Saturday, November 1st, 1997.
Halloween's over. It's over. It's over. It's fucking over. All I can remember is lighting up the pumpkins on the porch, then seeing Karen go out the door with Julie (both of them dressed as some kind of Goth punk-witch), then giving candy to grinning little demons for what felt like 19 hours, and then seeing Karen come back (her lipstick all smeared and her make-up running down her face) with more than a bagful of candies. And then going to bed, falling asleep with the radio on, hoping for some other show dedicated to Halloween but never getting to one.
So it's over, and it took me almost a day to realize it, what with the pumpkins still being on the porch and the decorations still hanging from the houses all around the neighbourhood, and all the candy Karen forced into my hands. It's all lying on my dresser, as intact as it was when she gave it to me this morning. I've decided not to eat it. I resent her stupid trick and/or treating. She's too old, she shouldn't have gone. Hell, she's older than me and I'm too old. Choke on your goddamn candies, I'll look at them every single day until they're all covered in dust and the house-keeping lady throws them in the trash. You won't melt my teeth with your little artificial sugar-filled poisonous fruits.
But enough about her. Fuck her. And fuck Gordon Filligreen, with his endless drivel. Listen to this:
"How sweet the means to get there,
how wrong I was to stay there.
I felt weary,
I felt sad,
it was normal
so I was glad.
But still I went
and O I paid."
Fuck him, that he gets in my head so easily.
I threw the book on the wall, trying to make it bounce into the aforementioned trash. I missed, and now I feel bad. It's an old book, it's a nice looking book, without a cover illustration which always is a good thing for me. And it belongs to my parents. Or should I say "belonged"? I mean, I've been carrying it around with me for days, and --- let's face it --- I have no plans to let it go. This is my book now, my possession and my territory.
Luckily, nobody's noticed yet, nobody important anyway. Nobody that I'll have to answer to, anyway, like my parents or my sister.
I mean my teacher noticed, and a few people in my class when it happened (which, surprisingly, didn't make me feel too ashamed). And Katie too, just barely, she saw it in our locker and she said something like "Good book hey?" or something. I tried to answer something significant but all that came out is "Yeah".
It's still (mostly) my little secret. And I intend to keep it that way. It's always easier, for everybody involved.
Well, gotta go. They're calling me to dinner. Musn't miss that momentous event, can we?
Halloween's over. It's over. It's over. It's fucking over. All I can remember is lighting up the pumpkins on the porch, then seeing Karen go out the door with Julie (both of them dressed as some kind of Goth punk-witch), then giving candy to grinning little demons for what felt like 19 hours, and then seeing Karen come back (her lipstick all smeared and her make-up running down her face) with more than a bagful of candies. And then going to bed, falling asleep with the radio on, hoping for some other show dedicated to Halloween but never getting to one.
So it's over, and it took me almost a day to realize it, what with the pumpkins still being on the porch and the decorations still hanging from the houses all around the neighbourhood, and all the candy Karen forced into my hands. It's all lying on my dresser, as intact as it was when she gave it to me this morning. I've decided not to eat it. I resent her stupid trick and/or treating. She's too old, she shouldn't have gone. Hell, she's older than me and I'm too old. Choke on your goddamn candies, I'll look at them every single day until they're all covered in dust and the house-keeping lady throws them in the trash. You won't melt my teeth with your little artificial sugar-filled poisonous fruits.
But enough about her. Fuck her. And fuck Gordon Filligreen, with his endless drivel. Listen to this:
"How sweet the means to get there,
how wrong I was to stay there.
I felt weary,
I felt sad,
it was normal
so I was glad.
But still I went
and O I paid."
Fuck him, that he gets in my head so easily.
I threw the book on the wall, trying to make it bounce into the aforementioned trash. I missed, and now I feel bad. It's an old book, it's a nice looking book, without a cover illustration which always is a good thing for me. And it belongs to my parents. Or should I say "belonged"? I mean, I've been carrying it around with me for days, and --- let's face it --- I have no plans to let it go. This is my book now, my possession and my territory.
Luckily, nobody's noticed yet, nobody important anyway. Nobody that I'll have to answer to, anyway, like my parents or my sister.
I mean my teacher noticed, and a few people in my class when it happened (which, surprisingly, didn't make me feel too ashamed). And Katie too, just barely, she saw it in our locker and she said something like "Good book hey?" or something. I tried to answer something significant but all that came out is "Yeah".
It's still (mostly) my little secret. And I intend to keep it that way. It's always easier, for everybody involved.
Well, gotta go. They're calling me to dinner. Musn't miss that momentous event, can we?
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