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Old 04-20-2014, 12:37 PM   #1
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The Diaries. Part 1.

Ok, I think I've finally exhausted my editing skills so here's the first part of the Diaries. Make the characters who you will. Of course, I have my own images when writing I hope you like it and that the wait has been worth it.

Enjoy...

Right then, here we go.



© Works written by Youvedonewhat. 20 04 14.

Please do not copy/re-post these works without my permission. I'm not set up for Windows Live Mail but if you'd like to email me, you'll find me at Denise2046797803@AOL.COM


My life by Susan.


No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they’re pretty; even if they aren’t. Marilyn Monroe.

:-:

Monday 4th.

I am fifteen. I don’t look fifteen; more like twelve. I live with my parents. They had me when they were quite old; a surprise they said, or was I a mistake? Either way, mother almost died in childbirth. Not that she would tell me this. Instead, I found out by accident; a deliberate accident by a twisted old fart who lives in my village.

Every morning she’ll be sitting at the table by the window looking out, watching the world go by. In the summer she takes to standing on her front doorstep, arms folded across her wizened old lady chest and casting her beady eyed gaze over anything that might move. And, every time she sees me, she makes a thing of staring; skewering me with her horrible, old lady eyes.

When I was younger I used to wonder why she looked at me in that way for she’d always give me a withering look and exhale loudly, making known her dislike of me. Very often she’d mutter something when I was within earshot; muttered but said loudly enough for me to hear. “However did such a sweet girl give birth to someone as ugly as you? God must have been looking the other way when you came out”.

And, when I was younger, I didn’t know what she meant. In my ignorance I used to smile at her but she’d just turn her back on me and go inside. So, I never knew until later that mother almost departed this world because of me. That crab made sure I found out though; oh yes. She told me in another of her muttered sentences; “Nearly died, she did. When you came out, she nearly died”.

:-:

My parents are very strict. I can’t wear nice clothes or make up. Even my school uniform is ancient; a hideous below the knee pleated skirt, a white shirt and tie. “Yer mustn’t ferget yer tie! A decent sized knot! No; not like that! Do it agen”. And I have to wear white knee socks whilst all the other girls are in tights and instead of the nice shoes the other girls get to wear, I have heavy black shoes with laces, great big, flat, square things they buy from the shitty local shoe store.

“Yer need a good, strong, well lastin’ pair o’ shoes not them flimsy things the other’s wear wi’ their fancy ‘eels an’ buckles! Them’s shoes made fer tarts! An’ make sure they last a whole year cos yer’ll not be gettin’ any more!” And as an afterthought when I’d hoped I’d made good my escape, father’s voice following me up the stairs. “An’ make sure yer clean ‘em well! I want to see me face in ‘em!” The shoes are the only things I have that are new. Everything else that I have are at least second hand; someone else’s cast offs. A reject; like me.

:-:

And I don’t like school. If I were pretty I’d probably enjoy going. I could flirt then; be fancied by all the boys but I’m not pretty see, and the boys don’t fancy me. In fact, I hate the way I look as much as they do. I think I have a mouth that’s maybe too full and a nose that kind of sits in the middle of my face. Yeah, I know that everyone’s nose sits in the middle of their faces but I hate mine. It isn’t small and shapely like some of the girls and I have eyes that look like I’m hiding some dark secret; which in a way; I kind of am. It’s not as if I’m brainy either. At least brainy girls can make up with brain power for what they might lack in looks. Me, I lack in both so I hate school especially when the teacher makes me stand up in front of the whole class to answer a question when I’ve no idea what it’s about.

:-:

Monday 11th.

There are boys at my school. I like some of them, none of them like me; not in that way anyway. Well, there is one, maybe. His name is John. He is a year older than me and has a shock of thick, black hair which always gets him into trouble. He won’t cut it, see; likes it long. Unfortunately the school does not. So at the very least he is regularly excluded and told not to come back until it’s a decent length. Luckily for me, his mother sends him right back again. His hair is now short – for the time being.

I remember when I first wrote his name inside one of my school books. Father found it. He demanded to know who this John was. Had he touched me? If he’d touched me! I said no, though I wished that he had. I was hot for the want of him; ached for the need of him. Still, he makes me laugh and when he smiles at me it reaches his eyes. This means it’s genuine and knowing such, my heart swells.

I think he might be playing me though. He knows that I like him although he keeps it to himself. If there’s no one about he’ll speak to me; be kind, even appear to be a little interested but if his friends are around he ignores me. I hate his friends. They’re all high on testosterone; out to shock and impress, talking in loud voices about tampons and sanitary wear, a subject that makes me cringe. I’m sure they do it on purpose just to see my face heat up nice and red like a beetroot. He doesn’t quite join in with their teasing and insults but he doesn’t stand up for me either.

:-:

Most of the time I feel small and alone. The girls laugh at me; call me Dumpling on account of me being a bit round. I so wish I were popular. I wish I had a personality and not just be a faded echo of someone else’s. It’s easy to mimic someone else but it doesn’t seem to work for me. They know it for what it is; a copy, a fake.

Not like Jenny; Jenny of the Big Tits whom all the boys like. Now, Jenny Big Tits attracts boys like I attract acne. And, she’s very popular with the girls too, you know. Oh yes, just because she attracts boys both younger and older; what, with her fantastic figure and short skirts, long legs that go all the way up to her bum cheeks, (which she’s more than happy to show off, what, with her always bending over in front of them and all), and her tiny feet in those shoes made for tarts.

And then there are her breasts; her ample breasts. Yep, those full, round orbs that the boys are always staring at. They call her Double D you know, on account of those twin mounds of desire. True, the boys never have a conversation with her face. Their eyes are always down her blouse and she loves it. She leaves at least three of the top buttons undone and deliberately flashes them glimpses of where they’d like to reside. My buttons are always done up to the top. There isn’t much point in leaving any of mine open. No one would be interested and besides I’d die from embarrassment if anyone ever saw the horrible, old fashioned brassieres that mother makes me wear. Anyway, as if things aren’t bad enough in my life, that cow, Jenny Bit Tits has gone and begun a torrid romance with John.

:-:

So that’s it. The cow has taken him off me. Oh, I know he isn’t really mine but it still feels like she’s helped herself to my man. What makes it worse is that she knows I like him and she takes every opportunity to rub it in my face so whenever I’m around she’s all over him like a dung beetle over shite.

The other day, in front of almost the entire school, Jenny, speaking in a loud voice and looking directly at me made an announcement. There weren’t nearly as many people there as I imagined but it still might have as well been an announcement from the school stage; Dumpling Fancies John. I needed to die.

The boys fell about laughing and making puking noises whilst the girls giggled and tittered behind their hands. I stood in silence. I felt as though I’d committed a crime and been found out; Dumpling Fancies John. I felt a heat building up behind my eyes and knew the need to weep and when I looked up at John to gauge his reaction, there it was; the look, the look that spelled out one word; reject. And then he spoke; “You have got to be kidding. I wouldn’t touch that with a barge pole!” His cruel words went round and round in my head; you have got to be kidding! You have got to be kidding! No one came to my rescue. No one wanted to be labelled as Dumpling’s friend so I did what I always do; I walked away.

I went home dragging my tattered feelings along with me. I felt like my world had collapsed, see. John is my lifeline; the only escape from the futility of my existence. If I can’t fantasize about him I have nothing. And I can’t fantasize about him whilst he’s with her, seeing her shitty face next to his! I hate her!

:-:

Tuesday 1st.

When I got home from school today, I was greeted my mother’s frowning face. I knew immediately that something was wrong but was too scared to ask what. Father was sitting in his favourite chair by the fire. He had a steaming mug of tea in his hand and a newspaper on his lap. As soon as he saw me, his face clouded over. I knew that I was in for it. What I didn’t know was why.

And, I really hate him you know, I mean, really hate him. He’s always been so overbearing; was in the army for years. Got retired early on health grounds but maybe they just wanted rid of him. He stayed home after that and made my life a misery; been in charge of the young cadets, see; been used to barking out his orders so now he barks them out at me instead; do this, do that, no, don’t do that. That’s wrong. Do it again. I hate him so much.

So I’m standing there waiting to see what’s wrong. He eyeballs me from his place in the chair and then speaks; “There’s travellers”, he states like I know what he’s on about. “Set up camp in the night”. At my blank expression he continues. “Up on Farmer Ison’s yonder west field. I’ll not ‘ave yer goin’ up there an’ consortin’ wi’ the likes o’ them! Them boys are only after one thing an’ they’ll tek wot’s offered, make no mistake! Now, stay away; yer ‘ear!”

I nodded and backed out of the room, hearing my mother speak. “She’ll not bother with them. They’re not like us”.

And him replying; “She’s a girl, in’t she? First sign o’ a bit o’ brawn an’ a whisker an' she’ll be out there floutin’ ‘erself like some dockside ‘ore!”

:-:

Saturday 5th.

It’s the weekend. First thing this morning and there is his voice; booming up the stairs, giving me my wake up call. He wants me to go fetch his newspaper from the corner shop. I decide that he can go shite. I don’t want to get up. It’s not fair. Saturdays are supposed to be ‘lie-in’ days but they never are; not in our household. At first I ignore him but then he shouts again and it doesn’t do to have him repeat himself. So, I get up, wash, dress, saunter extra slowly down the stairs. I enter the dining room and at the breakfast table. As usual, we eat in silence except for when father tells me to hurry up and fetch his paper and, to stay away from those bloody, filthy travellers!

A short while later I put on my coat; a vile red thing mother found in a thrift shop. It’s got false fur around its hem and cuffs and I hate it. They know I don’t like it and yet they make me wear it to school every day even though they know it gives the others ammunition to torment me. As father won’t buy me anything else I have no choice but to wear it. Mother drops a few coins in my hand and I leave.

Up the road, I take off the hideous coat and although I’m cold I feel better off without it. In my jeans and sweater I breeze along the street, passed all the houses built before the Great War, passed the twitching net curtains, ignoring the eyes that hide behind them and on towards the village shop. And I am free; at least for a while.

:-:

When I enter the shop there is a heated conversation going on. Me, I pretend to read the label on a can of beans so that I can listen. “…set up camp in the night!” I hear my neighbour, Mrs Adamson saying. “They’d better be gone soon! I can’t stand ‘em!”

“Lock up your daughters, hee hee”. A local man chuckles in a jovial manner. A silence follows and I can see Mrs Adamson scowling and hugging her own bosoms in open disgust at his comment. I come out from behind the beans.

“Susan! And a good morning to you”. A kind voice at last.

“Mr Johnson,” I say to the man behind the counter. “I’ll take my father’s paper please”.

“Have you seen them?” He asks me.

“Seen who?”

“Travellers!” Mrs Adamson snaps like the very word itself tastes bad. My eyes drop momentarily to her shopping bag and I note the way she’s holding onto it; that her knuckles are white as though someone would steal it.

“Oh no. I’ve not seen anyone”. I reply.

“Set up camp in the…”

“Night; yes I know”. I finish off for her, holding out a few coins for the newspaper.

“There’ll be trouble! You mark my words!” She’s off on one again; putting the world to rights. I pay for my paper and leave.

:-:

Oh, I forgot to mention that it was sunny this morning. When I came out of the shop and glanced up at the sky I saw it was a beautiful blue; not a single cloud. I wished right then that I didn’t have to go back to my bad tempered, lemon faced father. I wished that I was headed somewhere exciting with someone nice and not back home, but I knew that I’d never be going anywhere exciting and certainly not with someone nice. Nice was for other people. The only place I was going was back to father but you know, I wasn’t in any particular hurry to get back to him. He could go shite – twice over, though I wouldn’t push it too far. I would walk slowly, mind. I would pretend that there’d been a queue in the shop.

So I headed home and studied the pavement; watched myself as I put one foot in front of the other. I always walk in this manner; my face downcast, my shoulders hunched; my direction aimless. But for some reason or other as I plodded along I looked up and that’s when I saw them; two men in the distance and they were walking towards me.

:-:

They weren't locals. I could see that by their clothing and the nearer they got I realised that they were older than me, probably about ten years or so. That would put them at twenty five, twenty six. One of them was wearing a dark hat and sported whiskers at his jaw. He wore a dark waistcoat over a white shirt with no collar. I’ve seen these kind of shirts before; usually on old men. Apparently, the collars used to be sold separately from the shirts. Anyways, his jeans were held up by red braces and had holes at the knees. He was wearing heavy, brown boots with just the merest glimpse of red socks peeking out from over the top of them. I liked that; red socks. The Parents would never allow me to wear red socks. Red is the whore’s colour or so father keeps on telling me.

My eyes moved to the other. He was a couple of inches shorter and a little broader. He was wearing a dark shirt and black jeans underneath a black calf length coat which was hanging open. I noted that he’d rolled the sleeves up, exposing hairy forearms and finished it all off with a pair of black boots.

As they approached I could see a necktie at the base of the second one’s throat and a couple of odd looking necklaces hanging beneath it. They both appeared to have short hair but when they got close enough I could see that it wasn’t short at all. It was tied back. Oh and the shorter one’s hair was a deep, shiny brown and not black as I’d first thought. He sported an earring in one ear; an unusual thing on a man in my world and he was talking. He had a wide grin on his face. It was a nice face; open, kind and my insides did a little flip.

The other was listening; his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his holey jeans. I knew that I was staring, that I should look away but I couldn’t. After all, they weren’t exactly an everyday sight in my shitty, full of old people village so I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity like that was I? Aside from which, they were proper men and I’m not used to proper men.

:-:

As they walked passed me the one in the waistcoat reached into a pocket and fished out a squashed cigarette packet, pulling one out with his lips. My insides fluttered. They were very attractive, both of them and as he walked by, the talker flashed me the brightest smile I’ve ever seen; a smile that reached his eyes telling me that he was genuine. My heart missed a beat. The one in the waistcoat merely nodded in passing and that’s when I saw it; the feather stuck in the band around his hat.

Now, I’ve never seen a feather stuck in the rim of a man’s hat before and I was intrigued. So that’s what travellers look like and then they were gone; passed by me and off towards the shop. I stopped and stared after them. I was very impressed. They weren’t like the stupid boys at school who were all reedy and infantile. These were real men. They looked like real men, walked like real men and had an air of confidence about them like real men and my insides knew lust.

After staring at their backs for a little while, I gave up on my lusting and turned to walk home. Course, I got to wondering then what it would be like to be courted by men like that; to be courted by real men and not stupid, groping boys although to be fair I haven’t been courted by stupid, groping boys either. Even so, I still wondered what it would be like to spend time with a man who knew what he was doing and who wasn’t full of shite like the boys at school. It was nice thinking about them in that way but deep down I knew I’d never get a boyfriend, let alone one like them. I continued home; my heart heavy in my chest. After all my life is shit, isn’t it

:-:

Mind you, I hadn’t got very far when I heard the tinkle of the shop bell and I really couldn’t resist throwing a glance over my shoulder. I wanted one more look but to my disappointment they’d gone inside so I scowled and carried on, hating everything about my life and everyone in it. But then a thought occurred to me; I realised that they might come back the way they came and if I slowed down enough then they’d catch up, wouldn’t they? I would get another look at them and so that’s what I did; I slowed right down to a snail’s pace. Ok, I’d only see the back of them when they went by but it was better than nothing. However, if I waited for them, if I sat down on a wall maybe, well, I’d see them properly wouldn’t I. I could always make out I was simply passing the time of day if anyone asked.

I selected my perch carefully; one that wasn’t too high, one that was wide enough to take my arse; one that afforded me the best vantage point. I had to get one final look at them before they drifted out of my life forever. Whilst I waited for them, I got to wondering why father hated travellers so much. They looked alright to me. In fact, they looked more than alright; good looking, rugged, men’s men.

The shop door opened again. From where I was sitting I could see it. The one in the hat stepped out into the sunshine and flung his cigarette onto the ground, stubbed it out with a booted foot and a curse and disappeared back inside again. Me, I waited with interest. A few minutes later they emerged from the shop. The shorter one was still talking. In his hand he held a brown paper bag. I didn’t know what was in it though it was kind of shaped like a bottle. And, oh, but he had a grin on him the devil would envy. The other was lighting up again and then they were walking towards me.

To a plain, village girl like me they looked so very strong and masculine. I wanted to stare at them; take in every detail but instead I looked down at the weeds growing between the bricks in the wall. I was too shy to meet their eyes. Within a few seconds their feet came into my line of vision. I looked up as they ambled by just in time to be rewarded with another amazing smile that reached the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my short, sheltered life. They were so blue they made me think of summer.

“Beautiful day”. Stated the mouth beneath those twinkling orbs.

I drew in a sharp breath and tried to return his smile but the hated shyness took me and I had to look back down at the weeds. They continued on their way. I listened as their footfalls faded and for no apparent reason my heart sank, hit the pavement, shrivelled up and died but then the black boots returned to my line of vision. I saw the shiny, black leather, the black jeans and drew in a sharp breath. I could feel him close the gap between us and had to look up and when I did I found myself staring into the spellbinding blue of his beautiful gaze.

With my breath still lodged firmly in my throat, I panicked inside. I was desperately self conscious but couldn’t look away so I stared gormlessly up at him. Everything around me evaporated as he dipped his head so that his mouth almost touched my ear. As I pulled in the fine scent of him he whispered sixteen words that I’d never forget. “…Far too nice to look sad and a pretty girl like you should never look sad”. As my eyes widened with shock he winked at me and then, straightening up, he gave me another heart stopping smile and ran off to catch up with his companion.

Sunday 6th.

I don’t know if I told you earlier that I’m only allowed out to go to school, oh, and the weekend trek down the shop. Mother asked father once if I could go into town of a Saturday afternoon to fetch her shopping but he nipped that in the bud before it began. His voice had been cold, final; “She’ll be meetin’ up wi’ some young shite an’ disappearin’ be’ind the bus station wi’ ‘im!” Bus station; why would I want to go behind the bus station?

He thinks I’m a whore in the making. He doesn’t trust me. I’m not even allowed to stay on after school. Every week the school has extra lessons in leisure subjects; sports, drama, music. The gym remains open and the library too but I’m not allowed to attend any of these. He’s decided that I’d sneak off somewhere with some boy. Like there’d be any chance of that; Dumpling sneaking off or Dumpling disappearing with some young shite. And anyway, even if I wanted to, there’s no one at school I’d like to sneak off with. Not any more. I might as well be dead or worse still, live in some old farts home for wizened old virgins.

Monday 7th.

Ok, I have a new lifeline now. Since I saw him on Saturday morning, I’ve decided to spend all of my time lusting over my blue eyed traveller instead of John. (He can go shite. I don’t want him any more). I don’t know my traveller’s name, mind. I don’t know anything about him other than he’s older than me and has the bluest eyes. So blue they make me think of summer. Oh, and long, dark hair that touches his shoulders and sways when he walks. And the moment our eyes had locked! Oh, it’d only been for a split second before I’d grown hot and embarrassed and had to look away but it’d been the best split second of my entire life.

Whenever I think of him I feel all warm and contented inside. I’ve never felt like this before. A kind of sweetness builds up within me and my chest feels all excited. But then as always, another image slides into my mind. It’s an image of father’s shitty face. He’s angry. Father hates boys with long hair, see. “Should ‘ave short back an’ sides like I did when I were a boy!” A boy; was he ever a boy?

But you know, although father’s image ruins my fantasies, I still feel smug when I get to thinking how he’d react if I brought my blue eyed traveller home and announced; “This is my boyfriend”. Oh how his jaw would plummet to the floor at the sight of that long haired lout. And then once he realised that he was gaping, his mouth would close to form a thin line. The eyes would narrow and a heat would grow behind them. For the first time in his life he would be speechless; his daughter taking up with a bloody long haired, travelling’ shite.

I know this won’t happen though. Father will make sure I never have a boyfriend. Father always has the last word. He always wins. There will never be anyone for me. Like I said before; my life is shit isn’t it?

Thursday 10th.

I was bored so tonight, before it got dark, I sat by my bedroom window and gazed out. I took in the sprawling empty fields that stretch out from the bottom of our garden and got to thinking about him; my travelling man; the man with the twinkling eyes. The man with eyes so blue they make me think of summer.

When he’d straightened up and smiled at me just before taking off after his friend, his scent when he’d leaned over me; the smell of him; how the woods kind of clung to him, how he smelled like early morning spring time. And then, of course there was the smell of him; that individual scent a person carries around with them. I didn’t know about such things as pheromones until I saw some documentary on TV. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I do now. There was something attractive about the way he smelled. I can’t explain it but I know that I’m desperate to smell it again.

Monday 14th.

This morning, they stood directly behind me in assembly; The Coven, The Three Witches. Least that’s what I call them. They’re always together, picking on people and being mean. They stand at least a head taller than me. They are much thinner than me and all the boys like them. Veronica with her gorgeous hair and full mouth and Kim with her long, long legs and short skirts and then there’s Christine who’s not as pretty as the other two but still seems to attract the guys. They’re not dull and shy like me. They flirt and tease the boys in my year; make them greedy with want. They’re always getting asked out on dates unlike me who hasn’t been asked out by anybody.

And, they’re always singling me out, aren’t they. They’re always in my face seeking every opportunity to say something cruel, any excuse to be nasty and sarcastic. They always make me feel bad and stupid and ugly. Well, this morning they had a good reason to be even more horrible didn’t they because last Friday I did something very stupid; I told a girl in my class that I had a new boyfriend.

Well I had to didn’t I? I must be the only girl in the whole school who hasn’t had or got a boyfriend; the only girl in the whole school who hasn’t even had a proper snog, let alone anything else. And I so wish I was experienced, you know; knew about boys and things, (mainly about how they snog and what it feels like. I don’t know if I want to go down there just yet but I’ll take the snogging). Anyway, seeing as I had a new fantasy figure I was going to milk it for all it was worth, wasn’t I?

And, I had met a new man so it wasn’t quite a lie was it? I told a girl called Sharon all about him. I thought she was reasonably trustworthy. Well that just goes to show doesn’t it? I told her his name was Ian. I don’t know why I chose Ian; it just kind of fell out of my mouth. I told her that we’d got talking in the village and that he’d said as he was new around these parts, maybe I should show him places. I added that he’d said that he was lucky to have found me. I was also going to say that he’d said I was pretty but I guessed that Sharon wouldn’t believe that. She’d be certain I was lying then so I just said that he’d suggested we go to the cinema together the following weekend.

That had been enough. Now it’s all over the school; Dumpling has a new boyfriend; a boyfriend who must be stupid, or blind or desperate. I heard it all. As soon as I walked into assembly this morning it started; the whisperings, the sniggers, the jabs in the back and kicks on my heels. And then they became more vocal. “So, who is he?” Kim had whispered from behind, sticking her frizzy head in the gap in between myself and another girl. “Is he a half wit?”

And then Christine, also behind me, standing next to Kim; “Is he gorgeous and handsome or is he greasy and spotty with a stink that follows him everywhere?”

“Yes, Dumpling; he can’t be that good, else he wouldn’t be after you!” Kim’s voice again, just before she recoiled that snake-like neck back behind me to finish off with, “He must be brain dead to fancy that”.

I’d felt my eyes fill with the sting of tears but I wouldn’t let them see even though their cruel words and jibes had been followed by giggles and sniggers. The teacher on the stage stopped talking and glared in our direction. “You girls! At the back! Yes you! Stop talking and pay attention!” After assembly the sniggering and taunting continued all day but I did my best to ignore them. I’d save my tears for later; on my way home from school.

Same day: Monday 14th.

When I reached home this afternoon, instead of mother asking me why I’d been crying, she gave me a disapproving look. My insides shrivelled. I’d been out all day. What could I possibly have done in my own absence? “Your father wants a word”. She said. “He’s in his study”.

Now, these words never fail to terrify me. Usually if I’ve done something bad, I’ll get shouted at or a slap round the ear. To be summoned to his study is not good. Mother watched in silence as I turned and headed for my audience with the Superior Being. I didn’t look back at her. She is my mother but it didn’t make her come forward to give me moral support. I had no idea what I’d done but something had provoked his anger. And I was going to pay.

:-:

It started as soon as he heard me enter the room. “Yer’ve bin seen!” He said. He didn’t bother looking up from his book, merely addressed me through it. That’s because I’m not worth his looking at. I remained silent. It doesn’t do to give him an answer unless he asks for one. He spoke again; “Ged over ‘ere”. He said. “…an’ stand by the desk”.

Although I knew what this meant, I did as I was told and soaked up the pregnant atmosphere, willing myself not to show him that I was scared. I knew what was coming; why he wanted me to stand close to him. He continued in that omnipotent way of his. “Well? Wotcha got to say fer yersel’?”

Still he looked at his book as I answered him. I spoke in such a pathetic whisper I was disgusted at my own cowardice. The words, squeaky, came fearfully out of my lily-livered mouth. “I don’t know what you mean”. He always has that effect on me; always manages to make me quake and then beg for his forgiveness.

A silence ensued. I heard the clock ticking on the wall; heard the soft, distant tininess of a radio coming in through the window; heard him draw in a long, measured breath. For me, this slow, deep breathing is even more frightening than his shouting. Whenever he does this; draws in a long, steady breath, it’s like the calm before the storm. I know what’s coming but I can do nothing to stop it.

Finally, he spoke again; “Yer’ve bin seen…” I grew confused as he continued; “…cavortin’ wi’ those bloody travellers”.

I was at a loss. “…Travellers?” I genuinely didn’t know what he was on about and watched with dread as he exhaled slowly and then began to pull himself up out to the chair. As he unfurled himself to his full height; all six foot six of him, I knew real fear. At five foot nothing I cowered, cowered tiny in my ugly school girl shoes.

Another breath came out as he spoke to himself. He was shaking his head as he did so as though he didn’t believe his own words. “An’ after I strickly forbid it. I ‘spificly sed not to ‘ave anythin’ to do wi’ ‘em an’ wot do yer do?” He still wasn’t looking at me. I knew he was winding himself up and I held my breath. Of course, I wanted to deny it; to clear my name but my mouth remained resolutely shut because by then his eyes were slowly swivelling round. They would settle on me and I knew that when they did, they’d bore right through me; stony, cold orbs full of hate. In a quiet voice he answered his own question. “…Yer go straight out there an’ see ‘em”.

I had to get in quick; had to try to diffuse his anger. “I didn’t”. I tried to protest but knew it was useless. I’ve been here before. I know the drill. So I watched in agony as I saw his chest rise; knew what was coming. I could either stand my ground and defy him, or cower and take it. Either way; he’d win.

His eyes were wide, frightening. “Is that all yer ‘ave to say?”

“It’s true. I didn’t go to see them. I didn’t”. My words made no difference.

A muscle began to twitch in his jaw. I knew that I’d lost.

“Yer were seen talkin’ to ‘em; bold as brass, givin’ ‘em the old come on!”

I shook my head, confused, anxious; intimidated. And then I realised what he was talking about. He was on about the Saturday before last when my blue eyed traveller stopped to speak to me. I tried to defend myself. “I didn’t talk to them. I didn’t!” They talked to me.

At my words, his hand snaked out and he grabbed my arm catching me by surprise. I’d known it was coming but was still taken aback by it. Instinct made me pull away but he hung on, digging his fingers into my skin. His face was accusing, frightening, as he continued to insult me. “…A liar too, eh? A liar an’ an ‘ore!” His voice was rising and the more it rose, the more painful a position he forced my arm into. “My daughter; the ‘ore; the lying, cheap ‘ore!” He screwed up his face as he continued. “There’s only one thing ‘ores like you understand”. And I watched; the sounds around me slipping away; the clock, the radio. I saw his hand rise above me. Time stopped but like a bad slow motion film it suddenly speeded up again. He connected with my face.

:-:

The force of his swing made my head bounce backwards and lights flashed before my eyes but I knew that he was still holding onto me when he hit me a second time. “Yer was told to stay away! An’ yer will! Yer’ll stay away if I ‘ave to batter yer inter next week!”

I heard myself begging then; always begging. “Please stop it. I won’t see them again. I won’t. Please don’t. No more. No more”. I’d do his bidding. I’d do anything; admit to anything just to make him stop.

“No! Yer won’t see ‘em agen! Yer won’t; now ged out!” He propelled me across the room, still screwing up my arm, only now holding my elbow above my head seeing as he is so much taller than I. At least I was being dismissed. And when I ran from the room I passed mother who was hovering in silence like a spectre in the hallway. He was still shouting after me but I didn’t look back. “I’ll decide wot to do wi’ yer later! An’ wot’re you starin’ at?” It was mother’s turn.

:-:

Course, I tried to figure out who he’d got his information from. Nobody had been around when my blue eyed traveller had stopped to talk to me. I hadn’t noticed anyone but then yes. Oh yes. Mrs Adamson. That bitch had been in the shop. She was always gossiping, spreading her darkness. The cow must have seen me sitting on the wall and stopped to spy on me. She’d have seen him come back to talk to me. What was wrong with her; being so spiteful and stirring things?

Anyway, I have to confess that as I write this I’m willing something nasty to befall her. Oh yes. I so hope that bitch gets some embarrassing infestation and hopefully it’ll be raging in her drawers.

:-:

Tuesday 15th.

Ok, before I begin I want you to know that I’ve given father a new name. He shall be known as The Shit Head from now on. He no longer reserves the right to be addressed as father, or my dad; my papa. No; The Shit Head is much more fitting.

:-:

So where was I? Oh yes. As a direct result from my cavorting with the enemy, I am forbidden to go down the shop for the next two Saturdays. This, according to The Shit Head will put a stop to any funny business as they will probably have up and left by then. And, for inconveniencing The Shit Head in this manner (meaning he’ll have to go get his own newspaper), I am to stay in my room for the full length of my punishment. I’ll take my meals in my room, get up, go to school, come home, eat, go to bed; nothing much different there then. So, that’s it; no more long haired traveller. No more eyes so blue, they make me think of summer. No more fucking anything.

Saturday 9th.

Well, my imprisonment is finally over. You might be thinking that I’m a week late with that. Well, I’m not. The Shit Head kept me home for an extra Saturday didn’t he; just for good measure. I know why he did it; why he extended my punishment; it was to make sure that the travellers have moved on. I’m sure he’s seen to it that they have. He’s probably been onto the local plod to get rid of them.

So well now, I know I won’t ever meet my blue eyed traveller again, will I? This morning when I went down to the shop I didn’t see him. I knew that I wouldn’t, although I was still hopeful that I would. I suppose I’d half expected him to show up somewhere along the way but he didn’t. He’s gone hasn’t he. (No question mark here as this is a statement. This is fact).

Friday 15th.

Not writing anything today except that I’ll be expected to fetch The Shit Head’s paper tomorrow morning, won’t I? And I won’t see my traveller will I? So yeah, another fine, shite day.

Saturday 16th; morning.

So, I goes down the shop. Yeah, I was crabby; wore my face like something had crawled up my arse and died there but I didn’t care. There was no way I was going to be polite to anyone. My blue eyed traveller had gone and with him, so had all my dreams. I was dreamless and therefore, everyone could go shite. In the newsagents I barely strung two words together for Mr Johnson. I paid for The Shit Head’s paper and left.

Outside, I knew the need to cry, (again). I felt such hopelessness. I knew, for instance, exactly what I’d be doing for the rest of the day. I’d be doing what I always did every Saturday; help mother with the chores, get barked at by The Shit Head, carry out some task he’d set me, get barked at again for not doing it right or not doing it well enough. There’d be a silent lunch, well, I say silent, except for The Shit Head’s champing and spitting his food all over the table. (Apparently it’s his teeth that do it; they’re ill fitting and keep on slipping. One day he had a coughing fit and hacked them out into his dinner. I laughed so much at that. Paid for it though. Got a hard slap round the ear and told to show some respect for my elders).

Anyway, after that, I’d go to go to my room if there weren’t any more jobs he could conjure up for me. Maybe I’d listen to some music; not loud though. Oh no, not allowed to turn up the volume on that noisy, bloody rammy that he considers today’s music to be. Then there’d be the evening meal, maybe some boring TV program on that The Shit Head would watch, even though he’d probably sleep through most of it. Still, at least I’d be able to go to bed; go to bed and think about my beautiful, blue eyed traveller; the one I’d never see again.

So, where was I? Oh yes, so I came out of the newsagents. I wasn’t in any hurry. As I began my trek home I considered my home turf; surveyed my wonderful, shitty surroundings. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. In fact, Saturday and the whole street was deserted. It’s my very own living cemetery, this village. After all, it’s full of old farts waiting to die, isn’t it? And let’s face it, they’re all so old that they may as well just hop over the church wall and pop into their graves; save money on funeral cars and the minister doing a service.

And I knew it, you know; from my lofty point of view, I knew that all those old farts would be indoors. They’d be crouched in their old people chairs, or asleep in their old people beds, or those who weren’t quite old enough would be waiting for their old people chairs and be ready to leap into their old people beds. The thing is; there are no young people living here. As soon as someone comes of age, they take off, seek pastures new; go join the living. And good luck to them I say. I wish I could.

:-:

Half way home and I got to thinking about him; my beautiful, blue eyed traveller. I wondered where he was, if he was with anyone. Of course, he would be, him being so attractive and all. Anyway, I got to thinking about those few precious moments we’d spent together. How he’d shown me something I hadn’t seen before. He’d made me realise that there’s another world out there; another world outside this village, somewhere else to be other than home or school. Until that moment, I’d come to expect nothing from my life. Now he’s opened a door and I’m not sure that it’ll ever close again.

Course, I have to say that my life is mapped out for me. I often find myself wondering how long I’ll have to wait until I die. And I’ve already thought about what they could write on my tombstone. Oh yes. Here lays Susan; better known as Dumpling. She was born. She lived. She died. The end. That would be it; my life explained away in seven words; just seven shitty words. What I didn’t realise however was that it would be just two words that would change my life. “Wait up”. The words were “Wait up”.

:-:

He fell into step alongside me. I sprang out of the way. For a moment I thought it was one of The Coven or someone else come along to torment me but it wasn’t. “I thought it was you”. He said. It was him; my blue eyed traveller and I was so shocked that I just stood there gawking at him like he was the Holy Ghost turned up in black jeans. He spoke again. “Well, it’s not everyday a girl looks at me like that. I’m sorry if I frightened you”.

I let out a deep breath and quickly pulled in another. “I thought you were someone else”.

“Can I walk with you?”

“I need to get back”. I said the first thing that came into my mind. Suddenly I was afraid to be with him; afraid that The Shit Head would find out.

“That’s ok”. He said. “We’ll walk back together”. I knew that I shouldn’t. I knew that I was courting death if I was seen with him but he was so attractive and I wanted to walk with him so very much. There was no contest. My lust for him won. We fell into step together and he began to speak again. “Haven’t seen you in a while; been away?” I slipped him a look. Those blue eyes were exactly as I remembered them; warm and twinkly. His hair swayed as we walked and I wanted him so bad that it hurt but he was waiting for an answer so I had to pull my gaze off him and give him one.

“Something like that”. I said a little too sullenly.

“I missed you”. He stated. I didn’t believe him. Don’t mock me. He spoke again. “I did; went down to that shop of yours for a couple of weeks and never saw you. I thought you might be perched upon that wall but you weren’t”. So he must have missed me if he’d noticed I wasn’t there. No, he can’t have missed me; he can’t.

When I didn’t say anything we walked in silence for a while. I was desperately aware of his presence. All my senses were honed in on him. No one else existed. He spoke again. “So, what’s your name?”

I pulled in a breath. I wasn’t used to people being interested enough to ask me personal questions. After a time I replied in a very soft, almost ashamed voice. “Susan”. I said. “My name’s Susan”.

I felt his eyes on me as he replied; “And a very pretty name for a very pretty girl”.

I turned to glare at him; to give him a withering look. “What?” He asked. Was he jesting with me just like all the rest; having a giggle at my expense? Was someone else close by listening and watching my reaction to his compliment? I snorted and looked away. Beside me he became confused. “What?” He repeated.

“Why did you just say that?”

“Say what?”

“That I have a pretty name”.

He was still confused. “Because you have. A pretty name for a pretty…”

“…Girl. Yes you already said that”.

As we walked along the street I felt his eyes on me. “Can you not take a compliment then?”

I was grumpy by then, expecting him to be fooling me just like John. “Only if it’s meant”.

“Of course its fuc… of course it’s meant. I wouldn’t be saying it otherwise”.
We fell into silence. Me, I looked ahead, not wanting to meet his questioning blue gaze. He spoke again. “So, where might you be heading? Miss Susan?”

And oh, but my name sounded so fine on his lips. He spoke with a soft, breathiness; made me wonder what it would be like to hear that voice in my ear when we got intimate. Not that we would; get intimate, I mean. Fat chance of that. “I’m going home”. I said realising how boring I sounded. Home; did I have a home?

“I only ask because I’m up on the West Field, is it. Been there a little while now; with my friends and the like”. Oh don’t I know it. And why haven’t you gone yet? I thought you’d have gone by now. “We’re only here for a couple of months; like to be close to where the fetes and fairs are. We’ll be moving on soon enough”. Knew you would.

Obviously he couldn’t read my mind so he continued; “We like the fairs and fetes. We buy stuff, sell it, little bit of this, bit of that and we meet some really interesting characters along the way. We’ve got to know some real nice folks on our travels. Have you travelled much Little Susan?”

“Nope”.

“You should try it sometime. You’d like it”. I have to escape first. Would you take me with you? No, I thought not. He was still speaking. “Well, it’s here that I have to part company with you”.

We were standing at the mouth of the lane which was situated right opposite my front door. I panicked. I hadn’t realised we’d come so far or that we were now directly across the road from my house. If I’d known I would have left him way before we got there.

I went to say something; to get rid of him in case The Shit Head saw us but he put me off by touching my elbow. And oh but how his heat travelled through my skin and into my very soul. For a second I caught a whiff of the fields and flowers and of course, that special scent; the scent of him. Lust enveloped me. I figured if I breathed in deeply enough I could store that sent inside me and never let it out again. The Shit Head could go shite. This man was like a drug and I wanted to overdose on him.

“By the way”, he was saying as I mentally undressed him. “My name’s Rowan and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again, Little Susan”. He inclined his head towards me. My heart stopped beating. My breath lodged in my throat. “Until next time”. He said and made a kind of old fashioned sweeping bow; caught me completely by surprise. I watched agape as he straightened up again, that devilish grin stretching his jaw. I wanted to say something witty but nothing would come out. Seeing this, he nodded slightly and then turned away. I watched his back, lusted at the strength there and then turned to face my house; to the place that would never be a home. I closed my eyes for a second. I’d seen him again; talked to him, felt his fingers on me. It was done now; too late. The Shit Head could go shite.



Ok, that's it for now.
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Old 04-20-2014, 01:36 PM   #2
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YAY! What an amazing Easter gift! More wonderful than I remember it being. You really do, and very quickly, become engrossed in Susan's little world. Thanks for re-visiting this story and bringing it back to is all! And Happy Easter!
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Old 04-21-2014, 02:31 AM   #3
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Yes yes yesssss.


I gotta go to work. I'll read when I get back!

Why'd you change the name of the main?
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And if U2 EVER did Hawkmoon live....and the version from the Lovetown Tour, my uterus would leave my body and fling itself at Bono - for realz.
Don't worry baby, it's gonna be all right. Uncertainty can be a guiding light...
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Old 04-21-2014, 07:58 AM   #4
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as good as I can remember!
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And if U2 EVER did Hawkmoon live....and the version from the Lovetown Tour, my uterus would leave my body and fling itself at Bono - for realz.
Don't worry baby, it's gonna be all right. Uncertainty can be a guiding light...
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Old 04-22-2014, 11:21 PM   #5
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What a great surprise!!! I haven't the time to read through the whole thing, but skimming it, I can tell I'll be a fan... it'll be great to finally get to read this story, which I've heard a lot about. More soon!
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Old 04-23-2014, 09:23 AM   #6
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Same great story line but the added parts are a great compliment to the original. Provides more depth/insight in to the characters and even the town. Great job as always ... I've said it before, I'm a huge fan and love reading anything you care to share with us.
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Old 04-29-2014, 11:15 AM   #7
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Hi everyone. Thanks for your comments. Appreciate it. OK, GG, I changed the names because I don't want to use the guys names; doesn't feel right to me to write fiction about real people. (aside from which, when they're not real people I can do with them as I like, lol).

I'm glad you liked it. Ok, so who's up for more?
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Old 04-29-2014, 12:29 PM   #8
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I know you changed the guys' names, but why the female main as well? I really liked her original name.
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And if U2 EVER did Hawkmoon live....and the version from the Lovetown Tour, my uterus would leave my body and fling itself at Bono - for realz.
Don't worry baby, it's gonna be all right. Uncertainty can be a guiding light...
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Old 05-02-2014, 09:51 PM   #9
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Wow, I missed when this got posted, I dunno how I managed that but I've had quite the read for this evening! Thanks for sharing the updated version so far.

 
This story really spoke volumes to me the first time I read it due to my upbringing so I am looking forward to it immensely.
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Old 05-05-2014, 11:37 AM   #10
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Greetings. Ok, posting second part later today. Thanks for your interest and it goes without saying, all your comments.

GG, I changed the female lead's name because I wanted to use the name of one of the girls who used to frequent Interference when I wrote the original and has since come to be whom I consider to be one of my best friends. (Plus she's also pervy like me, lol. )

Laters then.
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Old 05-07-2014, 03:22 AM   #11
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Ah, figures.
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And if U2 EVER did Hawkmoon live....and the version from the Lovetown Tour, my uterus would leave my body and fling itself at Bono - for realz.
Don't worry baby, it's gonna be all right. Uncertainty can be a guiding light...
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Old 05-07-2014, 05:10 AM   #12
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Plus, Little Susan sounds great, like something you could name a guitar. What was the original name?
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Old 06-15-2016, 06:15 PM   #13
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Now that I've read the first chapter... I am even more impressed by Susan's voice. I am drawn instantly into the depiction of her world and her life, as painful as it can be to read it... The lonesomeness is really captured well, and the ostracizing from peers at school. Harsh but very real and vivid. Great work!
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Old 06-16-2016, 11:30 AM   #14
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Love this fic
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