Tye's Work (standard:other, 1371 words)
Author: Siobhan McHenry	Added: Oct 03 2003	Views/Reads: 3094/2133	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
there is no way to describe this...

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

to the toilets, splashing water on her face, holding her hair back as 
she groaned swaying with a loose grip on the edge of the bowl. 

"I am gonna be a writer and you'll have your music and a flying V guitar
and we'll play this stage, me hollering into the mike, swaying off the 
stand..." 

Kelly showed Claire her thin, white wrists, a criss-cross of little
faded scars...She was starting to hear voices she said, for real or for 
show Claire wasn't sure. Her dad had left a mess of ripped up posters, 
broken guitars, scattered papers in Kelly's room...just like a 
hurricane, ...and Claire wouldn't wash her hair for weeks, just like a 
singer she loved who'd hidden out in a cave for six months...taken out 
of the crowd in class, gently pulled to the side of the stage by a 
concerned teacher, standing next to the fish tank, she watched the 
fishes scales flash a spectrum of colours as they swam from side to 
side, half hearing the questions, the whys, the "is there trouble at 
home". Claire knew there was, but it was all too sad and too much for 
this woman to hear, the black eye was an accident, just her playing 
Catch with a clumsy sister, no need for mothers flying slippers or 
brain shattering screams to tell of... 

So their home lives drew them closer together, they suffered their pains
like Romantic heroes, deep and waiflike, immersed in poetry and music. 
Claire left home, with a bleeding thumb and a grazed knee, thrown out 
onto the gravel driveway by mother. She moved in with her Aunt. 

They got stoned in the kitchen once, blowing smoke into the cats eyes.
It sat on the table, upright feet together, like a buddha in deep 
meditation...the next morning they woke up to find that the slitty eyed 
pussycat had eaten a whole block of butter...Aunty screamed at them 
like a demented harpie in human form...There were whole bottle of vodka 
nights, painting poetry and penises on the wall of Claire's room, 
litter of smoked roll-ups and artwork, now she wanted to be a 
painter...but most of the time all she did was sleep or spin round on 
the office chair in her room, taking tokes as she span and listening to 
classical music just to get her to that state of mind where she could 
drift or paint pictures... 

"because my cycle is lyrical" the full moon Claire said was that time of
the month for her, bloody tides fermenting in a house full of 
sychronised pre-menstrual anger. So, in Aunty's house, tempers would 
flair...the biggest fight caused the wood in the front door to split 
when Kelly had slept with Claire's boyfriend, they had left school by 
now, almost leaving the old things behind...and old photos were burned 
in the fire under the mantelpiece...memories of their friendship were 
fading fast..Claire was in college reading Virginia Woolf and the 
Marquis de Sade, Kelly worked in a warehouse, misery between rows of 
cold steel, black hard floors, legs tired...metal drudgery inside cages 
monotonous, quick musical fingers speed up the flow of work... 
propositioned every day, a Sikh proposed to her after four days there, 
he was due to have an arranged marriage with a pakistani girl, but 
Kelly said he was a gangsta up to all sorts of things. 

Life seemed to be moving at two parallel motions, one where they were
getting older and older, towards their dreams, and another with whole 
days spent in bed or work, slowing down their ambition. The town was 
grey, that was all, and they wanted more than ever to get away from 
there. And they had grown apart. 

Into reflective: a wet dizzy falling puddle sickness, black surface sky.
Thin wrists faded cross white...grey light in dawn of new day like two 
bodies finding white... 


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