|The Right kind of Fear
Author: Ponder000 PM
I'm telling you, it's all the same thing.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 6 - Words: 14,688 - Reviews: 5 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 09-30-09 - Published: 04-13-09 - id: 2659760
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Sig is fine too
Monday arrived and seeing as my weekend was wasted on floozing around and the likes, the hunk of work I had still to do only piled on as my lecturer announced our next assignment. It didn't help that I wasn't sleeping enough; but thankfully, Mondays only started at noon meaning I could sleep in, if only for a while. However to the dismay of my painfully tired limbs and cranium I awoke at nine, not being able to sleep anymore. I took my time in the bathroom, even using my forgotten bath bubbles that I 'won' from a lucky dip a few months ago. It was kind of cheap and a bit too grainy but alright for only two bucks. That's two bucks to charity that is. So, that's what I was doing, while lying in the tub (that I had cleaned out just last night because Friday evidently had other plans for me), leisurely dreaming back to the warm holidays of local carnivals, Coral's Aunt Nona's slightly grimy/toxic pool, and sickeningly useless Christmas presents that were bought right off the shelves of a PriceBusters store without a second thought. I must've spent at most an hour in there before I clothed and embarked on making pancakes. I made enough for three's fill too just so I can kill time, not to mention the flatties would wake up to a swell morning seeing how they loved pancakes. More correctly, they'd be grateful at anything made for them (or for someone else, but was just left in the kitchen unsupervised) that was related to food. Mondays also meant happier bus drivers, not that it really made any difference going from stick-in-the-arse grumpy to slightly-thinner-stick-in-the-arse grumpy. Nonetheless, the ride was better on Mondays; no sweaty socks, no farts, and no arrogant rude 15 year-olds which meant less shitty bus drivers. No, save all that crap for Thursdays and Fridays where I have to catch the bus at the same time as the local high schoolers. Of course, I could save all that for the driver and invest in a license and a car. But, surely, the driver would miss me and that'd be too unkind (i.e. I'm penniless and can't afford to dish out on anything other than food).
The lecture passed without so much as a few words scribbled down on my pad. The lobes and cells of my brain had gone on a mini vacation, I think. Usually, it was one of my favourite classes, being Classical History of Music. But today was one of those days, when things you previously cared for didn't matter and everything was a just a glob of pointlessness. I didn't even realize what I was doing at the moment. I was lying on the grass, vacantly attempting to transcribe my brainwaves (the ones that didn't desert me for a holiday visit to my liver cells or whatever) onto my notepad. English was only an interest paper and I was quite up to date with the work, yet I was still trying to finish my poem. Because unfortunately I was just too bushed to even look at my music work. A good dose of shut-eye would do plenty good, I thought, so I drifted off to dreamland without another blink.
When I returned to reality from my short dream, there was a paper under my hand. It nearly flew away when I sat up and stretched, but I quickly stamped it down on the grass.
A little flyer slash poster advertisement. It was quite neatly designed, stating in red and grey slightly jagged letters, ''Something on the moon' by Victory.' It was some jazz event at some bar that asked for a minimal donation of five dollars that would go to some local soup kitchen. There were many of those kitchens around here in Forlin. I hope the proceeds are for the one just down the road. I volunteered in a few kitchens for a month as part of my university curriculum requirements and that one seemed the most unfortunate, what with snotty soups and sour porridge and all. If that didn't fill you up, well at least it could poison you then you'd never have to down that slop again seeing as you would be in hospital or a grave. I skimmed my eyes over the brochure again. Even if the jazz doesn't turn out to be pleasing, the cause might relieve the regulars at the kitchen from at least the mucosal chowder they were served. I stashed it into my bag and hiked my bag over my shoulders. 1.36PM. I had been out for nearly half an hour. My next class was Theory and Performance …more homework.
Perseverance and discipline wasn't always a winning trait of mine but I had to get down to it somehow. So my homework was sitting in front of me, half done and my eyes drooping already. It was pretty much all I could do for now, seeing as my homework consisted mainly of assignments that took time if depth was going to be incorporated into them. My eyes wandered over to the radio and a deep sigh escaped me. The time never relents does it? The cruel lights shone out at me a bright 12.01AM. I know it mightn't be that late as I was nineteen after all, but it's just that I hadn't a decent wink of sleep lately that surely I could sleep by now. Pain was starting in on my cramped legs so I nosey-ed down to the kitchen and half-heartedly chewed on an oat bar bought from the convenience store down the road. It was from the same day they ripped me off my $36.55 and after on the bus I heard that girl's grim but endearing voice. I had nearly forgotten all about her. In fact I had, but now I wondered about her. Where she was, what she was doing, who she was with…who she is. I decided I want to know more about this enigmatic girl; surely she'd catch the bus again soon. My mind went to the family next door, the bus girl forgotten for now. I had the crazy idea to 'pop' over and introduce myself to the son. As I binned the wrap of my midnight snack, I peered out the kitchen window and saw that one room light was still on upstairs in the Amsel's household. In my tired state and weary mind, a dash of thrill and spontaneity came over me and I quickly made for the door.
The night proved to be very warm signaling the very near oncoming of full out summer. I hardly could wait! Taking in the shadowy streets lined with weak street lamps and the odd lights that were still on in the neighbours' houses, I vacantly mused myself with the thoughts of my neighbours if they were to see a young girl leisurely ambling the dark of night in her sleepwear. I let out a sudden but quiet titter, then I heard a rustle in the trees that surrounded one house so I quickened my pace and reached the side of the Amsel residence. There was no ladder that led up to the lit room so I searched for an alternative. What was I doing, I thought. Is this trespassing? I'm just paying a friendly visit... if you call potential spying friendly… My eyes set on an interesting structure that winded itself up to the illuminated room. I glanced cautiously around me then proceeded to climb the contraption. Upon being halfway there I inclined my head upwards and noticed that the window was open. Had it been before? Even though I was hiking up pretty slowly, I continued ever slower just in case I made a noise and the victim of my devious espionage should suspect. Alas, I was at the top. Keeping firm footing and grasp of the supporting wood I daringly raised my head inch by inch, at snail's pace. When I had the slightest vision required for sufficient peeping, I stopped. I hadn't prepared for it, and now I might risk being dubbed as the perverted neighbour of this neighbourhood! For the light blinded me momentarily and I shot my head back down. Oh no, I thought, surely the person must've seen me since it was such a craptastic movement. I berated myself while holding on tightly to the wooden structure. I didn't want to descend, because if I had not been seen and made a raucous clutter while I escaped and caused the person to discover me anyway then well, that would be stupid. On the other hand, if I slid down quietly and slowly, I still would have been found out because if the person had already spotted me beforehand and came over to the window then I would still be slowly declining towards the ground. Either way I was doomed, thus I decided to hang on. A few moments passed then a few more. The person did not see me! Either that or something else was up. I peered over with as little of me visible as physically possible. To my surprise and somewhat disappointment, the room was vacant. Then I heard some locks open and doors creaked. I jerked my head out of view. Silence followed so I ensued and inched my head up once again only to see –
'Up there.' It was from below. I twisted my head down.
'Are you barking up the wrong tree?' he asked.
I've been caught! My wonderful impulsive mission had failed. I cast my eyes away from him and reclined back down to the surface.
He waited until I reached the ground until he spoke again.
'Stay there. What is your name?'
I blinked in the darkness. I noticed he had the same accent as his parents. Well that is what I'm assuming, that he was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Amsel. But for all I know he could be a friend, who had came with them from their original land and thus still wore the accent.
He shone a torch on me. I shied away from the blinding beam. He clicked it off and I faced him again.
'I'm sorry, I just want to see who you are since you seem to not hear.'
I finally found my voice. 'I am your left neighbour. Georgina Gurski. Well assuming that you live here.'
He nodded, his hair shaking with the movement, the moon behind him outlining his silhouette. I couldn't quite see his eyes, only a pair of slightly glistening dots.
'What were you trying to do?' he gazed up at his room window. His face enlightened with the light and I could see boyish but striking features that were complimented by strangely speckled eyes.
'I – ' but he didn't let me finish.
'Sig Amsel.' He stated as he faced me again. I hadn't realized I was subconsciously trying to remember his name, although now that he said it, I am sure his father called him…
'Sigi. Theo addressed you as – '
'But Sig is fine too. And of course you are not Theo, you do not want to call me by that.'
'You can call me George.' I smiled.
He stepped closer. I smelt a faintly exotic aroma. 'You're not a boy are you?'
I laughed, then realized I was really tired. 'No, but George is fine too.'
'Well in that case, you must sleep. Girls are not meant to know of the night and its tribulations.' His teeth shone as he smiled lazily with his head slightly dropped. He was rather close and I could feel and smell his breathe.
'Were you smoking weed?' I questioned bluntly.
He stuffed his hands into his jeans and continued to look down at me. 'I'm going to bed now.' He made a show of reaching for the heavens and yawning.
Apparently the spur-of-the-moment feeling was still sparking inside of me despite my zilch energy left, because what I said next was definitely not what I would or could normally say.
'I'm going down to Mont Bay. It'll be cool if you came.' I surprised myself, I said it so simply.
'Not on Monday nights m'am. Anyway I'm swamped.' My stomach fell. Some courageous acts really weren't worth doing. I watched him retreat inside and started on my trek to Mont Bay. There I laid under the black vastness and watched the Sun rise.