Click here for nice stories main menu

main menu   |   standard categories   |   authors   |   new stories   |   search   |   links   |   settings   |   author tools

Tye's Work (standard:other, 1371 words)
Author: Siobhan McHenryAdded: Oct 03 2003Views/Reads: 2569/1759Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
there is no way to describe this...

Two teenagers sitting in the local park, debris of broken glass,
squashed beercans, a small childs shoe and countless cigarette butts... 
these same two teenage girls sharing a joint on a burnout bench covered 
in graffiti. Two teenage girls celebrating their last day of school, a 
convent where even wearing mascara during school hours was a cardinal 
sin, and they had been in the troubles for braiding their hair, 
listening to punkrock and heavy metal, and getting caught smoking in 
the toilets. They both wore combat trousers and dog chains hanging off 
their hips, Claire added to the 'grunge' look by wearing her dads 
jumpers too. They were the only two of their kind in school. 

The hot july sun beat down on their pale anorexic faces, Kelly  had
taken pre-cautions, keeping suntan lotion in her bag alongside the 
biography of Marilyn Manson, she had gone to the library purposefully 
requesting the Satanic Bible, too young to take it just yet the 
librarian said... 

They talked and laughed and bitched in a stony smoke haze of lidded grey
shut eyes, gone all red around the cheeks...they watched kids play on 
the swings, sunlight on their golden heads..but too pre-occuppied, with 
Kurt Cobain and poetry, "electrolytes smell like semen",...all over 
their physics folder...the day was lazy and full of space. 

Two immigrants approached them, "you come to my hause?" the two girls,
looked up grinning red, "whaat iz your names?" they waited cheeks 
blushing for the men to go away. Eventually they moved off themselves. 

Crunch of gravel, under four feet, slouching bent head walk, they
wandered off in directionless boredom...the sky was a pithalo blue, and 
sweat was on their backs, though really just a dainty glow, four pounds 
for a dog chain to way themselves down even more... 

Guitars and boys were the conversation of the moment, they would get old
they knew, but by then they'd have tattoos and black dye in their hair 
and monster boots, amethyst rocks on their tables in a circle of 
lighted candles. They would practice witchcraft on the wooden used to be I-ching and predictions in the school playground, 
gathering popularity and proud knowlodge of otherwordly things...the 
dinnerladies did not comment or they did not see, the harmless pale, 
pasty faces of skinny girls all the same, give or take a tie knotted 
round the head like Claire used to wear just for the show of it, or 
perhaps one pink braid in the hair or a little eyeliner, not enough to 
get noticed...Onetime Kelly's weekend painted black nails were a thing 
of concern, peeling throughout the week, so the Head of the year kept 
some nail polish remover in her cupboard...In English, they would 
bellow loud from secret morning whisky breakfasts, which made Claire 
fall into doors and giggle. 

There was violence at home, terrible feeling unknown to the public eyes
outside, parents worried by "devil's music" and laziness...the girls 
worried by the loneliness of not quite fitting in between peroxide, 
loud tall girls all with boyfriends far older than them... 

They got boyfriends eventually, spotty, wearing braces talking of
computers and other trite stuff, that the girls did not understand or 
just didnt care about.. they wanted Kurt Cobain or Byron, not these 

Friday nights were gig nights, howling screaming joyous guitars,
darkness in the winter nights, the favourite season, running home 
jacked up on Vodka and lager, walks in graveyards feeling the 
tranquility, almost falling in graves once (Claires trick, they had 
lost each other, running in opposite directions round the church, pitch 
black covered in mist, only a white shining full moon for a guide. 
Howls, from little feet wrapped in dark leather.). Dizzy sickness, 
falling into a reflective puddle of the sky, wrapped up in wet silky 

"Where do we go from here?" Over the railway bridge, dirty with that
fearful blind corner, anyone could jump out on them...down the stairs, 
a catch of the heel on the curb, and get splashed by mess of rainwater 
and tobacco ends... Kelly tried to get with a man six foot five tall, 
silent and spaced out, stood stiff as a tree dug deep into the ground, 
she fell off him vertical, lightly meeting the floor, Claire had to 
grab both her arms, dragging her across the piss and beer floor through 

Click here to read the rest of this story (64 more lines)

Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Siobhan McHenry has 5 active stories on this site.
Profile for Siobhan McHenry, incl. all stories

stories in "other"   |   all stories by "Siobhan McHenry"  

Nice Stories @, support email: nice at nicestories dot com
Powered by StoryEngine v1.00 © 2000-2020 - Artware Internet Consultancy