A Very Good Boy

She was always disappearing off into the night, sneaking out her bedroom window, meeting up with her friends that waited for her across the road.

I’d watch them as they’d laugh and giggle together, passing around bottles of alcohol and sharing a single lit cigarette.

I hated cigarettes and I hated alcohol too.

The smell that cigarettes produced was so revolting to, me and as for alcohol; well it was one of the many things mother had always warned me to steer clear of. They were bad for you.

So did that mean she too, was bad for me?

After a short while they’d begin to trail off down the road, laughing and chatting, soon breaking into song that they all sung out of tune.

Her voice, though horribly pitched but a sound of sweetness, I faintly heard above the others. I struggled to keep to it, but as she continued off down the road, she became quieter and quieter, until they were nothing but one combined echo that travelled down this lonely street.

She was gone again.

And like the many other times previous to this now empty night, I felt a strange tug pull at my heart. A tug which I find only ceases in the early hours of dawn, when she returns.

I really, really can’t stand her.