A Story written by Nadia

By Nadia Kader duh!

When you read a story—a short story, a novel, a fairy tale, whatever—it usually starts with the main character. The main character is usually doing something that is familiar to him or her or even "it". But this story is going to be different, mainly because I hope it to be different from other stories; so it would be good, not that you should expect it to be.

This story starts with the fat guy across the street. You know who I'm talking about. The guy that is always just walking not too far ahead of you. You would think he'd be holding a donut or a box of cookies, something that the regular "fatties" would be holding. But no, he's holding a brown paper bag. What's in the bag? How should I know? I'm just waiting for the bus.

Now this said—me waiting for the bus and all—this is going to be a either "real fiction", which means a fictional story that could happen, or it's some sort of autobiography, a story about my life written by me. Well, you're WRONG; this is story is neither. I'm really just thinking as I go along.

Now, let's get back to the fattie. He's large, (well DUH), and wearing a…cowboy hat? Oh my God! He IS! It's a dirty, dusty brown color, planted at an angle, like a fancy fedora! This guy must think he's hot shit. He waddles to and fro, carrying his big paper bag. Fattie stops at the corner, looks into the bag, gives a great big sniff and saunters towards me. "Gooshhh soomme gooshhsstuff, sniff?" he says followed with a great big snort and a shake of his five chins. Generally, I was totally freaked out. Close up, he was about six feet tall, with massive tree trunk legs. The tree trunks were covered with what seem to be "shorts" but were the size of parachutes, safari pattern. His shirt was by far the worst, he was wearing a wool shirt, covered in dark, fur like material. He leaned in even closer, there were two really big pink suction cups attached to his shirt, then I realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Topless, humongous, gorilla-man, yes how sexy. Then I realized that he was talking to me again. I heard; "…Annsh, I equals very, very schexy. Looks at me! No scchhhiirrt!" He completes this thought and begins to do the Macarena. Floppy man titties flying everywhere……OKAY!

I was totally lying! He's still on the corner, sniffing his bag. This story was going nowhere, I had to spice it up a little bit, my imagination sometimes takes it a little far, I know. And please don't ask why I imagined this. I turn away from fattie and was nearly blown away by the site of…her. One of the hottest Goths I have ever seen, dark makeup, pale skin like the moon, and really dark hair. Not a dye job, totally natural and it is rather stunning.

She doesn’t shuffle her feet. She glides to the bus stop and stands right next to me! The smell of vanilla extract and pixie sticks hits me like a rock to the face. Up close, she has bright blue eyes, that bore into me. I am staring, completely entranced by her Hot Topic looks, except, you know, hot. I realized she was talking to me.

"Hey freak-ass, I'm talking to you!" A rather husky voice, that does not match her looks at all, like the voice of a fifty-year old smoker. "Blah, blah, blah……God Am I hot…..blah, blah, blah…….STOP STARING AT ME!". Oh shit, I’ve been staring too long! I start looking around frantically, hoping my bus is coming soon. Please God, let my bus come soon! Oh God! I have to think fast. She is beginning to look extremely pissed off, which is very becoming of her. I begin to stutter; "Uhm, uhm….hold my head…" She looked at me, question marks in her eyes.

"We'll trampoline. Finally through the roof, finally through the roof, and on to somewhere neearrah, and fall in time. Velouriaa, her covering travelling carreeah

She can really mooooveee

Oh Velveteen!

My velouria, my velouria

Even I'll adore yaa

My velouria"

I finish the last lyric with a bow. Velouria is my favorite song by my favorite band, Pixies. Go buy Bossanova; seriously, it is a great CD. I'll wait, it's not like this story is getting interesting or anything.

Okay welcome back, if you went to buy it, congratulations on your new ownership of a super cool CD. If not, well, you have a crappy taste in music and I do not want you tainting my story…just kidding, I really need you! All two people reading this story, don't go! I'm really sorry!

Well, I guess I should be getting back to what happened next. The Question marks leave her eyes. She is smiling, not a good look for her unfortunately. This Goth hottie would have had a beautiful smile, had she not been missing her two front teeth. Her tongue is moving around frantically, through her missing teeth and around her mouth. I can see something shine in the gap—she has a tongue piercing. Then I realize she’s talking again. Luckily, I realize it before she start yelling. "…poets are so hot. When did you come up with that one? I'm guessing Velouria is the title. What inspires you? Beautiful women? Great fashion?" And with this, she twirls around showing off her black skirt, black corset and black leggings. She also kicks her feet up, revealing black converses covered in smiling skulls.

Why hadn’t I noticed her sense of style before? It's god awful.

She is a lot more girly than her attire would have you know. She grabs my arm and screams into my ear, "Come on! The Bus is here, you're coming to my house, recite to me more of your wonderfully abstract poetry!"

I am in shock. She thinks Velouria is my masterpiece? I know I’m in trouble then because when she finds out the truth…well, she looks like she could hurt me. The bus slows to a stop as soon as this last thought ends. We both get on, arm in arm.

She looks at me and it dawns on me that I have not answered her retarded questions. "uh…well…I…" I think about how it's wrong to lie, how she is not a stupid person and she'll figure it out sooner or later. Then I look at her outfit again and reply, "I get my inspirations from the beauty of nature.” She gazes at me with a look of pure adoration as we both pay the surly looking bus driver, and sit down near the front. I bullshit on. "When I say nature, I mean nature. The trees, water, dirt, beautiful women.” I wink at her. "Nature is everything beautiful, everything beautiful is nature…al."

She still has this stupid look on her face and my conscience is absent this bus trip. We ride the bus in silence—if you call the bus driver coughing, the old lady near us complaining about all the hoodlums on the bus, and the two white kids in the back trying to rap silence.

Suddenly, the bus swerves left, up a steep hill. I've never been in this part of town before, way past my bus stop, where there are actually normal people. I missed my bus stop, this is the last time I’ll ever follow a seemingly hot chick anywhere. The bus finally stops in a neighborhood filled with crumbling buildings and shady people. We both get off the bus and she leads me down a street called Hell's Way. Who the hell names a street that? Anyways, we walk, more like she walked and dragged me for another fifteen minutes.

We stop in front of an old, crumbling, two story home, fully equipped with old, snarling lawn gnomes and a "Beware of Dog" sign.

I’m beginning to think that this was a very bad idea. We pass through the rusted old gate, and walk towards the crumbling home. Instead of going through the front door, she drags me to the back. She whispers to me; “Sshh, be very, very quiet.” Now I’m getting confused, isn’t this her house? I try to ask her, but she puts her short, stubby, pointer finger to my lips. She opens the window, the paint is cracking, and gets in her hair. She climbs inside, oblivious to the dry, old, nasty paint in her hair.

She reaches out and grabs my wrist. I have really skinny wrists, I don’t like them. She pulls me inside, I felt slightly airborne, until my forehead smashed into the top of the window pane, now I just feel pain. The Goth doesn’t seem to realize, she’s still pulling my wrist off. We reach a black bedroom door, she opens it. She spins me around, and throws me on the bed. It’s very comfortable, black silk sheets, and it also matches the black curtains, black bats hanging from the ceiling fan, the black rug on the floor, and…oh hell, EVERYTHING is black in this room. It’s not stylish, it’s just creepy and stupid. What’s the point of having everything black, how does she find anything in here at night? Looking up, there are a lot of stuffed animals sitting on black shelves. Medium sized, pink unicorns? I didn’t know Goths liked unicorns.

Uh oh, she’s talking again. “…I’m a bit of a poet myself you know, do you want to hear some of my work?” Wow, a Goth poet, real shocker. “Okay” I say, hoping she’d get on with it and I can get back to my safe, normal bus stop. I now recall there are a lot of cute guys who hang out at the Starbucks right across the street from my bus stop, maybe I should take a break from girls for a while.

She takes a deep breath, opens her arms out wide and begins;

“The world is a vampire, sent to drain
Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames
And what do I get for my pain?
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game…uhhh

(The Smashing Pumpkins-Bullet with butterfly wings)

Here is where she paused, her brow furrowed, trying to concentrate on what came next. I opened my mouth, ready to help when she screamed; “SHUT UP! I GOT IT!”. I shut up and then, she continued, with my input of course;

I don’t care if Monday’s blue(she looks sad)

Tuesday’s Grey and Wednesday too(grey is an awesome color)

Thursday, I don’t care about you(she turned around)

It’s Friday, I’m in Love(she turns toward me with open arms)

Monday you can fall apart(she throws something to the floor, it doesn’t break)

Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart(she drew a picture of a heart and ripped it in two)

Thursday doesn’t even start(I’m wondering where that paper and pencil came from)

It’s Friday, I’m in Love(she picks up the ripped pieces)

Saturday wait(she stands still, I wonder when this is over)

Sunday always too late(I think it’s too late for me to escape)

But Friday never hesitates”(she exhales, as if reciting this poem is a lot of work)

(The Cure-Friday, I’m in love)

Now I know there is something oddly familiar about this “poem”. Oh dear, she’s talking to me; “That…that sounds about right, so what do you think, good huh?”

I look at the now obviously insane Goth. How on earth do I get out of here? I open my mouth, not even knowing what answer to give her, and she interrupts me(thank God); “You don’t have to answer that sweetness, I know you loved it. Now check these out, I would look outright gorgeous in them!” She rummages through the dresser I haven’t noticed before because it’s the same color as everything else in this damn takes out…underwear? Yes, underwear. Dozens of pairs of undies, of all colors. A black frilly pair soars through the air and lands on my head. REALLY, REALLY GROSS! And why are they all stretched out? I have a very strong feeling I am about to find out soon enough.

I grab the black pair and throw them across the room. They land in front of a very tall, muscular man I haven’t noticed come in. He’s wearing black combat boots, black leather pants, and a leather motorcycle jacket zipped up tight, as if he’s trying to hide something underneath. He doesn’t look at me, he looks straight at psycho Goth chick. Narrowing his bright, blue eyes, that would have been sexy if his face wasn’t so ugly, says to her; “What are you doing here AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PANTIES?!?”

She starts stuffing panties down her shirt, he runs over and rips her shirt off, trying to get at the panties. She then tears his motorcycle jacket to reveal that he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath, nothing except for a black, lacy bra which matched the undies I threw in his direction beforehand. They stop struggling, she looks at him and says; “That’s my bra, you kept it all this time?” He replies; “Yes, I missed you. Everyday without you seems pointless. I…

Haven’t had a dream, in a long time

See the life I had, can make a good man go bad

Soo, for once in my life, let me let me let me

Get what I want, lord knows, this will be the first time

lord knows, this will be the first time

He takes a breath, raises one hand to her face, caresses her cheek, and continues;

I am the son(or is it sun?)

And the heir(or is it air?)

Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar

I am the son and heir

Of nothing in particular

She opens her mouth, obviously to respond to this random poetry and he starts up again before she can say anything;

You shut your mouth

How could you say

I go about things the wrong way

I AM HUMAN and I need to BE LOVED

Just like everyone else does

There’s a club if you’d like to go

You could meet somebody who really loves you

So go, and you stand on your own

And you leave on your own

And you go home and you cry

and you want to die

When you say it’s all going to happen “now”

Well, what exactly do you mean?

See I already waited to long

And All my hope is gone

I AM HUMAN and I need to BE LOVED

Just like everyone else does

(The Smiths-How soon is Now)

He concludes his bizarrely ironic “poem” that actually makes sense in this situation,(that’s what makes it ironic). The Goth chick finally gets her say; “Wow, I didn’t think you still felt about me in that way, this changes everything!” He leans in, ready for a kiss I assume, and gets pushed through the open door. She caught him entirely off guard! He falls back, and she quickly locks the door. “He hurt me before, but you would never hurt me, right sweetie?” She walks over to the dresser and takes out a pair of handcuffs. As she draws closer to me, instinct finally kicks in, I jump off the bed and run for the bedroom window, luckily, it’s open. I jump out the window and just flat out run as fast as I can. I look back and I can see her hanging out the window. I can here her screaming;

Been hearing about you.

All about your disapproval.

Still I remember

the way I used to move you.

I wrote you a letter. I heard it just upset you.

Why don't you tell me? How can I do this better?

Are you out there? Do you hear me?

Can I call you? Do you still hate me?

Are we talking?

Are we fighting? Is it over?

Are we writing?

We're getting older.

But we're acting younger.

We should be smarter. It seems we're getting dumber.

I have a picture of you and me in Brooklyn.

On a porch, it was raining.

Hey, I remember that day.

And I miss you.

And I MISS YOU

(Jawbreaker-Do you still hate me)

I run even faster. I reach a bus stop that goes in my direction. Stopping to catch my breath, I double over. Someone walks up to me, I only see jeans and a pair of slip on Vans. “Are you okay?” the most beautiful voice I have ever heard asks me. I look up and see the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. She has both eyebrows pierced, not wearing makeup and she definitely doesn’t need it. She’s wearing an awesome Pixies band shirt and carrying a army green messenger bag.

“Hey freak-ass! I’m talking to you! You look sick or something” Oh no, not again, I don’t think I can take another seemingly hot chick. I look up and say;

“AND I RAN,

I RAN SO FAR AWAY.

AND I RAN,

I RAN ALL NIGHT AND DAY”.

(A Flock Of Seagulls-I Ran)

I take off, leaving her dumbfounded. I’m a good distance away now and she screams back;

One way or another I'm gonna find ya
I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha
One way or another I'm gonna win ya
I'll getcha, I'll getcha
One way or another I'm gonna see ya
I'm gonna meetcha meetcha meetcha meetcha
One day, maybe next week
I'm gonna meetcha, I'll meetcha

And if the lights are all out
I'll follow your bus downtown
See who's hanging out
(Blondie-One way or another)