by sam myatt
|Well I guess it would be fair to say I've known my friends were never normal. Just how abnormal I only truly see now I've moved to study A-levels away from them. I guess this piece of work is about the times we spent together so that when I'm old and dribble I can look back over it and realise what fun we had. The 'uncool' kids in our school, or so we were told but what’s cooler than building a huge wooden fort in the forest or playing drinking games on a DS? I certainly can’t think of any and I've got a pretty good imagination.|
I feel now is the right time to introduce myself. I'm Sam M. be careful not to mix me up with Sam W because I'm sure he'd be very offended, but anyway, I'm Sam, born on September 15th 1994. The same day as Mark Stephens (American actor) and Moana Pozzi (Italian Pornstar) died. I was told this by one of my friends in the hope of persuading me to help him make a home movie. He claimed that when they died their talent passed to me (though what talent a pornstar has is quite beyond me) and I told him, quite politely, where to shove his suggestion. I did it anyway. After weeks of pestering me I gave in and I suppose this brings me to my first story…
Well it goes something like this. Richard has been my friend for many years now and still looks like his grandma’s dressing him, beige cardigans and sensible brown shoes (still wondering why people thought we weren’t cool?) with a tendency to don his slippers when inside. This fashion, or rather lack of fashion, sense was mocked by us for years even though we knew we wouldn’t like him to change. He was a timid boy who used to scream when people popped cartons of milk next to him (and this is when he’s 13). We were never sure whether this was just because he was of a nervous disposition or whether he did in fact have a strong mental link to milk. Aside from water it was the only thing he would drink and he once admitted to having a dream whereby he swam in a large bath full of it. This of course does make you wonder about the boys’ sanity and IQ but as far as we could make out he was stable, just a little dim.
His parents were normal too, as far as we could tell. His mom, Sara, was a smallish woman who seemed to epitomise the British housewife. She smelled vaguely of some mix between polish and lavender, would hum to the radio constantly (always Terry Wogan on radio 2), watch gardening programs and Bid TV and would cater to Richards every need along with any guests he had with him and his dad, Dave, would do the sensible thing and hide upstairs for as long as possible. It was from Dave that Richard acquired his love of technology from and so ultimately we can blame him for perhaps the longest running hair brained scheme going. Brightside movies.
Year 9, me and the rest of the guys were sitting on one of the wooden round tables in the library (like king Arthur and his knights) discussing the world and its threats (still like King Arthur and co.) and trying to complete our geography homework in for after lunch (the illusion ends there) when Richard navigated his way round to us, through the maze people a… Oh who am I kidding, the place was nearly empty! Any way Richard strolled over, sporting his finest brown shoes (the ones that he never seems to outgrow) and holding a small black case. If we’d known what was in the case I feel we may have ran in the other direction. But we didn’t know so we didn’t move.
“Hi guys!” his effeminate voice rang out in its usual sing song manner crushing our hopes of completing the homework that we had forgotten and slowly bringing out the part of us that wanted to kill him, slowly, with a spoon. We glaced up, observing him with our cold eyes, in the sort of way you could imagine Gollum observed Bilbo as he unwittingly stumbled into the underground cave.
Not that this appeared to have any affect on Richard who seemed to think that when we glared at him it was because we were in awe of his brilliance.