Goth Kids Posing
Fire at Will
CHAPTER ONE
My mum and dad say they sent me to the shrink because they were worried about me. They didn't say how they were worried about me. With my mum and dad there are two types of worried.
TYPE ONE: Worried that I will show them / me/ other family/friends/general people up.
TYPE TWO: Worried about me in a ' we-think-you're-crazy'way. As in, they don't tell me what exactly they're worried about, because they're scared I'll go mad and pull my hair out or something.
This worried was definatly type two. I can tell by the way they say it. If it's type one, they will say it gently, telling me exactly in a caring, concerned adult voice as if I'm thick enough to notice. They use that voice for discussing my outfits, saying ' Now, really, Flissity, maybe we could go a bit toned down?'
Type Two is completly different. When they say it, they are awkward and stutter and strech it out for as long as they can before blurting out that they're worried at the end. It's so predictable.
When they told me they were sending me to a shrink, they cowered away, just in case I threw a lamp at them or something. This has never happened before. I think I'm a laid-back person, excepting life as it comes, but they still think I'll flip and throw knives at walls when the mood takes me. I didn't go mad, I just said why.
" We're worried about you, Flissity," Mum said, scared and awkward. " We want what's best for you."
So that meant sending me to a shrink and having my dreams assessed. Ha. I didn't think much of my shrink. I always expected them to be understnading people with gentle voices who ask you to lie down on a big sofa and ask you about your dreams and somehow tell you what you're feeling from knowing what you ate this morning. My shrink was a disappointment. She had a pinched face, long dyed red hair coiled up in a bun and too-big ugly black glasses. She tapped her nails on the desk. I hate long nails-they give me the creeps.Mum introduced us both and went shopping and left. I know it sounds really babyish, but I wanted her to stay. I didn't want to be left alone with this evil woman with claws.
" So, Flissity, why do you think you're here?" she started. I hated the way she said my name in her stupid accent. I hated her glasses, too. I couldn't help but stare at them.
" My parents are paranoid."
" Paranoid?"
" Yes," I sighed, fiddling with my jeans. " They are paranoid."
" Why do you think they're paranoid, Flissity?"
I wished she'd stop saying my name. I mean, I know who I am.
" They don't let me live my own life. They think there is something wrong with me, but it's normal. It's a teenager thing not to have any friends."
Darn. Wish I hadn't said that.
" No friends? Your mother said you used to be very popular on the phone."
" Popular? I was never popular!" I sneer. " None of us were."
" Who are ' us?" my shrink* Doctor S, for futhur notice* said.
" ' Us' are nobody, " I sighed. " My mum just thinks..."
" Thinks what?"
" Nothing."
" What are you thinking, Flissity?" Doctor S said, putting her head to one side. She looked like some beaky-nosed bird. And her nails were freaking me out.
" I am thinking that I am wasting my time, answering your stupid questions about nothing at all," I admitted, as politly as I could. And I went into a day-dream. We sat in silence for twenty minutes.
" So, Flissity," Doctor S said. " Who were ' us'?"
" Does it matter? I know it's your job to act all interested, but it's none of your business."
"What's none of my business?"
" My business. The whole deal with Belle and Trixie and Stocker and Hunter and everyone else."
" They've got names?"
" Yes."
" Who are they?"
I swallowed, licked my lips and gave up.
" They were my friends."
" Were?"
" Yes, were," I snapped. " This is so tedious. You're asking me questions about other people when it's supposed to be about me. And I like the past tense. It's easier to write in. "
I realised how one quote revealed so much about me. I could just see a mental notebook in Doctor S's head, filled with information.
' Flissity Wheelan, self-centered angry teen.'
' Flissity Wheelan, obsessed with the past.'
' Flissity Wheelan, writing maniac.'
I shut up in case I revealed something else.
" Fine, Flissity. Tell me about you," Doctor S said, leaning forward. " Tell me about you."
I spun her the riff I use whenever people ask me about myself, my family and my background. Seeing as though I'm pretty different than the other kids at Mountsborough, I have a little speech I resite about myself. Not only am I strange-my parents are, too. Most kids in Mountsborough are rich, seeing as though it's an expensive, posh school. I go on scholorship, because ' education is everything.' We're not rich. Our town has a canal running right the way through it, and docks. I live in a house boat in the docks. It's tiny, with no privacy at all. We're pretty poor, but we get by. Dad is a journalist for a going-no-where magazine and Mum does something with papers and documents. We are happy, though, in our houseboat with Dad's bees and flowers and Mum's computer. We get by. We've lived in the houseboat for nine years now. We used to live in a flat in the city but Dad said it wasn't good for his flowers and I needed a proper childhood, so he bought a houseboat and we've lived in there for years now. I like it.
"So you felt you were different from the other children?" Doctor S asked.
" Well, yeah. They are rich, we are poor. They have houses, we have a boat. They have pets and we have bees. And anyway, I'm a Goth. The only one."
" Really?"
" It's a small school. I suppose Belle and Trixie and Hunter and Stocker are, too, but they're nothing to do with me anymore after what happened."
" What did happen, Flissity?"
" You want me to tell you?"
" Go ahead."
I sighed. " Okay. But it's long and horrible. And about Goth's."
Doctor S smiled.
" Fire at will."
My mum and dad say they sent me to the shrink because they were worried about me. They didn't say how they were worried about me. With my mum and dad there are two types of worried.
TYPE ONE: Worried that I will show them / me/ other family/friends/general people up.
TYPE TWO: Worried about me in a ' we-think-you're-crazy'way. As in, they don't tell me what exactly they're worried about, because they're scared I'll go mad and pull my hair out or something.
This worried was definatly type two. I can tell by the way they say it. If it's type one, they will say it gently, telling me exactly in a caring, concerned adult voice as if I'm thick enough to notice. They use that voice for discussing my outfits, saying ' Now, really, Flissity, maybe we could go a bit toned down?'
Type Two is completly different. When they say it, they are awkward and stutter and strech it out for as long as they can before blurting out that they're worried at the end. It's so predictable.
When they told me they were sending me to a shrink, they cowered away, just in case I threw a lamp at them or something. This has never happened before. I think I'm a laid-back person, excepting life as it comes, but they still think I'll flip and throw knives at walls when the mood takes me. I didn't go mad, I just said why.
" We're worried about you, Flissity," Mum said, scared and awkward. " We want what's best for you."
So that meant sending me to a shrink and having my dreams assessed. Ha. I didn't think much of my shrink. I always expected them to be understnading people with gentle voices who ask you to lie down on a big sofa and ask you about your dreams and somehow tell you what you're feeling from knowing what you ate this morning. My shrink was a disappointment. She had a pinched face, long dyed red hair coiled up in a bun and too-big ugly black glasses. She tapped her nails on the desk. I hate long nails-they give me the creeps.Mum introduced us both and went shopping and left. I know it sounds really babyish, but I wanted her to stay. I didn't want to be left alone with this evil woman with claws.
" So, Flissity, why do you think you're here?" she started. I hated the way she said my name in her stupid accent. I hated her glasses, too. I couldn't help but stare at them.
" My parents are paranoid."
" Paranoid?"
" Yes," I sighed, fiddling with my jeans. " They are paranoid."
" Why do you think they're paranoid, Flissity?"
I wished she'd stop saying my name. I mean, I know who I am.
" They don't let me live my own life. They think there is something wrong with me, but it's normal. It's a teenager thing not to have any friends."
Darn. Wish I hadn't said that.
" No friends? Your mother said you used to be very popular on the phone."
" Popular? I was never popular!" I sneer. " None of us were."
" Who are ' us?" my shrink* Doctor S, for futhur notice* said.
" ' Us' are nobody, " I sighed. " My mum just thinks..."
" Thinks what?"
" Nothing."
" What are you thinking, Flissity?" Doctor S said, putting her head to one side. She looked like some beaky-nosed bird. And her nails were freaking me out.
" I am thinking that I am wasting my time, answering your stupid questions about nothing at all," I admitted, as politly as I could. And I went into a day-dream. We sat in silence for twenty minutes.
" So, Flissity," Doctor S said. " Who were ' us'?"
" Does it matter? I know it's your job to act all interested, but it's none of your business."
"What's none of my business?"
" My business. The whole deal with Belle and Trixie and Stocker and Hunter and everyone else."
" They've got names?"
" Yes."
" Who are they?"
I swallowed, licked my lips and gave up.
" They were my friends."
" Were?"
" Yes, were," I snapped. " This is so tedious. You're asking me questions about other people when it's supposed to be about me. And I like the past tense. It's easier to write in. "
I realised how one quote revealed so much about me. I could just see a mental notebook in Doctor S's head, filled with information.
' Flissity Wheelan, self-centered angry teen.'
' Flissity Wheelan, obsessed with the past.'
' Flissity Wheelan, writing maniac.'
I shut up in case I revealed something else.
" Fine, Flissity. Tell me about you," Doctor S said, leaning forward. " Tell me about you."
I spun her the riff I use whenever people ask me about myself, my family and my background. Seeing as though I'm pretty different than the other kids at Mountsborough, I have a little speech I resite about myself. Not only am I strange-my parents are, too. Most kids in Mountsborough are rich, seeing as though it's an expensive, posh school. I go on scholorship, because ' education is everything.' We're not rich. Our town has a canal running right the way through it, and docks. I live in a house boat in the docks. It's tiny, with no privacy at all. We're pretty poor, but we get by. Dad is a journalist for a going-no-where magazine and Mum does something with papers and documents. We are happy, though, in our houseboat with Dad's bees and flowers and Mum's computer. We get by. We've lived in the houseboat for nine years now. We used to live in a flat in the city but Dad said it wasn't good for his flowers and I needed a proper childhood, so he bought a houseboat and we've lived in there for years now. I like it.
"So you felt you were different from the other children?" Doctor S asked.
" Well, yeah. They are rich, we are poor. They have houses, we have a boat. They have pets and we have bees. And anyway, I'm a Goth. The only one."
" Really?"
" It's a small school. I suppose Belle and Trixie and Hunter and Stocker are, too, but they're nothing to do with me anymore after what happened."
" What did happen, Flissity?"
" You want me to tell you?"
" Go ahead."
I sighed. " Okay. But it's long and horrible. And about Goth's."
Doctor S smiled.
" Fire at will."