Standing beside you
is how i dissapear.
your arms, a temporary
shallow
reprieve.
Every time you speak
i wonder why im here..
close your eyes
show me something else to feel.
Envy crawls under my skin
and i realise ive forgotten
everything it is to be me.
Little Raven.
-WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU; MAY RECONSIDER LATER-
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Bad Poetry.
Lips stained
with your taste
and words unspoken.
quivering,
every breath
is euphoric.
Burning my throat.
pleasure and pain.
A feeling of contentedness nudges me
feeling almost like happiness.
I let him in.
with your taste
and words unspoken.
quivering,
every breath
is euphoric.
Burning my throat.
pleasure and pain.
A feeling of contentedness nudges me
feeling almost like happiness.
I let him in.
Ramble – adj. To talk for a long time, ideas spreading in different directions.
I clench my fists as the
conditioned air claws its way into my lungs. I cough. If i could be
anywhere but here, id be in bed. Eyelids heavy, too
caked with sleep to be open. Staring blank faced at the tutor I wonder if he
knows I’m not listening. Bright faces fueled with coffee surround me. Then there are some
looking like i feel. He yammers away monotonously as i slip in and out of
interest, my brain feeling like those eggs i wanted for breakfast. Scrambled.
Now he tells us to write. Fifteen minutes. I gaze through the fuzzy space between my
eyelids at the blank page for 10 minutes before i even pick up a pen. Another cough
scratches it way out. I can’t even read the word i picked to write about. The clock doesn't tick; no second hand. Maybe it’s an H, or a G. The air conditioner hums.
Footsteps in the distance, floating voices and girlish laughter distract me.
Pens scratching. Typing. Why so studious at this time in the morning? The white
noise surrounds me like an urban lullaby. And somehow I’m still awake.
Breaking into the writing world~
I found a little piece of writting i did in my first year in university that is more than relevant to aspiring writers and those wishing to start up in the business. Its a little review on what ive found through contacts, popular literature, writers and common knowledge. Read up :)
Breaking
In To the Writing Business.
“You
can approach the act of writing with
nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair, the sense that you can
never completely put on the page what is in your heart and mind. You can come
to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass
and take names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or
because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me
say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.” I’ve taken this
segment from Stephen King’s ‘On Writing’ as it outlines and reminds us as
writers why we write; to produce a piece, for any reason under the sun, and
bring something to the table that is rich and full of flavour, a hit that
everyone is craving, a piece you put your all into. Being confident in your
ability to produce a quality piece of writing is one of the stepping stones to
going anywhere as a writer.
Good writing isn’t easy and it is terribly hard to
break in to the industry. It takes
dedication and hard work to churn out something even half decent. Sometimes you
can write for hours, filling up pages and when it comes time to edit, you pull
your hair out at the number of places you’ve gone wrong. A total rewrite. There
are always those days for writers, writers block, deadlines, no inspiration or
maybe just jumbling too many ideas together. However, the key to success is passed
on through forewords, quotations and speeches by the kings of the trade;
research, rephrase and rewrite until satisfied and never give up. Fellow
writer, published author and good friend, Anthony Langford let me in on a few
tips when it comes to working as a writer. Firstly he pointed out that the
amount of support and exposure that can be sourced from the internet makes
being recognised that much easier. Having an author page on social networking
sites or your own website is a leg up in the industry. Building relations and
support from these groups can serve as a platform for future greatness. He
believes that the most important aspect for budding writers is opening up to
life experiences.
The
best place for a budding writer to start is on the net. Becoming a part of
online writing groups and submitting your work for critique is a brilliant way
to build relationships with fellow writers and have your work recognised. There
is a wide array of writing groups offered such as the Young Writers
society.com, Writing.com and Young Writers Online. These communities provide
resources for all writers at varying levels of competency, giving all kinds of
information on the craft and offer members the chance to share and critique each
other’s work. They also provide helpful tips on how to successfully publish and
send in to publishers as well as ideas on how to store inspiring events and
experiences that can be drawn upon for future writing ventures. The support
that can be drawn from these groups is an excellent way to boost confidence in
yourself and your writing ability.
Competitions
are one of the most common ways for confident writers to strive for
recognition. These competitions come in national, international, state and
local levels with varying cash and help prizes. There are almost too many to
choose from. To name a few there is the Josephine Ulrick Literary Award, the
Queensland Premiers Literary Award and even the Griffith University based
School of Humanities Writing Award. They offer chances for writers of varying
age levels and writing capabilities the chance to submit works to be read and
seen by others. It is always worth submitting, even if you don’t win; running
up recognition and just having another look over a personal piece is another
important experience that will shape you as a writer. It also tells you what to
expect of from those critiquing your work and what they expect from you.
When
it comes to looking for companies to publish your work, there are plenty of
places beginning writers are welcome at. Websites such as Newbie Writers.com,
About Freelance Writing.com and Inkpop.com all provide information on places to
get published, how to format pieces before they are sent in to be published and
offer some freelance work as well. Magazines including Wet Ink and the
Clairmont Review all encourage publication from young writers. Publishers are
after a piece that both appeals to their area of work and is uniquely
appealing. This can be achieved by submitting to companies that specialise or
request pieces from your expertise. One thing to watch out for is plagiarism.
Plagiarising is the quickest way to the bottom and often leaves you with no way
to get back up. It’s a serious offense so making all submissions entirely your
own work, regardless of research and inspirations, is the best way to steer
clear of this trouble.
From
there it is up to demand, the expectations of the publisher, dedication and
good old fashioned luck. It is important to remember that to be published means
you will be bringing your work to the public, and therefore there is a need for
you to appeal to public by writing what your readers want to read.
References.
King,
S., 2000. On writing; a memoir of the craft, Scribner Pub., USA
www.members.ozemail.com.au/~macinnis/writing/advice.html
www.
Education-portal.com/articles/40_of_the_Best_Websites_for_Young_Writers.html
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Candy Apple
'CANDY APPLE'
Dust
kicked up as the trailer drove past at 60, riding the breeze a few meters
before settling again. The dodgy service station out on route 5 was still in
business even without the patronage it used to receive decades ago. Old Jim
Farley worked the cash register, or rather took a drag from his cancer stick,
humming along to the latest pop tunes on the morning radio. The fuel pumps were
caked in dirt, the occasional scratch cutting through the mess. None of the
meters read over forty dollars. Petrol just cost too much nowadays. A single
'A' frame sign stood out on the road, attempting to coax in the occasional
traveler. ‘Gas and bottle; $35'. What an enticement. The sign stood strong
against the desert wind, rattling occasionally. The only things within a 40
mile radius around the 'revive, survive, fill-yah-car-up-and-make-us-happy'
stop was sun, sand and a beat up tar road, with more potholes than the
government could afford to fix. Out of place, on the gravel curb sat a black
clad figure.. She sat in the sun, rubbing her temples and holding a lit
cigarette between her lips.
"Fuck."
The
fuel indicator began to sink below empty.
"Double
fuck"
Slamming
his hand against the wheel, Trevor cursed up a storm. The middle of fucking
nowhere. And another three dollars more
for the swear jar. Looking over the dashboard, it felt as if he was a part of a
hunter s. Thompson creation, being that oddball journalist on his way to Vegas
minus a Samoan lawyer and a shitload of much needed drugs. Fuckin' sand
everywhere. In the distance, what looked like a shack had popped up. He prayed
for a service station because there was no way he wanted to be pushing this
baby. Jet black 56 Chevrolet; beckoned to the ladies, turned men’s eyes green
and made him one happy guy. It had been his grandfathers and dear god; he loved
that car as much as the man whom it came from. His grandfather was just like
him, all skin and bone and toothy grin. Couldn’t hold down a job but could lay
down one hell of a bass riff. And that was where he was going; a gig in Vegas,
hoping to hit the big time. That was if he ever made it. As if retorting, the
car started to grunt and slow. The smudge had become a very trashy fill up; a
place that had to have been standing four or five generations. '50m to Farley’s
Stop'. What a name. What a fuckin' name. The car rolled to a stop and Trevor
sat there staring out the window as if nothing had happened. Then he slammed
his head into the wheel and set the horn blaring. Fifty fucking metres.
He
left his ride to bake in the heat as he walked up the road, dust coating his
black cowboy boots. The tight jeans he had donned that morning were not for hiking
through no man’s land. He should have tied his hair up too. Sweat trickled down
his neck and back and he wiped at his forehead before it got in his eyes too.
Ten meters away, Trevor noticed someone or something lying on the curb.
Hitchhiker on lunch probably, he thought. As he got closer, he realised it was
some goth rocker lying out like she was at the beach, tank top rolled up to
reveal a flat pale stomach with the tattooed wings of a bird barely hidden by
low riding pants. She blocked out the sun with a heavily tattooed forearm. He raised
an eyebrow as the muffled screams of slipknot reached his ears. What a bloody
character.
"Hey!
Hey you!"
Startled
she jumped as best anyone can whilst lying down. More like a spasm really.
"What
the fuck man" She mumbled.
Must
have been asleep.
"You
goin' somewhere, eh? If you give me some help, i can get ya there"
She
sat up groggily and stared him straight in the face.
"I
don’t know what 'elp you'll be needin' Mr., but i been outta that business for
a good many years now, a'hight?"
He
chuckled. He didn’t what to know what business the scraggly bitch had been
into. Her grey eyes looked as if she was drugged, still filled with sleep. Her
thin lips were painted red, and she looked as if she'd slept in the war paint a
couple of times. There was a metal ring in the side of her nose and a bar
through her septum. Her clothes consisted of a shirt which read 'fuck off you
fucking fucker', baggy black pants and worn in docs.
"Jeez
lady, i just wantcha to help me push my car. I ran outta gas."
She stared at him for a bit, in the annoying kind
of way people do when they try to place something.
"You
know what? You kinda remind me of noel fielding, yeah? With yeh hair all like
that"
Who
the fuck was Noel Fielding? She licked her lips and smiled. It was almost too
sexy for a girl like her.
"What’s
yeh name?" She asked, getting up and dusting the sand from her back.
"Trevor.
But you can call me whatever. Doest really matter"
He
looked her up and down again. She caught him this time and realised her shirt
was still rolled up.
"Checkin'
me out, huh?" she stuck out a studded tongue and winked slyly.
Trevor
ignored her, looking away as she adjusted herself, and pretended to be
interested in the shop attendant, restocking and lip synching some cheesy shop
music.
"Don’t
worry 'bout him, ay. Good bloke. Gave me breakfast even if i couldn’t pay
'im"
She
laughed. "Probably felt sorry me".
"He
should do. You looked like a goddamned homeless person." Can’t lie, you
know?
She
squinted up at him, hesitating before punching his arm a little too hard.
"Wanna push or not?"
An
hour, and a few painkillers later, the two were on their way.
The
girl sat with a foot on the dash; the other where it ought to be. Spread-eagle,
like a fuckin’ bloke. Trevor shook his head but couldn’t help the smile that
crawled across his face. What a character.
"So,
Trev, you let strangers in ya car of'en?" She crushed the butt of her
cigarette on her shoe and lit up another.
"Not
normally" His eyes stayed on the road. "I never did ask your
name".
She
ran her fingers through matted black hair. "Which one do yeh want?"
Trevor
glanced at her. She was actually serious.
"Well,
i guess I’ll take what i can get"
Running
her tongue across her lip, she leveled her gaze at the car roof.
"Born,
London Central hospital, 1991, Elizabeth Anne Taylor"
She
blew smoke out the open window and smiled straight at Trevor.
"But
don’t yeh be callin' me that, ay. It’s Lizzy to you"
Trevor
smirked.
"Where
you off to, Lizzy?"
She
seemed to contemplate it, and then shrugged.
"No
plans really." Just gettin' around, yeh?"
She
looked steadily at Trevor’s face, concentrating on the road. His hair was too
long, but not long enough; curling past his collar. Almost like a bloody
mullet. But it suited him. He really did look like Noel fielding. Maybe she
just watched too much BBC. The rucksack by her feet clunked as she readjusted
her foot and knocked it.
"What
you got in that bag anyway?" Trevor asked.
She
winked at him and said, “black magic".
She
hadn’t failed to notice the bass guitar in the back seat, so she changed the
subject.
"Whatcha
got that baby in the back for? You look sexy holdin’ it?"
"Wanna
find out?"
She
laughed but said nothing else.
The
scenery had given way to semi rural area, government owned community lots and
trashy rentals. The greenery was sparse but what little there was, was clearly
treasured.
"You
gotta place, Charlie boy?" she asked as she tied back her hair.
He
slowed as he turned the corner into another main road. A small town lay in
front of them now. "I may do. What's it to you?" he asked.
"I'd
kill for a place to crash yeh know? Ill payeh back, honest."
She
glanced back at the bass again. "Could be yeh roady” she chuckled.
Trevor
pulled into a back street. "Actually, we got one of them already."
"We?"
"Oh
yeah, I’m in a band. We're called 'Candy Apple'"
She
burst into laughter. He should have been pissed. Would have been if she was
anyone else.
She
wiped the tears from her eyes, smudging the black liner.
"Candy
Apple?" The corners of her mouth pinched in a half grimace half smile, trying
hard to hold back another outburst.
"Our
last lead and founder was a bit ‘Lolita’ oriented style. Thought it was sexy to
call us 'Candy Apple'".
She
still had that pinched look on her face.
"Oh
come on, it’s not that funny!"
Deciding
it best to avoid the band name thing, she rolled her eyes and looked out the
window.
“Yeah
sure, whatever"
The
street they were on was lined with sardine like townhouses, all crammed into
the same little neighborhood with barely an inch between them. The lawns were
neat and orderly, children’s bikes parked beside family cars. The smell of
dinner seeping out open kitchen windows, the sounds of evening TV shows and
conversation muffled through fly screen.
"This
is me". Trevor pulled up at a corner house, the yard empty and the lights
off.
"Eddie
must be out...” he mumbled.
Paying
no mind, Lizzy stretched out and cracked her knuckles. "What now
boss?"
"Boss?"
he put the car in park and ripped out the keys. "If you’re staying here,
just... dont call me that, okay? I’ll feel like a fucking pimp".
She
laughed again and lurched out of the car.
The
smell out here was different to the city, she thought. Birds rested on rooftops
and bats chattered pointlessly, nestled in the occasional tree.
Trevor
thought she looked awful pretty under the setting sun.
Unlocking
the front door, with Lizzy at his heel, he walked into the refreshing cool of
his place. He would have shucked his clothes and jumped in the shower had the
girl not been there.
He
spun around to face her. She stood there, or rather slouched in place her face
expressionless and haggard.
"This
is my dwelling."
She
raised an eyebrow
"You
steal anything, you touch my stuff without asking, and I will kill you and then
feed your remains to my goldfish"
She
looked at him with that same expressionless, eyebrow cocked face before looking
away. So much for humor.
"As
re-dick-ulous as that sounds, i believe ya"
She
dumped her rucksack on the couch and looked around the room. Your basic
bachelor pad. Couch, TV, Xbox. The coffee table was covered in car mags with
coffee cup rings staining the timber. The kitchen was surprisingly clean though
remnants of breakfast lay on the bench. She would kill for some cheerios. The
walls were plastered with posters of cars and bands. No nudie pics. Surprising.
She
looked at her feet.
"Want
food, kiddo?"
Trevor
had moved into the kitchen and was fixing himself a sandwich.
Why
so nice Mr. gee-tar?
She
slumped into the chair at the bench and stared absently at him.
"Corpse
bride, I’m speaking to you"
Her
gaze ran to the box of open cheerios.
"Cereal?"
Dear
god, I’ve brought home a stray dog, Trevor thought to himself.
He
poured out the cereal into one of his many mismatched bowls. A sharp noise came
from Lizzy's stomach.
"When
did you eat last?" he asked as he slid the bowl across the counter.
"Dunno".
She shoveled that cereal in like it was the last supper.
Fuck.
He
showed her where the shower was and after taking the towel he offered, she slid
the door closed. She had lost that teasing grin. She was all 'back in 20
minutes' with no idea when twenty minutes would be over. Eddie hadn’t showed up
yet and probably wouldn’t for another day or two. The man had a terrible habit
of getting stoned at a girlfriends place and forgetting he had work to do. The
gig was in three weeks. No vocalist and missing, potentially stoned manager.
They were fucked. So fucked.
He
scrubbed the dishes and lay out a blanket on the couch. He had no spare room
and there was no way he was putting her in Eddie’s room. If he really did come
home, there was no knowing what he'd do with her.
A
voice not particularly amazing but not ignorable carried down the hall from the
bathroom. The voice was far from smooth. It was gravely and mesmerizing. The
kind of voice that sounded good with bass.
Lizzy
stepped out of the shower and looked at herself in the mirror. Free of that day
old makeup and nasty clothes, she could have been fourteen. Her body was flat
and thin with no shape. Her breasts were small but there. Her skin was pale all
over, her stomach a little burned from the sun earlier that day. Her hair
dripped onto her shoulders and she wondered how she'd gotten here. Wondered why
she was here again. Another person's pet. She toweled off the water silently,
staring back at her grey eyes. She saw nothing there. Many a man had said he'd
seen passion or perhaps curiosity, maybe even love there. Liz had only ever
seen grey. She pulled on her underwear and stared at the door. She needed
clothes.
Trevor
tried awkwardly not to look at Lizzy as she stood in front of him, clad only in
her underwear.
"Well,
yeah. I don’t actually have any clothes on me, Charlie"
Trevor
looked away and mumbled about getting her something.
Lizzy
wasn’t self conscious. She knew what she was and how people saw her. She didn’t
care. She’d been given names. Freak. Anorexic. Model material. Disturbing.
Beautiful. . Whatever. She sat on the couch and pulled one of Trevor's blankets
over her. It was cool but it smelled good. It reminded her of home. She closed
her eyes.
Trevor
came back into the room with a set of his old pjs. He had riffled through his
clothes, steaming. What kind of girl would do that in front of a stranger? And
some random male, possibly (but definitely not) a rapist of all things! Jesus!
Fuck!
His
face flushed red but he controlled his anger. He didn’t even know her. For all
he knew, that was normal to her.
Now
he watched her as she slept. She was out cold but she was still sitting up.
Damn. All the anger he felt earlier left him and he almost felt compassion for
the girl. He awkwardly slipped her arms into the shirt, a good size too big for
her. And he had thought he was small. He tried not to look as he pulled the
shirt over her breasts and slid his pants up over her slim thighs. She didn’t
make a peep, dead to the world. He lay
her down and tucked her in.
She
was so pretty without all that junk on her face. He noticed that she'd left her
nose ring in.
He
gazed at her. What a character. He kissed her forehead without thinking and
slinked off to his own room.
The
next morning, Trevor dragged his eyes open to the sound of blaring metal and
the shout of conversation.
Eddie?
Muddy
eyed, he slumped out of his room and into the kitchen.
Lizzy
stood in her bra and old pants, leaning against the kitchen bench with a cup of
instant coffee in her hands. Eddie, still wired from an all too evident trip of
a lifetime, rehashed the events of the previous few days to a sleepy eyed Liz.
He was bouncing around and waving his hands. He hadn’t slept. His Mac was
buzzing on the coffee table in the living room, hooked up to the speakers.
Death metal. Trevor walked over and turned it down.
"Yo,
man!" Eddie called in greeting.
"Dude,
its 10, keep it down" He mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.
Eddie
powered on. "Found your lady on the sofa, man. You holdin' out on
me?"
Eddie
was six foot three, a little taller than Trevor. His hair was a long dirty
brown and needed a good brush. A wash too. He was your classic stoner and
computer techie. The band manager. He had taken over after their old manager
had left, but it hadn’t been the same. His style was just... so fucking brutal.
Forgetting
his earlier question, he continued talking music with Liz, talking at her as
she tried to wake up. She caught Trevor’s eye and smiled. Her hair was all over
the place and the bags under her eyes made her look twice her age. She nodded
in mock interest when Eddie paused but stayed silent.
"So
Trev man, I’ve been form chinchilla to Antarctica and i still have no vocalist.
I also got a call from Gabby who said you are a dick, who needs to get ya mind
tank into gear. You missed practice yesterday man" Eddie pouted.
Practice.
He had forgotten all about it. From the breakdown of his car until now,
everything was just a hazy memory.
"Shit"
Rubbing
his temples he cursed.
Gaby
was their drummer. Had been for five years. She was a good friend too, almost
like a little sister. He sighed. She had never called. She should have called.
"She
never called. Couldn’t have been that important"
Eddie
focused on Trevor’s face the best he could in an attempt to be serious.
"Dude.
The gig is in three weeks. If they found out we have no vocalist we would be
cut off. The main aim right now is to
find that lucky lad or ladette ripe for the picking and make them ours"
He
turned to wink at Liz and she shook her head, amused.
Eddie
held his finger up as if to say something extra, paused and said, "Man,
I’m gonna crash. Laters". He took off toward his room and waved back with
a sly smile at Lizzy. "You too Liz". Trevor looked at his feet as he
heard his roommate’s door thud shut. Fuck.
Slumped
on the coach, Trevor strummed his bass as Lizzy watched, entranced. She loved
the way his thin fingers became a part of his instrument as he worked his
magic. The sound reverberated through her chest and made her think of the
mellow, sexual beats Muse threw out. She closed her eyes and began to sing
along to Trevor’s playing.
Trevor
stared at her pale face, continuing to play. He watched her lips move. Envied
her. Wanted her.
It
wasn’t five minutes before Eddie pounded back into the room, his motorcycle
boots still on, vaulted the couch and narrowly avoided landing on Lizzy's lap.
She yelped and cowered against the arm of the vinyl chair.
"Lady,
marry me"
Eddie
was just too much.
"You
are my lady oh wise and beautiful one; be my candy apple"
Liz's
eyebrows came together in confusion and amusement.
"I
think yeh a bit much before me breakfast, Charlie."
Eddie
stared at her as if he wanted to kiss her all over in praise.
Trevor
interrupted by twanging an off note.
"Oi.
What the fuck man?"
"Dude,
she is our pot of gold, our Frank Sinatra, the perfect replacement!"
Liz
sat silent and picked at her black nails.
Replacement?
She hardly knew these two. She didn’t know who she was replacing. She didn’t think
she wanted to know. Her mind told her she ought to at least be worried like a
sensible girl would. Perhaps question what exactly these weirdo’s wanted. But where would that get her? When she was a
little girl, she thought being smart would give her everything she wanted. She
had it for a while, thought she did at least, but it was gone now. So why did
she care?
"What
is going on?"
She
needed a smoke.
Eddie
looked at her enchanted. "Liz, i am asking you, no, I’m begging you.
Please sing for our band"
The
room was silent.
"Buy
me a pack of Marlboros and yeh have deal" she said.
Trevor
watched Liz's ass as she walked down the aisle in Wal-Mart. She looked good in
his too tight jeans. Her hair was still all over the shop, swept to the side
showing off the tatts on her neck and the spiraled stretchers in her ears. She
scratched the rabbit inked on the back of her neck and told Ed to ask the staff
again where the sparklers were. They were going to Gabby's to celebrate the
good news. Eddie had let her know over the phone and her squeal of delight
wasn’t missed by any of them. Liz had suggested they buy a fuck load of
sparklers, duct tape them together and set them off.
"My
brother used to do it. It’s bloody awesome."
Trevor
had smiled at her childish idea. It suited her.
Eddie
had refused to put out the cigarette between his lips, so as he piled the
sparklers into their cart, he looked around casually for ninja staff who wanted
them gone. You couldn’t blame them. A Goth bunch really, trailing smoke and
sarcasm behind them, they were just open to a fuck ton of American prejudice.
Eddie
put the butt out on his leather duster as they approached the checkout.
The
cashier wrinkled her nosed and said "that’s $46.50"
Liz
chuckled, amused by the look on the cashiers face. She strolled out the door
and slouched against someone’s car, closing her eyes against the sun...
Eddie
passed the woman a fifty dollar note and stared at her through his round red
sunglasses. The woman looked terrified. She didn’t mention having a nice day or
smile at all, just handed over the change and looked warily at Eddie out of the
corner of her eye as she served the next customer. Eddie stormed out, hiding a
smile of satisfaction pulling up the corners of his mouth. Trevor paused and
looked at the woman.
"Have
a nice day, yeah?"
He
smiled at her warmly. She remained in her stony faced stupor. Worth a shot.
Outside,
Liz produced a lollipop from her pocket, but neither of her companions asked
where or how she got it.
Gaby's
parents house was huge. Sprawled out on an acre, the house was more of a manor
than anything. The three of them felt obliged to take their muddy shoes off at
the door. Gabby welcomed them in, all smiles and girlish laughter. Liz watched
as Trevor and Eddie made small talk. She was as pale as herself, with pink
dreadlocks pinned neatly out of her face with butterfly clips. Her arms were
muscular for a woman but Liz guessed that came from years of drumming. Her
clothes were adorned with tears and holes, safety pins holding everything
together on her curvy frame.
The
girls pink lips parted in open mouthed happiness when she spotted Liz.
"Oh,
how rude of me, god damn, you are pretty"
Liz
stood there silently
Gaby
walked up to Liz and put her arms around her. "Welcome to the family,
Girl"
Trevor
was secretly amused at the stunned expression on Liz's face. She didn’t say
much other than a slight movement of the head or the occasional one worded
answer. Trevor realised that he was the only person she had actually had a
proper conversation with. All of them ate heartily and had a good few drinks.
Conversation ran from the band to other going-on’s in their lives, but Trevor
always came back to Liz's silence. She seemed happy to sit there and be
surrounded by their simple chatter.
Liz
looked into Trevor’s eyes. He stared back. She didn’t care.
Another
strange place. Another night away from her old life. How long had it been now?
Five years? She closed her eyes momentarily and found Eddie staring as well.
She needed to get out. She needed air.
Eddie
watched Liz get to her feet. He wouldn’t lie; he wanted the girl, but there was
something frighteningly protective about how Trev kept watching her. Liz asked
Gabby if she could be shown outside and Gaby happily obliged. When she returned
without Liz, the smile had faltered.
"She’s
so vacant"
Eddie
chuckled. "We don’t even know the girl, Hun. She could be a crack head for
all we know".
Trevor
said nothing.
Gabby
lay back and crossed her legs. "She doesn’t seem the type. I think she’s
just living somewhere else, in her head"
Eddie
lay back too, ending the conversation with a 'meh' and lit up a joint.
They
started arguing over some TV soap and Trevor was forgotten. He slipped into his
own thoughts.
Liz
stared at the openness of the sky. It was speckled with millions of brilliant
lights. The moon was only three quarters full but it was full enough for Liz.
She smiled at the simplicity. Trevor slunk up beside her and sat a little too
close.
Liz
continued gazing at the sky.
"Liz."
She
stayed silent but listened.
"Liz,
i like you."
She
blinked and parted her lips.
"Look,
Liz i--"
Gaby
and Ed bolted out of the house screaming with laughter, holding the sparklers
duct taped together just as Liz had described. She smiled as the sparks began
to consume the others and blew up into a small fire ball.
"Nice"
she whispered.
Trevor
turned to her and kissed her cheek.
Eddie
crashed out on the couch and Gaby mumbled something about her needing to sleep
because she had exams soon, but they were welcome to stay. Trevor watched gabby
traipse into the back room. Liz stood motionless and blank as always.
"Liz,
please look at me"
She
turned and smiled up at his concerned face.
"Whatcha
so worried about Charlie? I ain’t done nothin' to upset yeh 'ave I?"
He
couldn’t help himself. Trevor took her face in his hands and brought her lips
to his. When he pulled away, Liz’s eyes were half closed and her lips parted
suggestively.
"That
was nice" she whispered.
Trevor
put his arm around her shoulders and smiled. God she was cute. He slid his arm
slowly down so he encircled her waist and led her to the guest bedroom.
Silently they slipped out of their clothes, in a dreamlike state. Their hands
were all over each other, but not hastily. It was slow and more curious than
sexual. Trevor ran his hands over Liz's breasts which were always hidden under too
many clothes. Liz smoothed Trevor’s androgynous curves with her open palms. His
hands were in her hair and she pressed her lips against his. It was strange way
to make love, without actually doing the deed. But the flow of energy between
them was perfect. Content. Liz’s body brushed against Trevor and he stifled a
moan.
"Not
now my love" she whispered.
He
agreed silently. Not now. He had everything he wanted. Warmth, company and
silence.
The
next morning, perhaps afternoon, Liz opened her eyes to Trevor’s sleeping face.
She smiled. She really ought to start calling him Noel. She stroked his unusual
nose and brushed his hair from his forehead. He opened one eye slowly.
"What
are you doing woman" he asked.
"Admirin'
you"
He
planted a long kiss on her open lips. Even after he had stopped she could feel
his lips there. Wanted them back.
"Do
it again. Please" Her voice was soft, like she was embarrassed to ask.
Trevor's
smirked. He licked his lips as he looked at her mouth and he felt her shiver.
Her naked body felt so good against his, he couldn’t help reacting. He pushed
her on her back and lay on top of her so she could feel him between her thighs.
Liz
looked into his eyes with that sexy little smile playing on her lips again. He
kissed her, and he kissed her hard. What a fuckin’ character.
"You
are tempting me" he growled softly into her ear.
She
chuckled "I dare you. I double dare you".
Gaby
looked in the direction of the spare room.
"What
do you think they're doin' in there?"
Eddie
sat behind his newspaper and ignored her.
"Hey!"
she threw a pillow that crashed through the barricade.
He
looked at her blankly, his hands still holding the paper that was no longer
there.
"You
serious?"
She
smirked.
Eddie
got up and kissed her on the forehead.
"Sometimes
i wonder how we're related" he stalked off to the balcony, lighting up a
joint before he was outside.
Her
tattoos seemed to move against her, with her, coming alive on her skin. The
birds, the rabbits, crickets, flowers and words ran together until none of them
stood out. None of it mattered. Trevor breathed Liz in. Her sultry grin and shuttered
eyes made him harder than any girl ever had. She opened her mouth to his kiss.
Liz
let her body feel and closed her eyes. Reality was a lie. Everything was
possible.
Trevor
watched Liz stare at the ceiling. It seemed as if she didn’t even breathe.
"I
could do this for three weeks" she whispered
Trevor
smiled, stroking her jaw.
"Sing
to me Lizzy"
She
stared at the ceiling without acknowledging him. Just as he had decided to
forget it, her voice filled the room. Quiet, but brilliant. That warm bourbon
taste was her voice as her lips shaped an old evanescence ballad.
Gaby
listened to the husky voice and knew Liz had surpassed Billy. They had all
wanted it, prayed for it, but hearing the talent behind that sultry voice had
granted their wishes.
Eddie
blew out a puff of smoke and smiled. It was an empty smile. He closed his eyes
and listened to Lizzy’s voice flow out the open window. God she was good.
Three
weeks blew past. Neighbors complained as they smashed out track after track.
Belted out Metallica, Slipknot, Evanescence, Megadeth and a few of their own.
Liz could scream, she could purr. She growled and she turned that mic into an
amplification of all her personalities.
Eddie
turned to her at the end of the third week with the most sincere expression the
man could muster. "Welcome to candy apple, baby girl"
Liz
smiled.
Sweat
poured down her face. Her red lipstick shone against the harsh lights. Liz
couldn’t see a thing.
Gabby
tapped her set quietly to make sure everything was right. She considered her
drumsticks and decided to buy new ones next pay day.
Eddie
closed his eyes against the screams of the crowd and drank them in. You're
mine.
Trevor
looked at Liz and wanted her just as much as he had the first time he'd seen
her. Tight black jeans torn at the knees, a low cut tank top with 'Bite Me'
written on the front and her hair spiked up in a Mohawk. She was Candy Apple.
The
crowd called to them. They swayed and waved and jumped about but remained
invisible to the band. Fans had travelled miles and payed more than they could
afford to see their come back. The first riff ripped out of Ed's guitar as they
were announced. Liz lifted her arm and devil horned the crowd.
She
snarled.
Gabby
brought her sticks together.
Trevor
held onto his bass for grim death and grinned wildly.
Showtime.
Copyright. 2013
By Laura Ashley
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