Welcome To My World, Stranger
We?
I prop myself up onto my elbows and examine the boy closely; although he’s wearing a black pinstriped fedora hat, I can see dark brown hair protruding from underneath it.
As he’s helping his little sister up off the ground, his sunglasses slip off the bridge of his nose to reveal his hazel eyes.
Finally, he gets the little girl up onto her feet.
She’s got dark brown hair, piercing dark blue eyes, a fair complexion and a little pink dress with matching shoes.
I look from the little girl to her brother.
“Oi, you.” He says, his head swinging in my direction, “D’you think this is ‘supposed to look like this?”
He pokes his sisters’ arm softly, and it flops loosely before coming to a stop next to her side.
I throw up on the grass and groan quietly;
“I think it’s… it’s broken.”
The guy pushes up his sunnies and screws up his face in disgust and turns away from me;
“Oh. Well, we’ll have to take her to the hospital, then.”
Wait a minute here, buddy.
We?
What is this word, we? I ain’t taking her to the hospital; not when she’s your sister.
The little girl begins to bawl her eyes out;
“Zaccheus, my arm is broken? Tell me it isn’t, please, tell me it isn’t!”
Little children that cry are over-rated; they also scare me.
And my headache is still there.
Zaccheus sighs and nods his head slowly; “Sorry Jane, but it’s broken according to this… this –” he pauses for a moment, looks at me and scrunches up his face, “Sorry, what was your name?”
I glare at him suspiciously; why does he want to know my name?
Will he plan my assassination as soon as I disappear from his sight?
Will he call my parents and turn them against me again?
Or will he change his name to Pansy and bake me cookies every fortnight?
Hmm.
I envisage this ‘Zaccheus’ guy in an apron and chuckle to myself.
“I’m – er, Christopher…”
He nods and turns to the little girl again,
“Christopher and I will take you to the hospital, OK Jane?”
‘Jane’ cradles her arm and nods slowly. Her bottom lip trembles slightly, but she doesn’t cry again.
Thank God.
Zaccheus removes his sun glasses and gropes around in the pocket of his jeans.
He pulls out a mobile phone and makes a call.
I stand up slowly, trying not to upset my queasy stomach;
I also cross my fingers in hope that Zaccheus isn’t calling a local hit-man.
I fetch my skateboard and bag and stand next to somebody’s dying shrub.
I guess I’m not going to school today.
As he’s helping his little sister up off the ground, his sunglasses slip off the bridge of his nose to reveal his hazel eyes.
Finally, he gets the little girl up onto her feet.
She’s got dark brown hair, piercing dark blue eyes, a fair complexion and a little pink dress with matching shoes.
I look from the little girl to her brother.
“Oi, you.” He says, his head swinging in my direction, “D’you think this is ‘supposed to look like this?”
He pokes his sisters’ arm softly, and it flops loosely before coming to a stop next to her side.
I throw up on the grass and groan quietly;
“I think it’s… it’s broken.”
The guy pushes up his sunnies and screws up his face in disgust and turns away from me;
“Oh. Well, we’ll have to take her to the hospital, then.”
Wait a minute here, buddy.
We?
What is this word, we? I ain’t taking her to the hospital; not when she’s your sister.
The little girl begins to bawl her eyes out;
“Zaccheus, my arm is broken? Tell me it isn’t, please, tell me it isn’t!”
Little children that cry are over-rated; they also scare me.
And my headache is still there.
Zaccheus sighs and nods his head slowly; “Sorry Jane, but it’s broken according to this… this –” he pauses for a moment, looks at me and scrunches up his face, “Sorry, what was your name?”
I glare at him suspiciously; why does he want to know my name?
Will he plan my assassination as soon as I disappear from his sight?
Will he call my parents and turn them against me again?
Or will he change his name to Pansy and bake me cookies every fortnight?
Hmm.
I envisage this ‘Zaccheus’ guy in an apron and chuckle to myself.
“I’m – er, Christopher…”
He nods and turns to the little girl again,
“Christopher and I will take you to the hospital, OK Jane?”
‘Jane’ cradles her arm and nods slowly. Her bottom lip trembles slightly, but she doesn’t cry again.
Thank God.
Zaccheus removes his sun glasses and gropes around in the pocket of his jeans.
He pulls out a mobile phone and makes a call.
I stand up slowly, trying not to upset my queasy stomach;
I also cross my fingers in hope that Zaccheus isn’t calling a local hit-man.
I fetch my skateboard and bag and stand next to somebody’s dying shrub.
I guess I’m not going to school today.