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|  | Reverse Vampires (working title) | | Rated:
18+ | | Not your average vampire novel, writing for NaNoWriMo 2008. | | by: scruffy duck ![View alittletoolate's Portfolio. [Offline / Private]](http://imgs.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/costumicons/ps-icon-regular-10.gif "View alittletoolate's Portfolio. [Offline / Private]") ![Email User: alittletoolate [Offline / Private]](http://imgs.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/mail-off.gif "Email User: alittletoolate [Offline / Private]") | Avg Rating:   (1) |
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| Item Size: 5 Entries
Created: 3:21pm on 11-03-2008
Modified: 9:19am on 01-01-2009 | |
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Entry #616396, added on 11-03-08 @ 4:46 pm EST.
[Entry Access Restriction] None.
Title:
(1987) One
|
1987
It had been a strange week, there had been a buzz across Tottenham for a month, a build up of tension that everyone felt and that Lucy couldn't pinpoint the source of until she got off the tube in Wembley and walked straight into a crows of white and sky blue. The light colours mixed with fluorescent yellow of police jackets, the officer already looking pissed off, mean faces and batons already raised, poised to beat someone, anyone. A fight broke out to her left, a scuffle of blue and white, scarves and skin, and the men were surrounded by black and yellow in moments, pulled away up the station stairs before anyone could get a second punch in.
She felt out of place, more so than usual, the denim skirt and jacket were fine on almost every other day, the patches of pink standing out, her black ankle boots making her a little unstable while she was surrounded by men in doc martin boots. She would be lucky if she came out of here with the black leather ruffles still attached to her boots. She recognised the shirts, she had an old Tottenham Hotspur shirt at home, one her father had given her a few year ago, but didn't know why everyone was wearing one today. And the sky blue shirts. Everyone had a scarf, and it was the middle of May.
She glanced at a newspaper stand on the way out, caught the headlines of the Sun and the Mirror, about the FA Cup and smiled to herself as two more men were hustled out of the station and into waiting vans, the police officer giving her a grim smile as she dodged out of the way.
This is what happened when you don't leave the flat Luce, she thought to herself, when you only go out when your friends insist or at night. She weaved between football fans, thankful she was going in the opposite direction to them, thanking God when she was able to breathe, when the only sky blue she could see was the actual sky. She could only assume her friend didn't know it was final day either, or she wasn't willing to go against the crowd of football fans.
By the next Saturday melancholy had settled into Tottenham and she was far more used to that. Broadwater Farm estate had been quiet and depressed for as long as she could remember, the mood of it's residents almost permeating the very walls of the high rise flats. No one was getting out any time soon, the list to be rehoused was almost as long as they building were tall. Lucy and her mother were both on the list but she didn't hold out much hope for getting out. Her neighbour, Mrs Miles, an old lady Lucy suspected was in her eighties but didn't like to say (it's rude to ask a lady her age, her mother told her) had moved out six months before, but only because she couldn't look after herself any more. It was rude to ask the old woman her age, but not to talk about her behind her back as her family boxed up her things. She'd bumped into her grandson, Micky, a few weeks after she'd moved. The old people's home the council had put her in was no better, he'd told her, no better than the flat she'd vacated, which was still empty.
Mostly empty. The door had been kicked in and graffiti adorned almost every wall. Occasionally people slept on the floor inside, the abandoned furniture was broken and burnt (she'd gone out with one of the firemen who had come to put out the blazes a couple of times), kids used the place as a den, people used it to take drugs. It was no worse than anywhere else. And dry.
At least it was empty now, and therefore quiet, and Lucy was really glad of that as she put the kettle on and flopped down onto one of the beech chairs at the kitchen table. She rested her forehead on the blue cloth covering the table, and groaned when she head the knock at the door. She went to get up but heard voice in the hallway and settled back into the chair head resting back on the table again as she listened to the footsteps and voices.
“Here she is. Almost alive,” Janet Evan almost sang the words as she walked into the kitchen, Lucy's friend Lauren just behind her. “Look at her,” she continued, “hair as flat as a pancake.”
She lifted her head up, reaching up with one hand to feel her perm.
“Morning,” Lauren said, sitting next to her at the table. Her friend looked twice as awake as she did, perfect perm, face made up, glasses in place. Lucy hadn't even washed yet, she'd grabbed a dressing gown, pulled it over her pink pyjamas and had collapsed at the table.
“Do you want a cup of tea Lauren dear,” her mother asked, pulling mugs from the cupboards louder than Lucy thought was necessary.
“Please Mrs Evans,” she said, with a smile.
Lauren was her best friend, had been since school, and everyone thought they were sisters. Sam dirty blonde hair and green eyes. Sam small pointed noses and skinny frames. Though Lauren had gotten glasses in the last year, and Lucy had put on a little weight, they were still alike. Physically at least.
“Good night?” she asked. Lucy forced a smile.
“Not really. I hate all that pop sh-stuff” she said, correcting herself at the last moment, looking at her mother, smiling at the glaring older woman.
“Then why do you keep going to those places,” Janet said, placing two mugs onto the table.
“'Cause's there's no where else to go mum.”
“Then stay in,” the older Evens said, “If you stayed in, you'd be able to get up earlier and get a job, it's almost ten.”
“There aren't any fucking jobs mum.”
Janet clipped her daughter around the ear, a sharp rap of her palm against the young woman's head and ear and Lauren winced at the sound.
“Ah!” Lucy cupped her hand over her ear, glaring at her mother.
“Language!”
“She's right though Mrs Evans, there's nothin' out there,” Lauren said, taking a sip of her tea, the milk and sugar perfect as always. “Do you want to come into town, we could go to a museum or somin' some are free for the jobless.”
“If I want to see crap art I can go next door.”
Janet clipped the young woman round the ear again, softer this time and Lucy frowned at he but didn't react as before.
“You couldn't had that flat,” she said.
“I didn't want it,” Lucy said, “still don't want it.”
“You don't want your own place?” Lauren asked.
“Not on this estate,” she said, “what's the point of moving out to move next door.”
She shrugged and gulped down down her tea, hissing when it burnt her tongue and glared at the remaining hot liquid as it if could be scared into cooling down.
Lucy and Lauren watched Janet leave the kitchen and Lauren leaned forward a little.
“There's a new DJ at Vivs tonight, some American,” she said quietly, “we could to the new bar on Baker street, then onto Vivs, you might like House music.”
“Maybe,” Lucy said, finishing her tea, “what's this new bar?”
“Dunno, Paul told me about it. Cheap drinks all night.”
Lucy shrugged again, then rested her head back on the table.
“What's up Luce?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled into the table cloth.
“Nothing?” Lauren raised her brow.
“Just hungover.” |
© Copyright 2008 scruffy duck (UN: alittletoolate at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
scruffy duck has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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