lying!"
"So what's going on?" I asked, still trembling, just to please the sister.
"I was just trying to help her," he started, but I think we'd got him riled, because just then the woman found a way out of his arms. She ran straight into the road, into the path of an oncoming car. Car screeched to a halt, wheels slipping. Good driving but not that good. Car hit the woman. More like this, actually; woman hit the car, kind of threw herself at it. She was down, face to the tarmac, for maybe two seconds. Then she sprang up again, banging on other cars as they passed her by, slowly, scared faces peering out.
"Help me! Help me!" she was screaming. Nobody stopped. Who the hell stops these days?
Drivers were looking at me as though I was some villain in this. Felt strange.
One of those moments you'll think you'll remember forever, but it just slips away. Until
such a day arrives when you've got nothing else to do but list your memories, nowhere else to live but inside them.
Early morning air was misty and serene, with hours to go until sunshine.
Screaming woman was miles away, seemed like, almost down to the next set of lights. I could hear cars braking over the screams.
The black guy was just standing around, hopping from foot to foot, building his anger up. White guy just sitting in the car, chewing gum.
Desdemona had opened the back door. Now she was reaching in to help the swaying woman.
"I think we need the cops, Scribb," said Desdemona, from the back seat. "Girl's in a bad way. She's feathered up on something. I can't move her."
The cops? I'd never called them before.
"I don't think we need that," answered the black, moving towards me. His fists were bunched up, and he had that look on him, like the idea that pain was a pleasure to give.
I backed away, towards the car.
"Are these guys hurting you?" I heard Desdemona ask.
No answer from the comatose girl. The other one, down the road some, was screaming anyway for the both of them.
"Des?" I whispered, trying to get her attention. Sister wasn't answering so I made a quick turn, aiming to drag her out of there. But she was too busy to care about me; too busy searching through the woman's handbag.
"What are you doing, sister?" I asked
"Looking for an address. I think these men are using her." "Big deal, sis. There's a bad guy out here."
"Keep him off, Scribb!" the sister said.
Well thanks for that. Like how?
The black guy was up close now, waving his fists around, close enough to do damage to a soft face.
Sound of a cop van in the distance. Fists faltering.
Sometimes, don't you just love the cops, despite the fact that they have hurt some good friends of yours? Because sometimes, just occasionally, they turn up in the right place, at just the right time. Don't you just love them for that?
Cop siren sounding. And the black stepped back, a small step. Then another. Then he was running. Out of there!
White guy started the car engine.
Desdemona was half in, half out of the car. "I've found something!" she shouted.
The car started to move off, and Des was thrown out, hard to the pavement.
The siren bursting in my brain, as the cop van pulls up in front of the car, wheels squealing, blocking the escape.
And although my sister's body was on the floor, although she was obviously in pain, and the sun wasn't even awake yet, never mind rising, still I could see her grasping tight hold of something. It was feathery, and it was glinting yellow as it passed through the air, towards her pocket.
What you got there? What you got there, sweet sister? Must be a beauty.
If only I'd known then. If only.
Suze and Tristan are washing their hair, which is each other's hair. Which is their shared hair. As they listened to my story.
Mandy was awake again, sitting on the floor, playing with the big puppy dog.
Something about its body made me uneasy; the way the plastic bones shone through the taut flesh stretched over its rib-cage. Suze called the dog Karli.
The Beetle
"So what's going on?" I asked, still trembling, just to please the sister.
"I was just trying to help her," he started, but I think we'd got him riled, because just then the woman found a way out of his arms. She ran straight into the road, into the path of an oncoming car. Car screeched to a halt, wheels slipping. Good driving but not that good. Car hit the woman. More like this, actually; woman hit the car, kind of threw herself at it. She was down, face to the tarmac, for maybe two seconds. Then she sprang up again, banging on other cars as they passed her by, slowly, scared faces peering out.
"Help me! Help me!" she was screaming. Nobody stopped. Who the hell stops these days?
Drivers were looking at me as though I was some villain in this. Felt strange.
One of those moments you'll think you'll remember forever, but it just slips away. Until
such a day arrives when you've got nothing else to do but list your memories, nowhere else to live but inside them.
Early morning air was misty and serene, with hours to go until sunshine.
Screaming woman was miles away, seemed like, almost down to the next set of lights. I could hear cars braking over the screams.
The black guy was just standing around, hopping from foot to foot, building his anger up. White guy just sitting in the car, chewing gum.
Desdemona had opened the back door. Now she was reaching in to help the swaying woman.
"I think we need the cops, Scribb," said Desdemona, from the back seat. "Girl's in a bad way. She's feathered up on something. I can't move her."
The cops? I'd never called them before.
"I don't think we need that," answered the black, moving towards me. His fists were bunched up, and he had that look on him, like the idea that pain was a pleasure to give.
I backed away, towards the car.
"Are these guys hurting you?" I heard Desdemona ask.
No answer from the comatose girl. The other one, down the road some, was screaming anyway for the both of them.
"Des?" I whispered, trying to get her attention. Sister wasn't answering so I made a quick turn, aiming to drag her out of there. But she was too busy to care about me; too busy searching through the woman's handbag.
"What are you doing, sister?" I asked
"Looking for an address. I think these men are using her." "Big deal, sis. There's a bad guy out here."
"Keep him off, Scribb!" the sister said.
Well thanks for that. Like how?
The black guy was up close now, waving his fists around, close enough to do damage to a soft face.
Sound of a cop van in the distance. Fists faltering.
Sometimes, don't you just love the cops, despite the fact that they have hurt some good friends of yours? Because sometimes, just occasionally, they turn up in the right place, at just the right time. Don't you just love them for that?
Cop siren sounding. And the black stepped back, a small step. Then another. Then he was running. Out of there!
White guy started the car engine.
Desdemona was half in, half out of the car. "I've found something!" she shouted.
The car started to move off, and Des was thrown out, hard to the pavement.
The siren bursting in my brain, as the cop van pulls up in front of the car, wheels squealing, blocking the escape.
And although my sister's body was on the floor, although she was obviously in pain, and the sun wasn't even awake yet, never mind rising, still I could see her grasping tight hold of something. It was feathery, and it was glinting yellow as it passed through the air, towards her pocket.
What you got there? What you got there, sweet sister? Must be a beauty.
If only I'd known then. If only.
Suze and Tristan are washing their hair, which is each other's hair. Which is their shared hair. As they listened to my story.
Mandy was awake again, sitting on the floor, playing with the big puppy dog.
Something about its body made me uneasy; the way the plastic bones shone through the taut flesh stretched over its rib-cage. Suze called the dog Karli.
The Beetle
Similar Books
