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Addict
Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: Sarnia, Ontario, Canada
Gender: Male
Posts: 178
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Purple Pain
Hi this is a part of the first chapter of my maybe novel, it doesn't really give a good idea of where it's going hope you like it.
Purple Pain
Currently it is the final dinner. My aunt has just as she always does on her little “visits,” brings up the “lack of a female influence in my life”.
“Eloping the week after he was born,” she shlurps while on her second foreign beer. Acettelon blood can’t handle the Kanatian brew. “I told you many times before you got her pregnant that there is no future with that pointy-ear freak. She even passed those disgusting things on to your son.”
Everyone knows about my ears, it's kind of hard to hide them with the no hats on, inside school policy. They come up to a really high point kind of like an elves except they’re bowed out and layered like the siding of a house. Some of my knick names are Spock, Vulcan, Santa’s Most Favorite Elf, Zelda, Legolas, and Boomerang because my ears look slightly like boomerangs.
“What, I can’t help it if my ears are pointed, at least if I had a daughter she…” I start before his father interrupts him.
“Trystyn, take your cousins upstairs, bedtime” He interrupts me son because he new what I was going to say, which was obvious to all those who know of it, and it is also a touchy subject with Fathers’ sister. The subject was about my cousins “adventures with the boys”.
My head in a boys’ pants female cousin, takes this long to ask the question “What’s Eloping?” honestly, take her an hour to get a knock, knock joke.
“To slip away dear, with a lover,” Aunt Lisa supplies.
“O…right, I knew that...?” I swear she can only understand Tarzan sentences, i.e. “Me hungry.”
“Now, Lizzie that is not a subject to talk about in front of my son. She did not slip away with a lover, and you have no right to call his ears freakish, you’re not perfect either.”
Did my father just say my ears were freakish?
“Mark, Cecilia,” I say pleasantly, creating a mask of pleasantness against my raging hate for the damned woman, “common, ten o’clock, bedtime.”
My cousin Mark, age thirteen, is a cowardly little worm, having the sister he has, how could he not be? Cecilia is a different story. All that time with her head between a pair of legs has given her a twisted sense of confidence… Don’t ask.
“What! Why?” she demands.
“Because,” Aunt Lisa responds with acid for me, “we have an early start tomorrow.”
“You said we weren’t leaving ‘till four pm!” she nearly screams in her prissy voice.
“Do not raise your voice at me Cecilia Ruphtunge,” more acid, “now motor your ass to bed”
“Fine, o’wonderful Mother,” full of great comebacks is she not?
My stomach starts turn churn a little, when he reaches the top floor of the house. Up stairs is roughly twelve by ten, coloured beige, light beige. With four doors leading off it, left wall from up the stairs is the bathroom. Top left hand corner is the master bedroom; top right hand is Trystyns bedroom. Right side is the guest room; the stairs are on the far right with a rail leading off to the far left creating a sort of balcony.
As we “motor our asses” to my room, we can hear the inevitable argument breaking out.
“Who do you think you are, accusing her like that?” asks my father in a voice just short of shouting.
“Your sister and you know I’m right, goddamn it.”
Why she ever comes over I think is because she thinks she will be able to convince my father that my mother was a worthless pile of disease.
Cecilia, in a terrible mood slams the door to my bedroom open. Inside is a bunk bed and a sleeping bag on the floor, the room is painted sky blue, we all agree that we hate it. Cecilia is up top, Mark on the bottom, myself in the sleeping bag on the comfy carpet, my father always says you have to be polite to guests even if they aren’t to you; he’s a social conformist jerk.
My stomach is cramping up a bit more. Father has this stomach problem that makes him spew his guts during emotional tension. Like when he got really angry at me for kicking the next door neighbors’ dog, stupid dog. The doctors always thought it was in his head until I got it too, lucky are we not?
Cecilia, darling, Cecilia, having a tantrum is second only in time spent with a boy. She seems to try to out do herself every time she comes here.
“This is entirely your fault Trystyn!” she shrills as she rounds on me.
“It is?”
“Yes, if you would make your stupid father just believe the truth about your mother I could stay up later!” She’s fifteen and talks like that, it’s horrible.
“What, about my mother?” I know I should resent her but I don’t, I think leaving me here serves a purpose she couldn’t get if she took me with her. I’m not sure if that purpose is selfless or selfish though.
“That she was a no good prick sucker, who ran off with some guy and probably had more defective children!” She screams with all the furry she could muster, her face contorting in to that of a snarling beast.
All I get out before my stomach begins to retch is, “My mother did not suck any prick but maybe my fathers, unlike you, if I had a dime a dozen for all of the ones you’ve sucked I’d be a millionaire!” I’m a fast speaker… sometimes.
The look of outrage on Cecilia’s face is enough to make me laugh and nearly throw up, all over the carpet. She has a certain way of setting herself up for a burn, especially when she’s angry.
On the way to the washroom I hear more of the argument going on downstairs.
“Daniel” My father, “by having a child like that you have destroyed the honour of our family, you selfish little pris. The looks I get at work, if you could only see them,” my aunt totes in a voice not loud but one that carries.
“What,” my father retorts, “you blame those looks on my son, if you took five minutes to look at your children instead of your reputation, which is floundering because of your choices and not mine, you would see where those looks are coming from.”
“And where’s that?”
“Your daughter!”
A smile winds its way up my lips, Dad only ever says that when he’s had enough of Aunt Lisa. They usually leave in an hour, or sooner.
When I get back to my room, from the washroom Cecilia has rounded on Mark
Mark is well... Mark, he is one of those kids who will never get a girl, get married, have kids, or even move out of his parents’ house. He plays with Barbie’s, Bratz, Ello, and knows how to work a tampon. He wets the bed and makes up his own languages tries to learn them and gives up. He's cowardly, shy, and a victim of his sister who has twisted him into an evil vengeful twerp who has attacked me without provocation. He's a really poor fighter, can't throw a punch right and can't block, leaves himself open for attack, oh poor hapless Mark.
“Note to self, get new sheets and mattress, what the hell lets get a new bed.” Mark has pissed himself in the possible five minutes I have been gone. Cecilia it seems has accidentally placed her knee in it and is in such a state. She’s having the funniest little silent tantrum I have ever seen.
Then she spots me laughing quietly at her. Her face twists into a hungry jackal’s. She grabs the nearest object she can, screams and throws it at my head.
This object turns out to be a stainless steel ruler I got a while back at camp. It is very sharp, very, very, sharp I try to dodge it but I go the way it starts to curve and I get hit in the face over my right eye.
Things slow a bit as if someone has put the speed to one quarter time. I feel as the ruler slides out of the gash and to the ground. I see as I drop to my knees it bouncing and vibrating. I can feel the blood well up threw my fingers and drip over my eye lids. I keep my eyes closed as any person does when a metallic ruler cuts up their face. I hear my Father and Aunt running up the stairs to see what is going on.
Cecelia yells it’s not her fault but mine. The blood starts to drip through my fingers to the carpet I can see the blood splash and then seep into the carpet. Then time speeds back up.
My father kneels down beside me. “Trystyn are you all right?” then he sees the blood, “Shit… okay Trystyn you get up, lets go.” My father helps me up and brings me to the washroom. Where he wets a large towel and puts it over the gash. You can hear Cecelia and Aunt Lisa in a yelling match. All I hear is fragments… Mark… knee… Trystyn… ruler… freak… ears… blood… green.
The towel is of good quality, it soaks up the small river of blood quite readily. I pay no attention to what Cecilia is screaming about in my half daze. The gash on my face had hurt like hot steel before father had gotten to me but now it is but a dull sting. I remove the towel when the blood has slowed a bit. A crescent slice over my right cheek and part of the forehead, it must be four inches.
Daniel, father returns. He’s wearing a yellow collared shirt, a black leather belt and white plaited dress pants. He has black eyes, a slightly large nose, black graying hair, and lots of stress lines.
“So, Trystyn, what happened?” asks father, even though he could guess at what happened.
“Well,” I swallow, “Cecilia wanted to stay up later and said some nasty things about my mom, I ah “insulted” her I guess.” He whispers, “even though it was true,” then I had to throw up, I came back, Mark had pissed the bed, Cecilia put her knee in it, she saw me laughing at her and threw that metal ruler, I have, at me.”
“Humf,” rubs his head and puffs some air, “well you stay here” father says in acknowledgement, “I’ll go see them off.”
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