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Writer
Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: Rainy and coldhearted Denmark
Posts: 31
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School essay; need assistance.
Now, I've been sitting with this all night, reading it over and over again. If there a any mayor/small flaws left, I cannot find them. If you want, feel free to correct me. Keep in mind, tho, that I'm 16 years old and english isn't my mother tongue. It's the best I can do.
One more thing, in the "Advice" forum, there was a topic about best open liners. I stole one from inthere. If that's not okay, please let me know and I won't do it.
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(The title has something to do with grafitti)
It fell.
It fell from my frigid hands and landed on the linoleum floor, echoing down the empty hallways. My heart suddenly felt heavy. The four of us stood firmly pushed up against the glass of the bakery. The halls of the mall were only lit up by the moon. The alarm we’d automatically set off when we smashed the windows was the only thing we could hear in the distance. That, our deep breaths and the sound of the empty can of spray paint I had just dropped. It rolled its way through the hallways of the mall, while we nervously prayed the cops had given up looking for us. I do not know how many of us actually were of that belief, because we all started running at the same time – the second we heard footsteps on broken glass.
I hated being a girl at that point. My breasts still hurt. Giovanni and Skunk were right ahead of me while Neon had troubles keeping up, as we fled through the empty supermarket. I breathed heavily and felt tears sting my eyes. The adrenaline pumped through my veins. I couldn’t stop my feet. I wouldn’t. And I most definitely shouldn’t. The cops were right behind us, but we were faster than them. Skunk suddenly turned left and we followed him through another dark hallway, past the butcher, the record store and the bank. I felt a bitter taste in my mouth when I realised we were headed for a dead end.
There was no escape that way. I still couldn’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t stop and continued running towards the firmly shut glass doors a long with Giovanni and Neon. We came closer and closer but Skunk looked like he knew what he was doing. It only took a split second for me to realise what Skunk had planned to do. He put up his pace and crashed through the glass with his shoulder first. The glass broke and another alarm went off.
First, all I could see was the blood. Then a shivering hand grabbed mine and pulled me with him out into the cool air. It made my sight blurry and I gave up looking back after Skunk. Giovanni kept holding my hand, running fast towards the parking lot and the forest. The bitter taste in my mouth, my blurry sight, the smell of gasoline and the feel of Giovanni’s sweaty hand in mine became too much and I knew I would faint soon. The image of Skunk in a puddle of blood and glass kept reappearing for my mind and it wouldn’t go away. When Giovanni stopped, I bumped into him and bit my tongue. The taste of blood filled my mouth and I was too confused and despaired to even care, when my hands were cuffed and my head was being held, as I was pushed into a police car.
The leopard was supposed to portrait freedom, nature and justice. The leopard was everything we wanted to be. It was free and never alone. The second I was seated in the back of the car, I fainted, as I realised our leopard would be washed off the train station walls before dawn.
We had crossed the railway tracks, and were headed for the grey brick wall on the other side. In the darkness, the wall looked even sadder and even more abandoned, and it only intensified my need to make it look better. A grey brick wall was the last thing this town needed. It was probably my height times two, but with Skunk being the tallest one of us; it wouldn’t be a problem to have him lift me to the top. Every grey spot would be covered with colours and rude remarks (Neon did the rude remarks, though we constantly reminded him that it had nothing to do with what we were fighting for).
Giovanni clapped his hands to grab our attention. We all turned to look at him. He was nervous. He always was. I’m Italian, he’d once said, and Italians are always nervous. He rubbed his hands to get them warmed up. It was in mid January and the snow had just disappeared.
»Okay, listen up, « he started, his accent being more British than Italian, »Skunk and Cotton takes the top and Neon and I will take the bottom. We paint the leopard. «
Giovanni had loosened up a bit, well as much as you possible could loosen up, wearing leather pants so tight, that you could see the scratch of each body hair. He’d insisted on wearing a torn white t-shirt underneath the leather jacket, despite the minus five degrees. His vanity was the only thing, despite his black hair and nervousness that convinced me that he was being sincere about his origin.
Seconds before I got too lost in my own thoughts, Skunk grabbed me by my thighs and lifted me on top of his shoulders. Then everything went fast. The adrenaline rushed through our veins, as we did what we did best, which was to paint a giant picture with seven different colours. We used two shades of yellow for the leopard’s body, black for its dots. Red, orange and white for the surreal fire Neon was going to do as a background. At last, Giovanni had volunteered to paint the final details with a bright shade of green. It gave the picture life. I couldn’t possible describe how much I loved colours. We all had each our reasons for being where we were, that black Sunday night, and being able to colourise the world (the small town of New Ashford, Massachusetts was my world) was mine.
»Cotton, are you alright?« Skunk asked me. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts and the red colours that I’d loosened my grip around Skunk’s neck. I yelled to him that I was doing fine. He smiled back at me. If I hadn’t known, I never would have guessed that he didn’t have any family to come home to. Skunk was a rebel and had been, ever since his parents died in a car crash. No one really knew how his life had been before that. Skunk was probably the most generous person I had ever met. He was the kind of person who would throw himself in front of a train to save your life, even if you were a complete stranger. He was a strong protestant against violence that came from abusing authority, and was always ready to put up a fight with the local bullies, who beat up the minors. That left him with nothing but respect from everyone. I had always thought he was good-looking. His hair was out of order, but it had that brown shine and those soft curls. He was very tall and because of that, he always had troubles finding shoes and clothes. He ended up wearing what his dad had left behind. That night, he wore a home knitted sweater with pigs on it, a pair of jeans which were too short and grey socks in grey sandals. I loved watching him paint, but not tonight, because tonight it was my turn.
»The red one! No, the red one, you dumbass. That’s yellow, for fucks sake! That one! No, that one! Don’t make me come over there and slap you; bitch!« I heard Neon yell underneath me. Neon hadn’t always been accepted in our group, because of his temper. Apart from that, he had a language neither of us accepted. Yet, Neon spent every Sunday morning in the local church. We’d never been able to fully figure him out. Not him, not his sandy blonde hair which always spiked into two hundred different directions, not his southern accent, not his surprisingly fashionably correct clothes nor his undying admiration for Barbara Streisand. He’d been thrown out of Capitol High, the town’s only high school, leaving him with a dark future. He never talked about the reason why he got kicked out, but rumours said that he sent a girl off to the hospital. In New Ashford fights were normal, but guys who hit girls were immediately shut out of the social circle. Along with Skunk, Giovanni and I, Neon became one of the outcasts.
»I am doing the best I can, Neon.” Giovanni said, and though I couldn’t see them from the top of Skunk’s shoulders, I knew that Giovanni would be getting a bitchslap from Neon, just for answering him back.
As soon as I was finished with my artwork, Giovanni put the last dot of green into the leopard’s eye. Skunk lifted me down from his shoulders and placed me in between Giovanni and Neon who were both watching our art with a mention of relief in their eyes.
»Let’s get the hell out of here. « Skunk mumbled. I gave the wall one last look. Neon had written a rude remark across the leopard’s chest. I took a few steps back and turned around, walking with the three guys back to the central station platform. The guys helped me over the edge and we took another look at the painting from afar. It had lightened up the entire train station.
»That’ll teach them fuckheads! « Neon spat and laughed triumphing with his hands stuck tight down his jeans. He still hadn’t understood any of the reasons for the things we did. I shook my head at him and turned to watch Giovanni.
He had his arms wrapped around himself and I noticed that he was trying not to quiver. He was the one of us who froze the most, because of his leather outfit. A home knitted sweater with pigs on it was suddenly swung over his shoulders. Skunk stood next to him and smiled kindly. Giovanni went against his own awful vanity and put on the sweater, only being able to stutter a low ‘thanks’ to Skunk.
I caught myself smiling at Skunk who smiled back. The whole station was completely silent. The last train had left hours ago. All I could hear was the deep breathings of our group. An arm slid around my waist and I looked up into Skunk’s eyes. He wasn’t caressing me; he was making sure I wasn’t freezing. If I had been, I don’t know what he would have done. Thrown the last shirt he had on just to warm me up? Most likely, yes. I rested my head against his arm and enjoyed the feeling of his body that was surprisingly warm. Skunk’s hand slid down the back pocket of my worn out jeans and I couldn’t help but smile. I still had my eyes focused on the leopard. It was beautiful. It looked like it was jumping out of the hot flames; being the fierce things we wanted to avoid – money, power, injustice and closed doors.
I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t even notice that Giovanni and Neon had begun to talk to each other. I tried to focus on what they were saying to each other; right until something else grabbed my attention. I took a step back and Skunk had to take out his hand from my pocket. I dropped my jaw as I heard something roar inside the tunnel, located only few feet from our painting. The roars were the sounds of police radios.
Skunk heard it too.
It wasn’t difficult to figure out; the cops had been in there the whole time, only waiting for us to attack the grey wall they’d painted grey for one single purpose; to catch us in the act! When they saw us come, they got scared. It wasn’t the first time the cops had been frightened by the sight of us. With Skunk’s height, Neon’s spiky hair, Giovanni’s leather and my angry punk look, they would have had to call for assistance. That was what they were doing right now. All we could was to stand there; caught in a trap, not knowing from which side we would get attacked by police officers with police sticks, handcuffs and no witnesses.
Police violence was the one thing we feared more than anything. We knew it frequently happened in New Ashford. The police didn’t care who they beat up or why they did it; if you were male or female, innocent or guilty or young or old, they would still beat you up if they had the chance.
»Unless you guys fancy getting your bollocks cut off, I suggest we take the stairs right now.« Giovanni hissed when he noticed the sounds from the tunnel as well. We all exchanged looks and slowly started striding towards the stairs. We knew what to do. One unexpected move or sound and we’d be running with the speed of lightening. The guys were walking in front of me, but I noticed how Skunk continuously looked back to make sure I was still there. My heart was beating hard against my chest. So hard that I was afraid it would pop out of my throat if something didn’t happen soon.
The second I heard the footsteps it was too late. It had all happened so fast. Skunk, Neon and Giovanni had heard it all and had started to run, but I was grabbed from behind by a large man who smelled of Mexican take-away.
The police officer had my arm in a lock. He pushed me up against a pole, pressing my cheek against the cold iron. I desperately tried to kick him, but he had his legs in a position that made it impossible for me to hit him. The first punch came as a shock. He hit me right underneath the ribs, and if I hadn’t had a pole to hold me up, I definitely would have been crying against the asphalt right now. Then it was my arm’s turn. He pressed it upwards, till I felt my bone reach its limit. A split second before he broke my left arm, he stopped and I was slung into the staircase railing. I felt a strong pain in my chest. I heard a loud and painful scream and I turned around. Skunk was bent over the police officer and was beating on him. Soon, the screams stopped and Skunk took one step back. For a second he was watching the police officer twist in pain, the same way as he’d watched our painting; with a scent of relief in his eyes.
He grabbed my hands as he ran past me, and led me all the way up the stairs. In the distance we saw five cops come running towards us, with their sticks ready to punish us both. We started running in the opposite direction; towards the city mall, where the alarm had gone off.
My arm was hurting tremendously. A strain of blood ran from my eyebrow, down my nose, only to drop from the tip of my nose and land on my pullover.
The cops hadn’t done much to prove their lack of control wrong. After the individual beatings, we had been separated and taken to each our cell. All I felt was pain. What had hurt the most weren’t the belts they slammed against my bare back; it wasn’t the tightened fists they’d crushed my face with and it wasn’t the cigarette burns on the surface of my chest. It was the sound of Skunk, who had been locked in a room with the colleagues of the police officer, whose body he’d wrecked for eternity at the train station. It was the first time I’d heard him cry. It was the first time I’d heard him scream his mother’s name. But then, all of a sudden, I didn’t hear him any longer. That was when I had been carried to my cell, after a cop had nodded satisfied to my torturers.
I cried, though my salty tears only made my wounds hurt even more. I didn’t care any longer. Everything we wanted; everything we had tried to achieve; everything we fought to make people see; had been crushed. Just like the scars appearing in pairs on my back, the humiliation and loss of dignity would always hang above us; the same way that a leopard can’t avoid the rain.
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- The truth is hard to swallow, when you're choking on your pride.
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