alive." We like to think that's how we've lived our lives these past few years. It's nothing but a warzone - different factions reign supreme in this broken town and you better watch who your friends with. We stand apart, perhaps at our own risk, but we do and we do it well. The streetlights are our prophets and we follow them to the letter, never straying from the path. You don't take a right turn at the end of the road or you find yourself in hell, and whilst we're not exactly saints, we're not quite ready for that just yet.
We dream in stereo, making sure that everyone can hear the new sounds. We didn't stay in this place to be like everyone else; we stayed to make it something better. We stayed so that you would know that there's something more - so that you knew there was life in this abyss. To leave takes courage which most people don't have. False bravado found in the public houses that litter the high street is not courage, no matter how you want to play it. We left and we found our way back, some way or another, to let you know that there's a world out there and you probably should join it, instead of staying stuck in your ways and on your path of self destruction. We found a different state of mind. Not one of enlightenment but one of progress, one of hope, one of fearlessness. We are fearless because we refuse to be like you. We refuse to wear your rose tinted glasses that tell you it's safe here. We refuse to not think. We refuse to not believe.