Thank you for the coffee
Part 1
Winter came early that year. It was only mid may and the weather was already bleak, bitter and unpredictable. The streets were swathed in gold and browns. The trees had only just finished shedding their yellow autumn coats. For once the grass was actually green and the grand old oaks that lined street were as majestic as ever, shrouded in a blanked of fog that seemed to envelop the city like an anxious lover, afraid to let go.
A girl walked alone down the lone path. Her dark messy hair swished behind her, her pale skin glowed eerily in the cold morning light. A small smile hung from her lips while her dreamers eyes glided languidly from tree to tree absorbed in by the nonchalant beauty that surrounded her small world. Her was mind was still hazy from lasts night’s dreams, reality only just lingered like the fog that encompassed her street. This was the favourite part of her day. For 30 minutes she could be alone, away from exams and too high expectations and more importantly away from people, away from her family and their never ending quest for perfection. It was time to think and unwind. She smiled, her mouth parted open, feeling the cold morning wind brush on her face, cool, chilly, calming. Who need meditation lessons when you had this? Peace in the middle off suburban Melbourne. She sighed glazing at the houses as she passed, smelling the sweet stubble fragrance of roses and lavender. Each house was beautiful and big, bathed in the morning fog. Every garden tidy and clipped to perfection all of them clearly landscaped designed. This was Melbourne’s golden mile. Only the rich, famous and the rich could live here; Layers, businessmen and women, TV personalities and celebrities. It almost seemed strange. That she lived on the same streets as these people, people who had everything.
She wondered what these people were doing now. Still sleeping or were they already on their way to work, trying to keep the job that feed their opulent lifestyles. Which without they would be just like any other working class citizen. Were they just like everybody else? Or were they different, blind to everything except their own lives and their own small pains. Were they happy? Or couldn’t their money buy happiness? She stopped kicking a grey pebble across the concrete pathway on to the black bitumen road. The sound of early morning traffic broke though the morning peace. A black car whizzed past, throwing the little grey pebble in to the air. The sounds of impatient people, honks of angry drivers shattering her peace into a million tiny little pieces. Her day had finally started.
*****
There were only ever two things that Mordred Beaumont ever regretted doing. He had promised himself not to talk or think about the first. The other taking that first can of soft drink mixed vodka. That first drink had been the start of a bad habit and if he had not been an alcoholic loser he would have not gone on that bender and if he had gone on that bender he wouldn’t have gotten so hammered that night, so pissed that when the cops caught him smashing windows he didn’t even know that he had 50 gm of his friend’s cocaine in his right pocket. Now, he was in the shit hole they called HMYOI Huntercombe. In fact he had been in prison for almost 18 mouths, sleeping in the same mouldy bed, eating the same mouldy food and staring at the same mouldy wall. It was truly horrible, the closest thing to hell on earth he knew. A place where you had your privacy and dignity stripped from you from the moment you stepped naked into the shower of anti-lice spray. Where brawl and alliances got you further than brains and being ‘pretty’ was just going to get you beaten up into a bloody pulp.
He looked up, eyes trailing a small mousey brown moth which fluttered around the bare light bulb that hung on the cells high ceiling. He yawned stretching as he watched it through the corner of his eyes. He tilted his head to the right and then to the left. Watching it dance its strange dance, completely oblivious to the fact that what it wanted the most could potentially kill it. He smiled sadly at the little brown creature. Old memories form what seemed forever ago flooded back into his head. He knew so many people like that, people who lived their whole lives perusing one thing, the one thing which in the end killed them. He wondered where they were now, if they still remembered him and if they were still alive. Were they still living in the streets? Were they still defying society, pushing away anyone who cares enough to help them? Or had they grown up? A frown spread across his face. His placed his hands behind his head, massaging his neck as he paced up and down the tiny room. He had his own broken life to pick up. A broken life he had to slowly piece together. He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over old friends, long gone.
The moth fell from above. Its wings shaking as it fluttered down to him. He outstretched a hand then a finger. It soared down to him its tinny furry legs brushing against his sensitive skin. “Kill it,” said a gruff voice from across the room. Mordred frowned as his eyes shot daggers to the burly boy who sat like a stone staring at the little creature in his hand. “Dam you! Kill it or I will kill you.” He boy growled through gritted teeth staring at the moth with an almost animal like hate. He smirked, stroking its soft delicate wings as the other boy stared at him. “Kill it! KILL IT NOW!” He roared as he launched his self of his cot. The other boys turned staring at him, their eyes cold and bored, this happened a lot. “Shut up you arsehole, the wardens are staring,” said T-Rex from the bunk above him, is voice smooth and lazy. “It’s him! He is bloody crazy! He stares at me like he’s crazy! If they don’t get him out of here I am going to kill him!” He snarled at Mordred, large plate like fist curling up. Mordred just smiled mockingly and blew down on the moth gently his freaky green eyes boring into the other boy’s eyes. The moth flew into the air, darting around the bleak concrete walls until it slipped though a gap between the metal bars that separated them from the outside world.
“Don’t you like moths, big boy?”
“Shut up, loser,”
“What about buzzing bees and flies? Don’t’ tell me you’re scared of pretty little butterflies?”
“Shut it Mordred, stop pissing the guy off,” said T-Rex his eyes still glued to his book. Mordred laughed, as if the older boy’s suggestion was completely stupid. “Alright, this little pretty boy is asking for it,” The other boy thundered his face twisted in a tortured mask of hate and abhorrence. He stormed over to where Mordred sat on the edge of his bunk the same mocking smile still pasted on his face. He growled and Mordred looked up, glazing into his piggish face. He boy smashed a gigantic fist against his immense palm, the thump echoing across the silent room, slowly he ground his hands together emphasising every little movement and every little twist. He snarled, lip twisting reeling a set of sharp yellow teeth. His hand reached for the cuff of Mordred’s prison white shirt. His fist tightened around the dirty shirt as he hoisted him of the ground. “Scared now pretty boy?” he hissed, spittle flying into his Mordred’s pale face. “Perhaps…” he said his voice so quite and polite it was mocking. The older boy growled like a rabid dog but his eyes were tormented. “Mordred quit messing with Brandon your driving him mad.” The room feel silent as their heads turned. Brandon dropped Mordred instantly, the boy landing on the ground with a light thump. None spoke, as the silently stared at the boy standing by the door.
They called him River or River boy, no one knew why but the just did. No one knew how old he was either but just one look at him and you could tell he was someone who had been pushed down and trampled on and then kicked when he was down. He had that sad depleted look which paired with puppy dog eyes made him look so cute and like able that you could never hate him but only feel the deepest sadness and sympathy. He had been recently busted for shoplifting and theft and had been in an out of prison since the age of 12. His story was no different to many of the other boys, born into a abusive family spent his childhood watching his father beat up his mother but there was just something, one little something that made him different from the rest. T-Rex spoke first “Dude, I thought you were in suicide watch.” “I came back about an hour ago,” he whispered, his voice soft smooth and mellow and his smile nothing short of charming. Sometimes Mordred thought he was the only one who hated the boy, he found something strangely scary about his alluring smile, the way the he popped up when no one else expect him to, the way he found it so easy to lie, steal and plunder without a second thought. Even kids in prison had consciences but this boy had none.
****
She didn’t really like school. But then against not many people did. She wasn’t dumb or stupid, far from it. In short school was boring, there might be no children left behind but there were many children being dragged back. School was not great but neither was it horrible just plain boring. So boring that she could have more fun staring at black wall.
Her day started once reality hit, when the haze of morning disappeared blown into oblivion with the honks, screams and shouts of everyday life. She would spend 20 minutes plodding down the main road, back pack becoming heavier with every step, thinking about school, stressing about the next exam until her mind was heavier then the load on her back. She went to private school. A place with pretty grounds and manicured perfectly green lawns, nice clean but unfortunately not gum free. A school complete with its own small church and a theatre but yet still received more funding than your average public school. They type of place that many parents would kill to send their children to, a place where the students seemed so beautiful, rich and smart, but where anything but.
Every morning she would trudge down the same cobblestone path and make her way to her locker. It was same locker she received at the start of the year, the locker which still stunk of yesterday’s lunch and stale perfume. She would unload her bag and worry about the ever growing piles of papers before taking out her books. Making sure she had done all her homework, just in case. Today was no different, the same as usual, except they were sitting if front of her locker, flicking their long perfumed hair chatting about last Saturday night, about boys and their seemingly very active, perhaps too active social lives. She stood there, silent as stone. Hoping they would notice. “Excuse me,” she said. No answer. Just giggles, ‘he’s so hot’ and ‘do you like my new hair’. She groaned. “Err, excuse me.” Sometimes she wanted to scream at them, tell them to get the hell away form her locker, talk about their little lives somewhere else where they wouldn’t be making hers that little bit harder. “Excuse me…could you please move?” She said a littler louder. A girl raised her head. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there,” chirped in an English accent. Begrudgingly they scooted over, eyeing the girl who had just asked them to move. They were annoyed but so was she. They did this at least once a day at both recess and lunch. They sat in front of her locker, often refusing to move. It had been going on for half a year. Only the Katie, the English girl ever noticed her but too the others she was as good as invisible and when they did see her they only gave her ‘keep away form the cookie jar’ looks.
Thank you for reading and sorry about my bad grammar.
Please feel free to critique but this is my first piece so be nice.
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