“We could be catastrophic,” Leonard once wrote on the tiny magnetic chalkboard that hung from the refrigerator door. It was a song lyric. The stick of white chalk crumbled in his fist as he wrote it. “That’s how much I love you.”
The night before, he had gotten home late. Too late. He’d played…
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
“The Great Escape”
Patrick Watson, CLOSE TO PARADISE
(Source: lilaccandy, via benanddavid)
“Bicycle races are coming your way
So forget all your duties oh yeah!
Fat bottomed girls they’ll be riding today
So look out for those beauties oh yeah!”
Queen - Bicycle Race
Carnival Boy
He was there, every year for the annual Thurngate High School fashion show, leaning against the marquee pole, confident and tall, sharp eyed and close lipped. Last year a grey hoody and dirty jeans, overgrown shaggy hair, but this year different; a black button up shirt and dark Levy jeans, and short spiky black hair. No earrings, no rips in his jeans and no sly grin or beady eyes. He shook the head master’s hand as he walked passed but then returned to his previous stance. His height was impressive and removed him from the happenings of the low landers. A group of girls passed; low cut revealing singlets and ripped, short shorts; high heeled boots. He remained focused; his eyes scanning the empty stage.
A group of guys passed, low riding Vans shorts and pinching black singlets, exaggerated swagger and low flat caps. He didn’t flinch as they passed; or even look their way. One guy stopped to shake his hand; a sign of respect. He directed his attention to the hand shaker for a moment before dismissing him. The low riding lads disappeared from the tent and into the abandoned school grounds.
I strained my neck as I twisted around in my seat, openly watching him. I couldn’t believe he was here again. I found myself unconsciously combing my fingers through my now tousled, blond hair; a habit I had been trying to break.
“Scar, what are you looking at?” Em asked, but disinterested in my answer, already caught by the sound of her mobile phone buzzing with a message.
“He’s here again!” I said as he turned his head and lowered his eyes catching my gaze. I turned away in embarrassment and then attempted to glance inconspicuously around the room again to find him still looking, no staring at me.
“Em, don’t look, but I think he is looking this way. No! Don’t look! Oh, Em!”
“Who? Mr Morrison?” Em asked before returning her attention back to her mobile. I turned around in my seat but he was gone. I felt a pang of disappointment as I looked around the marquee and was unable to spot him.
I stood up to get a clearer view over the taller heads and looked over Em’s shoulder but found my view blocked by a tall black figure with short spiky black hair.
