Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Come on Sarah!

Now that you had not seen this coming Sarah, it’s safer to assume, you are caught off-guard. Perfect. It’s time to put your training to use, and the training remember Sarah, as you have been told by Mr. Kyle repeatedly, is merely about strength, or agility, or tricks, it’s more about the awareness of your mind. So focus.
A man has broken into your house. You have heard the shattering of the window glass. It could be a wild animal too, but what if it is a man? An animal does not know you are home alone, a man does.
He knows you are alone and mom has said she will be late, so of course dad has a big enough window to go out and gamble. You be the secret keeper and don’t tell anyone, not even your brother Eddie when he comes back tomorrow, dad has told you and that’s fine. Let dad gamble. He is not an addict. Plus he is good at it. He is fine. You are fine. Everything is fine.
So come on now, do the thing where, facing downstairs, hands on railing, you hop down the stairs,  one at a time, when mom’s not watching, and it’s okay if it’s getting a lot harder now compared to how it felt a few years ago, because someone’s feet are getting longer every day.
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At fifteen, Sarah, you grow faster than ever. And people notice that sort of thing; “Hey! You are developing breasts!”
You can hear the loud perverted murmurs from afar in their debauched heads daily on your way to school and back, just like you can hear this Mr. creepy shadowy trespasser rubbing his back and his shoulder on the wall behind the rack. The crumble of the rug is loud too and he thinks he is invisible in the darkness, but little does he know that when you stay in darkness for too long, you begin to see things.
Is he armed? You don’t know that. Take a peak, like you don’t see him, but walk away like you have an idea.
Did you see him, girl?
Nope!
He is hiding well. Good job, Mr. Shit-faced Cock-Sucking Intruder!
Keep your cool, because what if he is losing his? That’s an advantage right there.
Thanks Mr. Kyle!
Switch on the backdoor light.
Wow!
The pool never looked better and wait … is that a full moon? How romantic! You wish Dino was here; his hand on your waist, your head on his shoulder, four pair of knees in blue water and then on a happy whim, you both would throw your bodies in the pool, unbutton and kiss, but uh huh, wrong timing, this …  focus focus!
Unhinge and fold the door open, some fresh air never harmed anyone and plus the man gets trapped behind the pile of clothes and Eddie’s skateboard and your make up kits and mom’s scotch bottles and dad’s trucker hats and motorcycling gloves and your junk from high school; a herbarium, signed clothes, whistles, gym shoes, Gatorade bottles, white sneakers and umm … what else is there? Stretch belts and sun hats.
Damn! Fuck! Fuck!
The door is jammed. Try harder. One more time?
Did it move? Nah!
Tell dad to get it greased tomorrow, meanwhile try harder, use your core strength. Mr. Kyle? Mr. Kyle? Some fucking help here? Tell me what to do?
Yoinks! Too late.
His shadow slid in to the kitchen. You saw right? Was it his shadow? Or was it a rat? Let’s go with the shadow for now.
Grab the apple cutter from the dining table and hide it well in your pocket. Don’t expose it, don’t twirl it and don’t be too fancy with it, for criminals Sarah, are smarter than you think they are. If they were not smart, they would be called Eddie and we have established, Eddie is a fool. He thinks, “air-mile” is not a real thing. How can you measure miles in the air? Huh? Whatever then Eddie, fail your sophomore, you thick-skull.
Plus who are you, Sarah? Agent Salt?
You make a stupid move, you get knifed in the heart, Mr. Kyle said that, Remember? Now, was it Mr. Kyle? Or was this in a movie? Doesn’t matter. Let’s call it a pro-tip and leave it at that.
Here’s what you are going to do now: First things first, zip your spitless mouth so he doesn’t know where you are in the hall or gargle with acid. You can spew that on his face while burning your own tongue. Eww … I think you should zip your lips. Make no sound. That’s better and no don’t let your gums get molded in the shape of a mangled carcass, you discombobulated dear.
And although knife is just more of a plan B, grip it harder.
Also, are you going to stab him with the handle? Lower the knife, with its blade facing down. Common sense. Idiot!
Now breathe. Not a loud sigh. Gently. Good. One more time, please? It keeps your cool.
And stop with all the delirious imagery, stupid.
What’s with you imagining this boogie man, bending you in two like a pale garment bag and pulling your hair and thrusting bluntly, as the training of Mr. Kyle go down the gutter along with your self-respect and dignity and the permanent scars wrap your babyish face into an insignia of quasi whoreness? God, stop it!
Because none of that is happening tonight. Maybe when you are older and limbless and the guy has a perverted soft corner for you and an obvious certain advantage over you, then, but not tonight. Understand?
Fight tonight.
Given a baffling last choice, stab your own self. That would add certain nobility to your death. Who the fuck has the balls to samurai herself in the chest? No one! Not even Mr. Kyle, even with all the muscles and bravery accolades.
The shadow is moving in the kitchen, or it could still be a rat. Who the fuck knows? Stay far away. Safety first.
Oh! Here is an idea, throw the expensive oil lamp towards the kitchen.Feeling of guilty? What’s that? Dad can buy things. If not with his salary, then with his gambling money. So don’t brood.
Now, walk quietly towards the door and shut it with a jerk and trap the jerk inside. Good job!
Grab Eddie’s secret cigarette lighter from the cabinet and throw the burning lighter towards the kitchen door.
Holyshit!
That’s a lot of flame and a lot of chaos. You did not know fire could make noise? Did you?
Grab your phone, grab your wallet, grab your collection of vogue and run out of the house. Now call up fire department, call up the cops, call up dad, tell him to rush down here; there is a burning man in his kitchen, so his chips on the board can wait. Call up Eddie. Or Don’t? Call up Dino? Would he be asleep?
Mom? Call up mom too, see how her alcoholic face and exhausted body, with blouse on backward, and hair untied like a trainwreck reacts to her house on fire.
Meanwhile try listening to this cock-sucking motherfucking silly-cyphering shit-turd dick-in-the-ear butt-creamery’s screams and make Mr. Kyle. proud Sarah. Did you hear anything? No? Was that a possum?

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