Ghangsters (No That Is Not a Typo)

                As Amelia, Richard, and Braxton lived in their triumph over the G, a shadow fell across the parking lot. It was too late for kids to be hanging around a school, though it wasn’t yet dark. Braxton looked up at the clouds like a turkey in the rain.

Braxton: It’s getting dark.

Richard: Oh really? What does the weather girl have to say about this data you have collected?

Amelia: The term is “meteorologist.”

Richard: Excuse me!

Braxton: Guys! I’m just saying that the clouds are blocking the sun rather suddenly. No need to get sarcastic about it.

Amelia: I wasn’t being sarcastic.

Richard [grinning slyly and making a steeple from his fingers]: But I was.

                The Three bickered for a bit, continuing to argue about the clouds, Braxton’s definition of sarcasm, Braxton’s femininity, and whether or not Richard and Amelia were secretly plotting to kill Braxton over the weekend.

Braxton: I’m metro-sexual! Except I couldn’t care less about clothes and shit, so I’m not. But I am! I’M NOT GAY!

Amelia: You are just one flaming-hetero.

                Up on the hill overlooking the parking lot, their arguments were carried to the ears of listeners. These listeners had seen the G go down to mess with the Three, and be pushed down the hill pants-less.  As the Three continue to bicker, they creep down the side of the hill, and advance upon the Three.

Amelia: What good would a fucking turtle do?

Braxton: Just don’t bring turtles into this!

Richard: Dude seriously. They aren’t ninjas.

                The listeners, also G’s, were now upon the Three as this argument increased in volume and decreased in sense. Braxton was the first to point out the mass of G’s surrounding the Three.

G1: What’d you bitches stop fo’?

Braxton: Uh…she’s the bitch, we’re dudes.

Amelia [slaps Braxton’s shoulder]: What do you want?

G2: That’s our bitch down thur, what did you have to go and push him down thur fo’?

Richard: Wait, I thought we were the bitches?

G3: Shut up!

Braxton: Why don’t you make me?

G2: Fine then.

                The second G moved toward Braxton with an arm raised. Braxton retreated a step, but not enough to entirely avoid the punch that landed on his collarbone. “God damn it!” he screamed into the air.

                Richard moved forward and grabbed the second G before he could land another punch on Braxton, but another came from behind him and reached up to grab his neck. As Richard and Braxton scrambled with the numerous little G’s, Amelia was batting away at the G around Richard’s neck with her ice scraper. Or at least she was until she noticed something.

                “Hey guys look! That loser’s still trying to put his pants back on!” Amelia laughed, and Braxton…made some sound resembling a laugh and chipmunk choking.

                In this momentary confusion, Richard managed to get out of the dangling G’s grip. Amelia shoved him toward his truck and pulled Braxton away, slamming him into the door of his boarder-jumper. Braxton got away first, then Richard pulled out of his parking spot. Amelia’s SHO, though was having trouble starting. She quickly locked all the doors and tried again with the key. The engine roared to life. “Thank whatever god there isn’t!” she exclaimed as she backed out of her parking space in time to see Braxton turn into the road with Richard waiting behind him. Amelia pulled in behind him and saw two of the unruly G’s climb into the back of Richard’s car in the way that only rude jerks could consider stealthily. Luckily for them Richard couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his ancient truck’s engine running. Amelia honked her car horn, and the G’s ducked. Richard waved in ignorance and drove off. Amelia groaned in exasperation and followed Richard.

                The Three were all travelling the same way, and Richard passed Braxton as soon as a second lane was available. As Richard drove by Braxton, one of the G’s popped up, and Braxton, startled, swerved and jumped the curb into someone’s yard. Richard stopped at a red light and the G’s jumped out of the truck bed and ran for Braxton. Richard saw the commotion in his mirrors, and turned right at the light and up the hill. Amelia followed, and they came in almost a full circle to meet at the top of the hill to see Braxton being chased by the two G’s. Amelia and Richard parked their cars and ran out to see the chase.

Richard: He’s a cross-country runner, he should be fine.

Amelia: He’s not that good though.

Richard: Well all he has to do is run until those guys get tired.

Amelia: Good point.

                Amelia and Richard watched from above, laughing at Braxton when they weren’t cheering him on.

Richard: So about that whole, gangster thing:  it seems like the times are a-changing.

Amelia: Yep, there’s just no respect for the classics anymore.  These guys are a ruthless swarm of crazed hooligans. Kind of like…who was that one crazy dude with the army? You know the guy in Asia? He had the cool beard.

Richard: You mean Genghis Khan?

Amelia: Yes! These guys are just Ghangsters.

Richard: Hey look! Braxton tripped!

Amelia: Ah fuck. Does this mean we have to go get him?

Here Come the Real "G"

There was a high school. In this school were some “G’s”, scrawny little guys who had no idea what a belt or properly fitting pants were. These poor dumb fools had no idea what they were calling themselves.

                Then there were a few who decided to have some fun. Richard, Braxton, and Amelia were their names. They went to school with these “G’s” and decided that enough was enough; they were tired of seeing the pants around the knees of these pathetic little runts. They finally made their move on Decades Day.

                In walked the three, from different entrances. Braxton walked up the front steps, Richard came in the basement, and Amelia strutted through the front door. Each one radiating power and walking with the purpose of intimidating all those around them, not that they were entirely successful.

                They met in the atrium, the place where all the delinquents hung after school. These three were bad: they were there BEFORE school. Each had on a suit tailored to perfection. Richard wore a pinstripe navy suit, Braxton a grey suit, Amelia a black suit. Each had a shirt as white as angels’ wings, and a tie as black as the devil’s pupils. Their hair was combed back to a uniform smoothness. Each had a defining accessory: Richard had his trench coat, Braxton had his fedora, and Amelia had her pocket watch. They set out for the day: Richard and Amelia to Physics, Braxton to Calculus. Surrounding all of them were guys who didn’t give a fuck, “G’s,” a few ‘50s throwback dudes, and girls embracing their vintage sluttiness in mock ‘80s attire.

                The day wore on. The three met at lunch, outside on the steps. Amelia recounted her tales of being mistaken for a guy multiple times that day to the boys. While Amelia was confused, Richard and Braxton were amused. Richard’s roaring chortle nearly drowned out Braxton’s girly giggle. Nearly. It escaped their conversation and clumsily collided with the ears of one of the “G’s.” Insulted and intrigued by the sound, the “G” came over to the three.

G: “Wut goin’ down up in hur?”

Amelia: “Excuse me?”

G: “Wut is soooo funny, you dumb ass?”

Richard to the three: “Wouldn’t that be asses?”

Braxton giggles; the “G” looks in confusion

Amelia: “What do you want, punk?”

G: “Who you callin’ a punk, dick?”

Amelia points to Richard: “Do you mean him?”

Richard: “And that’s Big Dick to you.”

G: “Wut the fuck?”

Amelia: “You got a problem with us?”

G: “Wait…are you a girl?”

Amelia does a facepalm

Richard: “Yeah, that’s Amelia.”

Amelia: “So why is it so important that you’re bothering us?”

G: “Y’all are just a bunch of pussies”

Richard: “Hey! Watch your language!”
Amelia: “Yeah you cunt-sucker, watch your fucking mouth!”

G: “What the fuck…”
Amelia: “Seriously, shut the fuck up and get out of my face.”

Richard: “Amelia…”

G: “You got a problem, bitch? Is it that time of the month for you?”

Amelia lunges at hi;, Richard stops her with his extremely long muscled arm.

G: “Gotta keep your bitches on a tight leash, man.”

Richard: “You know what, just shut up.”

Braxton: “Hey guys, come on.”

Amelia: “Nut up or shut up, Braxton.”

Braxton: “I’m just saying that it’s getting near time to go.”

Amelia wriggles out of Richard’s arm

Amelia: “Excuse me, I have to go to German. Fich dich, Arschloch.”

                The three leave the somewhat angry, but mostly confused “G” out on the steps. They walk back to their classes.

Richard: “You know, swearing is not very lady-like, Amelia.”

Braxton: “No wonder people think you’re a guy. Besides the whole lack of boobs thing.”

Amelia: “How many times do I have to tell y’all? I ain’t no lady.”

                The three go through the rest of the day.

❶❷❸❹❺❻❼❽❾❿⓫⓬⓭⓮⓯⓰⓱⓲⓳⓴

                At the conclusion of the school day, each of the three went to their individual after-school activities. Amelia went to Academic Team; Braxton went to track practice; Richard went to basketball practice.

                Around 17:00 they all showed up in the parking lot. Amelia and Braxton were drawing on the windows of Richard’s antique truck with expo markers. “What are you guys doing?” Richard bellowed before picking up Braxton and dropping him in the bed of his little border-jumper truck.

                The annoying little “G” approaches.

G: “You girls having a little fight?”

Richard: “Dude, just back off.”

G: “Well maybe my car is out here, you dumb shit.”

Braxton: “Where is it then?”

G: “Why is he-“

Amelia: “Answer the question.”

G: “Maybe I don’t have a car.”

Amelia: “Ah the ambiguity.”

G: “Wut?”

Amelia: “Un idiot dit ‘quoi?’ en anglais.”

G: “What?”

Amelia laughs loudly; Braxton and Richard share a confused laugh.

G: “Are y’all makin’ fun o’ me?”

Amelia: “You wouldn’t know if I was or not, would you?”

Richard: “Amelia, be nice.”

Amelia: “I’ll act however I please.”

G: “Y’all are just stupid.”

                The “G” starts to walk away. Amelia heads toward her black ’93 Ford Taurus SHO. She opens the back door to drop off her back pack. From a surprising closeness, the voice of the “G” returns. “You’re nothing but talk bitch. Amelia pulls out her ice-scraper from the back of her car (Leonerd) and slaps the “G” on the shoulder with the bristled brush end. The “G” yells in surprise. “Wut da fuck, bitch? You cain’t do dat to a gangsta!”

                Braxton leaps out of the bed of his truck next to the “G.” Braxton grabs him and pins his arms to his sides. Amelia stands ready with her ice-scraper, posed like she used to at baseball practice years ago. Richard stands behind Amelia, his height imposing enough to scare anyone who mocked Amelia’s makeshift weapon. “You are no GANGSTER. You are just an ignorant fool, whose cowardly pants have decided to flee,” Amelia remarked upon the “G’s” pants sliding down his legs.

                Richard navigated Braxton, still holding the “G” to the edge of the hill, where Braxton released the “G” as Amelia poked his shoulder with her ice-scraper. The “G” rolled down the hill helplessly, wailing when he landed on the tennis court.

                Richard and Amelia shared a knuckle-touch. Braxton approached Amelia ready for a high-five, but Amelia high-fived his face instead, before embracing him in an apologetic hug.

IMA WRITE SOMETHING

Since I live in the most boring place I can imagine, I shall use this blog to WRITE!!! Big shock right there, eh? No I am not Canadian. My uncle is, and my mum kind of....Where am I? GOT IT!
So I'm going to start writing (again), but actually try to finish what I start. My few followers besides myself know of my writing, hehe...writing groupies! That was creepy, even for me.
So I'll write my little stories and let THE WORLD OF THE INTERWEBS see them! I'm scared of people copying what I'm going to write and stealing it, so I just won't use my good stuff, just some general things that I don't care about. My real friends can see my writing that I am really proud of (in a way).
Sadly though, my little stories all turn out to be gay...even if I purposefully make them straight, my brain twists it while I'm writing so it just doesn't work out the way I planned it. Ah well, no romance stories for me if I can help it.
RAWR! I'm bored. I also have no friends. I mean I have friends, I just never see them. You see, they go to school, or they live far away, or they work, or they don't have time, or they just don't like me at all. So it seems like I just live in a bubble by myself and have no life, so I just plug in my headphones and blast music while I dance like no one is watching (because I am forever alone).
BUT BUT BUT I promised myself I would start writing! I told the amazing Rufus that I would start writing! I told no one else about my plans for writing! I am now telling THE WORLD OF THE INTERWEBS about my plans for writing!
If I don't post something once a week (each Wednesday) while I am stuck here, an evil faerie will haunt my dreams and reduce my chances of ever finding a four-leaf clover.

I Miss New York

Really, like there is no other way to explain it. I miss New York. I want to go back. I'm stuck in the small town I was born and raised in, and the only thing that keeps me from taking my car and driving away as fast as I can are the people I have missed and need to catch up with.
I miss everything being around me. I miss being able to go out for sushi or pick up french cheese at the grocery store. I miss walking along the river at night. I miss going through the parks with my camera. I miss the skyscrapers and the village and the subway and the over-priced shops and the lack of walmarts.
I hate this town. It's full of my relations, friends of my relations, and creepy people I don't want to deal with. Here I am someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's granddaughter, someone's cousin...I am not an individual here. My father's family has lived here since before this town was founded. It was built around their old store. It was designed by one of them. This place has a mold made by each and every one of my descendants, who made small alterations on their own, that I don't fit into at all. I am tired of all these preppy, southern bigots who call think themselves higher than the rest of humanity because of who they are. Just because you were born in this Virginia town does not give you the right to call my Jamaican-born Irish mother a "fucking foreign slut" in front of me. You can't say how glad you are to not see her face when you used to say I look just like her. You can't keep me from talking back anymore. You can't keep me here. You will never read this.
I hate it here. I will leave this town and never come back.