Welcome To My World, Stranger
It Was Only A Dream...
I run downstairs, grab my skateboard and scurry out of the front door into the cool, fresh night air. I jump on my board and skate down the driveway.
I pass the corner shop, I pass the church.
I pass the local pool and turn down a street I’ve never seen before.
I glance at the street sign briefly: Nightingale Avenue.
I pass houses 11, 13, 15 and 17.
At house number 19, the front door opens and a boy runs out onto the footpath, the moonlight making his tear-streaked face shine.
He doesn’t notice me.
But I keep skating.
I look over my shoulder and keep staring at the silhouette of the boy.
He doubles over and his body shakes as he cries.
A thick liquid seeps onto the footpath from the boy, mixing with his tear drops.
I open my mouth to yell, but no sound emerges.
I try to stop my skateboard, but it keeps rolling.
I try to jump off, but I can’t.
The boy lifts his head;
“Jane; Jane…Dad, I hate you, I hate you.”
I try to stop again, but can’t.
The boy is getting further and further away, bleeding, crying.
I open my mouth again –
“You… come. Are you… OK?”
I slowly open my eyes and realisation hits me in the face.
It was only a dream.
I sit up and look around the room.
I’m in the kitchen, on the floor, a smashed mug inches from my head.
My hair is soaked with vomit, blood and cold Milo, and my body aches everywhere possible.
I grope around blindly in front of me and grasp onto the table;
I pull myself up off the floor and locate my skateboard.
Yeah, OK; I know what’s going through you mind just now.
No, I am not crazy. I have an abnormal feeling about this.
I suppose you could say that my supernatural senses are tingling.
(If I used spidery senses then that would be plagiarism, m’dear.)
After realising that the front door is still locked, I go to the lounge room, open the window, remove the flyscreen and jump through.
As if in a trance, I skate down the driveway, I pass the corner shop, I pass the church, I pass the local pool and turn down a street.
I stop and look around for a street sign; I spy one bolted to a street lamp.
Bathed in the yellow light are the words:
Nightingale Avenue.
I continue on my board; past houses 11, 13, 15 and 17.
There, doubled over on the footpath in front of house 19 is the boy.
This time, I stop.
I shuffle over to him, drop my skateboard and kneel down.
I sigh and place a hand on his heaving shoulder;
“Zaccheus,” I whisper, attempting to lift him up.
Now, I just have to say; even though Zacc might be a complete arse, he’s not all that bad.
I mean, he’s got a great face.
Zaccheus lifts his head and looks at me. In the moonlight I can see a rather nasty gash on his left cheek.
Ick.
“Christopher?”
I nod and manage to pull his to his feet.
“Please, take me away from this house; please, Christopher.” Zacc murmurs, leaning on me heavily.
I frown in confusion;
“Um, OK; er - let’s go, then.”
I abandon my skateboard and manage to lug Zaccheus and myself 3 blocks away.
God knows what street we’re in…
I ease Zacc down onto some grass before lying down next to him.
My eyelids get heavier every time I blink and the stars above seem to fade with every moment.
Just as I’m drifting off the sleep, Zaccheus’ voice rings in my ear;
“Christopher?”
“Mhm…?”
“Why are we - er, here?”
“I don’t know; you wanted to get away, so I just walked. Now we’re here.”
“Why couldn’t we have gone to your house?”
I sigh, open my eyes and turn my head to the right so I’m looking at the silhouette of his face.
“Because; my parents are… not normal.”
“Oh…”
A few minutes later, Zaccheus speaks again;
“Christopher?”
“Yeah?”
“Why does your hair smell?”
I hesitate and bite my lip.
“Umm; I got stuff spilt on my head and didn’t have time to wash my hair…?”
“Oh, OK.”
Zacc slides closer to me.
My palms begin to sweat and my heartbeat speeds up.
“Sorry; I’m a bit cold.” Zacc murmurs.
I smile to myself, squish up against him and close my eyes.
He smells great;
For an irresponsible arse.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I pass the corner shop, I pass the church.
I pass the local pool and turn down a street I’ve never seen before.
I glance at the street sign briefly: Nightingale Avenue.
I pass houses 11, 13, 15 and 17.
At house number 19, the front door opens and a boy runs out onto the footpath, the moonlight making his tear-streaked face shine.
He doesn’t notice me.
But I keep skating.
I look over my shoulder and keep staring at the silhouette of the boy.
He doubles over and his body shakes as he cries.
A thick liquid seeps onto the footpath from the boy, mixing with his tear drops.
I open my mouth to yell, but no sound emerges.
I try to stop my skateboard, but it keeps rolling.
I try to jump off, but I can’t.
The boy lifts his head;
“Jane; Jane…Dad, I hate you, I hate you.”
I try to stop again, but can’t.
The boy is getting further and further away, bleeding, crying.
I open my mouth again –
“You… come. Are you… OK?”
I slowly open my eyes and realisation hits me in the face.
It was only a dream.
I sit up and look around the room.
I’m in the kitchen, on the floor, a smashed mug inches from my head.
My hair is soaked with vomit, blood and cold Milo, and my body aches everywhere possible.
I grope around blindly in front of me and grasp onto the table;
I pull myself up off the floor and locate my skateboard.
Yeah, OK; I know what’s going through you mind just now.
No, I am not crazy. I have an abnormal feeling about this.
I suppose you could say that my supernatural senses are tingling.
(If I used spidery senses then that would be plagiarism, m’dear.)
After realising that the front door is still locked, I go to the lounge room, open the window, remove the flyscreen and jump through.
As if in a trance, I skate down the driveway, I pass the corner shop, I pass the church, I pass the local pool and turn down a street.
I stop and look around for a street sign; I spy one bolted to a street lamp.
Bathed in the yellow light are the words:
Nightingale Avenue.
I continue on my board; past houses 11, 13, 15 and 17.
There, doubled over on the footpath in front of house 19 is the boy.
This time, I stop.
I shuffle over to him, drop my skateboard and kneel down.
I sigh and place a hand on his heaving shoulder;
“Zaccheus,” I whisper, attempting to lift him up.
Now, I just have to say; even though Zacc might be a complete arse, he’s not all that bad.
I mean, he’s got a great face.
Zaccheus lifts his head and looks at me. In the moonlight I can see a rather nasty gash on his left cheek.
Ick.
“Christopher?”
I nod and manage to pull his to his feet.
“Please, take me away from this house; please, Christopher.” Zacc murmurs, leaning on me heavily.
I frown in confusion;
“Um, OK; er - let’s go, then.”
I abandon my skateboard and manage to lug Zaccheus and myself 3 blocks away.
God knows what street we’re in…
I ease Zacc down onto some grass before lying down next to him.
My eyelids get heavier every time I blink and the stars above seem to fade with every moment.
Just as I’m drifting off the sleep, Zaccheus’ voice rings in my ear;
“Christopher?”
“Mhm…?”
“Why are we - er, here?”
“I don’t know; you wanted to get away, so I just walked. Now we’re here.”
“Why couldn’t we have gone to your house?”
I sigh, open my eyes and turn my head to the right so I’m looking at the silhouette of his face.
“Because; my parents are… not normal.”
“Oh…”
A few minutes later, Zaccheus speaks again;
“Christopher?”
“Yeah?”
“Why does your hair smell?”
I hesitate and bite my lip.
“Umm; I got stuff spilt on my head and didn’t have time to wash my hair…?”
“Oh, OK.”
Zacc slides closer to me.
My palms begin to sweat and my heartbeat speeds up.
“Sorry; I’m a bit cold.” Zacc murmurs.
I smile to myself, squish up against him and close my eyes.
He smells great;
For an irresponsible arse.
---------------------------------------------------------------