C Doug Wakefield Sydney 2001 Doug Wakefield

Published on November 2016 | Categories: Documents | Downloads: 38 | Comments: 0 | Views: 272
of 3
Download PDF   Embed   Report

A nerdy fellow is being regularly bullied and accidentally kills the bully with a pen.

Comments

Content

Click!
C Doug Wakefield Sydney 2001 Doug Wakefield PO Box 214 Lane Cove NSW 1595

As an experiment, Alex clicked his ballpoint pen several times and smiled to himself as Freddy’s left eyeball moved in rhythm. Freddy, of course, was well and truly dead. Had died instantly. So fast – or so it seemed to Alex – that Freddy’s nervous system didn’t even have time to close his eyes before it did a Harry Houdini and split the scene for ever. Thus, two blue orbs glassily gazed from Freddy’s head. He had certainly deserved to die. Freddy was not a nice person. In fact he was often considered a blight on the face of the Earth – or at least his neighbourhood – by friend and foe alike. Big, loud and aggressive, beligerent, self opinionated, and above all: violent. Freddy had strutted his domain with impunity almost from the day he left school. His school mates (not so much ‘mates’ as school-children forced to share common premises) had already granted Freddy the divine right to whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and wherever he wanted. They feared the loss of life or limb (or severe bruising or breaking at best!) should they not deliver whatever it was Freddy desired and they inevitably owned. It seemed a natural course in the grand scheme of things that as Freddy expanded with age and size so would his tastes. From sweets and cakes and fun rides and power to girls and bikes and sports and power power to bigger girls and bigger bikes and cars and bigger sports and power power power… Though education played no real part in Freddy’s view of life, it did have one slightly unfortunate impact on the lives of those around him: Freddy gathered a little understanding of the emotion, Respect. He understood that this should accompany Power… Be one of it’s accoutrements. He had picked up the notion that Respect came with the commodity, and since Power was easily recognised as Freddy’s domain, then all those around him should display Respect in terms just as easily. “RESPECT!” he’d shout. “Thas’ wha’ I wan’ from youse! RESPECT!” And he’d thump and head-butt and kick whatever or whomever he thought should direct that wonderful emotion toward him. Freddy’s limited capacity to

comprehend the finer points of respect never allowed him to understand it had to be earned and could never be demanded, but a small part of him did know respect – real respect – was never given him. Oh, sure – everyone played out the game of respect, but he always knew it was not there… and that irked him. Especially when he recognised the real respect people had for Alex. Apart from the fact of Alex being a white, Anglo-Saxon, heterosexual male – that was where any similarity ended. Alex was well-read, caring and sharing. As you have no doubt surmised, Freddy had none of these qualities in his resume of life. Alex stood 170cm tall (in his shoes) to Freddy’s 185 cm (in his bare feet). Alex weighed in at 55 kg (clothed) to Freddy’s 220 kg (unclothed). 84cm chest (breath inhaled) to 125cm chest (exhaled) – the list could go on and on (at this point in time, we could also add alive vs. dead, but we’ll come to that in a minute or so…) Tonight, Freddy had barged into the bar where a group was sharing readings from poets known and unknown, writers happening and has-been, and especially word-smiths of all callings wannabe. It was, as a matter of fact, Alex who held the floor discussing, with a touch of modest pride, a recently published work. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOUSE ALL UP TO, THEN?” BELLOWED FREDDY – <author’s note: sorry, when Freddy bellowed in his imititable style, it even made me, his creator, get caught in the mood> bellowed Freddy <that’s better> in his usual manner. “WHO’S GONNA BUY ME A BEER? HURRY IT ALONG, WON’TCHA?” Even now, Alex can’t recall what had given him the ramrod back and squared shoulders – skinny as they were – and courage to keep reading. “HEY! YOU LOT! DIN’T CHA HEAR ME? I’LL HAVE THE FUCKEN LOT O’YOUSE CUNTS IF YOU DON LISSEN UP! BEER! NOW!!!” Spittle flew from Freddy’s mouth (he had a quick temper, ready to flare at a moment’s notice… but, again, you already knew that…).

Still Alex kept reading, and the most Freddy managed to elicit from the crowd was the right to occupy the space he inhabited. Freddy stared at Alex. Alex kept reading. “RIGHTO MATE – I’LL FUCKEN WELL ’AVE YOU – AND ANY OTHER CUNTS WOT WANT SOME DISCIPLINE – COME ON THEN…” FREDDY <oops, there I go again>… Freddy frothed. He pushed forward to the make-shift stage beside the fireplace and took up a fire poker. Above the heads of the crowd the poker whooshed like a sabre as Freddy waved it back and forth. With his free hand he reached out to take Alex by the throat. ****** “It was as if,” so Alex said, “As if you were suddenly confronted by some wild animal. A dangerous animal you well knew existed but did not expect to meet just now… When I looked at Freddy coming at me with that poker and that red hot rage in his eyes, I think my body took over. I suppose the only thing I’ve ever really clung to is my pen. It was in my hand already… and the upward thrust… …It’s a stainless steel Papermate ballpoint, you know… given me by my late brother… a long time ago…Geez... who would have thought? Funny how it still clicks in and out like it does, isn’t it? Look… you can see his eye move… in… out… in … out… I guess the pen really is mightier than the sword…” FINIS

Sponsor Documents

Or use your account on DocShare.tips

Hide

Forgot your password?

Or register your new account on DocShare.tips

Hide

Lost your password? Please enter your email address. You will receive a link to create a new password.

Back to log-in

Close