NaNoWriMo- First Day of Writing

(No title yet, and no plot yet, not too certain what the story is but I’m 1,000 words in and 49,000 to go)

Map of the Counties of Northern California

Image via Wikipedia

From the top of the roof I could see the lights of the city. It seemed so far away, but I knew that once one of us had a car it was thirty minutes to freedom. The lights flickered like candles on a cake. I could almost smell the chocolate frosting melting over the rounded sides of the dark bunt cake. Everything turned to food for me. Every thought. I didn’t eat much, but for some reason food was the best metaphor. Maybe I’m stupid. I don’t care if I am though. All I care about is getting into the lights of that city and far away from this place.

The shattering of glass and plastic and Zen’s obnoxious yelling pulled me from my thoughts, not that they were all that deep, but for a moment while I was thinking of cake like the kind that my mom made me for my thirteenth birthday before she had to go and die, I had transported myself from this place. I had physically or trans-physically lifted myself from this house and floated over the chocolate frosted city, and soared between the bright thin candles with the candy cane stripes. That’s where I was right before Zen threw the television set off the roof of Kara’s house. The sound was like a car crash slamming my head right through a fucking windshield, only it wasn’t glass, it was plexiglass and instead of dying I bounced back to this shingled rooftop where an idiot boy howled like a rooster at a moon hidden behind the clouds. Nothing like a stupid skinhead named Zen to ruin a perfectly good trip.

I took a drag on my clove and coughed a choked laugh. I had forgotten I was trippin’ no wonder I could smell the chocolate frosting like it was right under my nose.

“Oi’ wot tha’ fuck ya doin?” Zen snorted.

Zen spoke with a terrible cockney accent like he was British, but he wasn’t, he was from Northern California. He had just watched a movie about skins in England. He machoed around making up footballer songs and talking about his working class roots. He wasn’t working class, his parents were hippies. Super pacifist, communal living and loving hippies who made the mistake of not having an abortion and then naming the monster child Zen, ensuring that they were going to have a racist skinhead for a son. Everyone knows children rebel against their parents. Adults should know better than to live an extreme life; if you’re hippie or conservative, orthodox christian or satan worshipping jew you know you’re going to get the complete opposite. If you’re going to have kids you should be middle ground people. Adults never learn anything. I don’t think anyone should be allowed to reproduce until all the homeless kids and unwanted kids get adopted, only then do I think adults earn the right to reproduce.

I was completely ignoring Zen who I could feel pounding toward me in steel-toed black boots with his fucking stupid red laces. I took a final drag on my clove. Stub the end till it was ground into black soot and tossed it to the ground. It was too dark for me to see where it fell. A satanic jew? Where did I come up with that one?

“Oi, I’m talkin’ to yu.”

“Shut the fuck up hippie.” I said standing up. I walked toward the edge of the roof. “If you come any closer I’m going to jump.”

“Wot? Fuckin’ do it then.”

“I will and I just want you to know it’s because I’d rather die then share the same air as you.” I said this with a cool even tone. I wasn’t actually afraid of him. I was just an asshole like he was only I was a different kind of asshole. All my friends were assholes. If we could actually call each other friends.

“Why’d ya have to always be such a bitch?” He shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his green flight jacket.

“Why do you have to be such a meat headed idiot?” I sat at the edge of the roof and inched my legs down toward the balcony that lead to the master bedroom where Kara’s parents slept whenever they were actually in town. “You are not from England you stupid dick-head.” I turned to look at his body covered in a dark shadow. I couldn’t make out his face but I knew the light from the master bedroom was lighting my face. “By next summer you’ll be listening to the Grateful Dead.” I jumped to the balcony just in time to hear Zen call me a bitch. It meant nothing. If I had any feelings at all maybe it would have bothered me but my feelings crawled into the casket with my mother and they’ve decided to stay there buried 6 feet beneath the ground to wait for me to join them.

“Who the fuck threw my parents tv off the fucking roof?” Kara was in the front yard screaming up toward the roof of her house. “You fucking asshole!”

See, assholes. All of us.

I wiped my feet on the rug before opening the sliding glass door. The room smelled like cranberries and sweet strawberries from the cone-shaped

incense that Kara’s mother liked to burn. I heard the sound of Zen’s heavy boots hit the wooden balcony as I walked out of the bedroom into the blare of X’s Wild Thing. The party was loud. Kids everywhere drinking and acting stupid. Everyone was stupid. I wanted to get out of this mountain town and see a place with some culture were kids actually wanted to do things. We had nothing to do. All of us so stupid, almost as stupid as Zen. All trying to be some kind of independent scene that we only knew about from movies and late night television, like Zen who wasn’t really a skinhead, he only dressed like one because he thought it was punk. What a dipshit. I wanted to be around people who at least knew they were emanating a racist organization. I decided right then and there I was going to introduce Zen to Quadrophenia and Joy Division, better he be depressed and suicidal than racist. Oh that thing about the abortion… I only half meant it, but I’m serious about not reproducing till all the lonely children are adopted.

Zen shoved the back of my shoulder.

“Jesus Mel, you can be a bitch.”

“What happened to your accent?”

“I lose it whenever I get my feelings hurt.”

See, not a real skinhead. “Zen, we are watching movies at my house tomorrow and then we are going thrift store shopping.”

“Oi. I like my shite.”

I couldn’t help but sigh. “Dude, you’re totally fucking with my high. These movies will let you keep the accent, but you need some style, really this-” I waved my hand across his body in that I have absolutely no words to describe this mess, sort of way. “-this is sexless.”


“Meaning you’re never gonna get any.”


And it was just that easy.

We walked down the stairs toward the heart of the party.

“So Mel…what are you trippin’ on do you have any left can I have some?”

“Acid stupid. That’s what people trip on. Half a tab of acid, and no I don’t have any. I got it from Bobo and no he wont give you any for free because he never gives anything away for free especially his drugs.”

“Hump.” Zen made a snorting noise with his nose. “We’ll see. I got my ways.” Zen smiled at me like we had some sort of secret message floating between us. I looked at him like I didn’t know what he was talking about, because I didn’t.

“No you don’t.”

“Whatever.” Zen clumped his heavy black boots with the red shoelaces through the crowd of kids clustered into groups of friends gripping bottles of beers and wine coolers. If anyone was holding onto some hard liquor you knew they broke into Kara’s parent’s liquor cabinet but she was to busy freaking out on the front lawn over the television set.

Oh and all that stuff I had said earlier about the city being only 30 minutes away and that I could see the lights were all bullshit. The city is actually 3 hours away and the lights were probably from houses in the hills lit up by televisions and porch lights. But I wish it was that close. A night on the roof with some acid brings it close at least for a few hours. Oh and the acid part about having to pay for it that’s a lie too I got that shit for free.


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