I first saw Passchendaele in 11th grade, in Social Studies class. Although back then, it was Études Sociales, because I was a French Student. I remember the day very clearly... My Études Sociales class had a total of 9 kids. 9 because there aren't a lot of French speakers out where I live. 9, a number that managed to shrink down to 7 the following year, because, as we know, the French are fantastic at surrendering. And of course surrendering is just another word for quitting. 9 of were sitting in a dark classroom, staring at a projector screen. We were only half paying attention because we had a substitute teacher.
Ahh, substitute teachers. Some of my fondest high school memories involve subs. I remember the good old days, where they would just watch in horror as my friends would color all over my arms and face with washable Crayola markers. Or the times we would make emergency vending machine runs during class, explaining to the sub as we rushed out the door: "I must go, I have explosive diarrhea!" and returning ten minutes later with handfuls of Mike &Ikes. But I think the moment that went down in the hall of fame, was when my best friend gave my bangs a trim, right there in the middle of homework time (as a small class, it was easier to get away with crap). That, and of course the gold crown moment when I come into class with a bag of freezer peas from the cafeteria draped over a freshly broken collarbone. I'm getting off topic.
So there we were, 9 of us, before a projector screen. The sub sat at the teacher's desk, idly flipping through a 7 month old news paper. I was very excited. I happen to be a very big fan of the Second World War. I am passionate about the history, the battles, the weapons, the planes, everything about it just drives me nuts and I want to keep learning. For some reason, I'm not quite as fond of the First World War. I think they were in a rut technology wise, and it was the first war that had managed to break away from muskets and canons and shit. Plus, it's just not as exciting without Nazis. So, although the battle of Passchendaele took place in 1917- 22 years before Hitler let it rip in Poland- I was keeping an open mind.
Right, so I'm going to put my foot down right here and make a statement: the hottest guy to make an appearance in the 2008 movie Passchendaele got killed within the first 10 minutes of the film. And if you've seen the movie, you know just who I'm talking about... that super cute blue eyed babe that got his noggin turned into a shish-kabob, bayonet style.
When the young German fellow died on screen, all five girls in the class cried out in protest. We didn't hear a peep from the boys. As the movie progressed, we all started getting bored. My best friend, who was sitting beside me, was doodling random crap on the back of a gum wrapper. Another girl was gnawing loudly on a piece of bubble gum, and someone else was madly trying to finish chemistry homework. The guys sat in the row behind us. The four of them were half watching, half drooling/daydreaming. But my best guy friend through high school was up to something different. Being a diabetic and all, he had to snack at rather strange times. During the movie, he was chowing down on a large muffin, which he most likely purchased during class time without the sub's permission. He was suddenly possessed with the bright idea of breaking the muffin into little pieces, and throwing them at me. So there he was, winging chunks of poppy seed muffin at the back of my head. I thought I could ignore him, but he had a will of steel... picture an army bound blue eyed brunette in gym shorts throwing pieces of the largest muffin ever spawned. I hissed his name and spun around in my seat to glare at him. That only provoked him more. He relentlessly chucked food at me, and soon, the green carpet around my desk was covered in muffin crumbs. Suddenly, the substitute teacher started yelling at me to stop! My guy friend guffawed loudly, and took the lecture directed at me as an encouragement. Pretty soon I was shaking muffin crumbs out of my hair, and the teacher finally ordered me to get down on my hands and knees, and clean up the mess on the carpet.
Wait... actually, I messed up. This whole muffin incident took place when we were watching Swing Kids... OH WELL. To the point, now.
So remember the main female character, Sarah Mann? At first, she seemed like a decent character. I always have a really hard time warming up to female characters in movies. I have a very strong tendency to be a bit of a misogynist, which is very strange because, well, I'm a woman. But I have a strong preference to men, and I have a hard time getting along with women. But at the beginning of the film, Sarah didn't do anything to tick me off. But what she ended up doing later in the film was so unforgivable, so utterly disgusting, that it inspired me to take time out of my day to write this entire story.
Sarah was addicted to Morphine. Alright, so now, some of you may be reading this, thinking: "Gee... what's it to ya? Why do you care if some junkie injects herself with morphine?" Well, dear reader, this is why: Morphine is a very strong pain killer, widely used in the first and second world war. In WWI, troops were getting shot, dismembered, and suffering many unimaginable, absolutely horrible injuries. The pain must have been just absolutely un-fucking-believable. Can you imagine yourself, lying on a cot in a tent, in 1917 France, with thirty other men, reeking of blood and sweat, with hmm, let's say; half you right leg blown off? That's going to hurt. And you're going to need morphine to keep from going absolutely insane from the pain. Now, this Sarah Mann, this fictional BITCH, was a nurse in France. It was her job to tend to all these bleeding and dying men. Now I'm not even going to sugar coat it; that would be a brutal job. Being surrounded by moaning, dismembered men would be just absolutely sickening. It would be depressing, and hard, and not easy to deal with. But at least the nurses weren't out there fighting, sliding in mud with an arm missing. For some reason, this Nurse, Sarah Mann, thought she had it tougher than everyone else. She thought she was worse off than those seventeen year old guys lying bloodied and dismembered in the mud. So you know what she did? She stole their morphine, and used it for her own personal use. That's right. Little Miss Emo pants was taking the painkillers that were supposed to go to mortally wounded troops, smuggling it up to her place, so she could shoot up and deal with "the pain".
Pssst! Sarah! Use a razor blade next time, bitch!
Of course the movie ended up being some romantic sap-ball, and some gallant war veteran helped her curb her disgusting habit. They locked themselves in a hotel room where she went through withdrawal. Oh, what a poor, pitiful muffin! We had to watch as an honourable ex-soldier cuddled her on a bed as she got the shakes. I'm sorry but that just disgusts me. If I was Michael Dunne, the nicey-nice soldier in the movie, this would have been my response to the junkie-thief-bitch: "GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU FILTHY WHORESLUT." Then I would kick her ass all the way to the hospital, where I would jab her with a pointed stick until she confessed to all the wounded, dying, and handicapped men about what she did.
Well, that's where the true part of this story ends, and the fictional part comes in. Hells yes, baby, we're jumping into Paul Gross' screenplay to open up a can of Whoop-ass!
XxXxX
I studied the class schedule that was stuck on the inside of my locker door with an age old piece of chewed up gum. Lunch time was over, which meant I had a double class before school was over. Two more hours before I can go home and SLEEP! I moaned to myself as I rubbed my eyes sleepily. I had double social in the afternoon. Or, double ETS as us cool French kids called it. Double Études Sociales! I strained to remember if I had done any homework for that class at all... I squinted my blue eyes as I stared absently into my locker like it was fucking Narnia.
Nope. I hadn't done any homework. I took my camo backpack from my locker, which was heavily decorated with pictures of my horse, my hottest guy friends (I like to showcase these things), and photos of helicopters and fighter jets. I slammed the door, locked the lock, and headed up the detour-ish, leading-to-nowhere-hallway where my locker was situated, to get to the main hallway. My high heel boots clopped on the shiny white floor, and I smiled to myself as I headed to class. There was something about wearing high heels that made me feel important. I couldn't decide what aspect of the shoes raised my confidence. Was it the clippy-cloppy, horse hoof sound of self importance? Or was it the fact that the heels bumped me up from a five foot five short kid to a five foot seven babe? Or a combination of both? It was a mystery.
When I arrived at my social class, I threw my backpack across the room while yelling: "FORE!" My guy friend looked up from his iPod and watched as my camo backpack was momentarily airborne. After it landed, I suddenly remembered that I had my iPod and cell phone in there. Oops. I think he called me a tool as I rushed over to make sure my slate grey Motorola RAZR still worked. I flipped it open, and was relieved to see a glowing picture of my horse trying to bite a green balloon. It was an awesome wallpaper.
"What are we doing today?" I asked my guy friend, as I checked to make sure the screen of my iPod wasn't cracked.
"I dunno" he muttered, in a Neanderthal like voice. "We have a sub" he added, taking his ear buds out.
"Reeaallyy?" I asked, my eyes widening. I loved sub days. His handsome face scrunched up as he pretended to frown scornfully at me (in case you were wondering, this is the same bastard that was throwing muffin bits at my head). Following standard we-have-a-sub protocol, I ran out of the room to intercept my classmates, to spread the joyful news about our superior situation. I found my best friend, and abruptly told her that our teacher was absent. "Really? Awesome!" Typical reaction. As we walked back to class, I scanned the hallway for my crush... my head swivelled this way and that, my eyes flicking over the students in the crowded hall.
It took about ten minutes for all 9 of us French students to rally up in class. The sub was sitting behind the teacher's desk, glancing at the day planner, assignment list and attendance sheet.
"Is everyone here?" Asked the sub, frowning. No one in my ignorant class said anything. "Is everyone here?" Repeated the sub. Eventually one of us grunted a yes. The teacher then explained that we would be watching a movie...
"YES!" We all cried in utter relief. Fist pumps, smiles, whoops of joy... movie days were popular with my class. The teacher slid Paul Gross' 2008 Passchendaele into the computer, which was connected to the overhead projector. We all moaned in protest when the teacher went to DVD setup, and changed the language to French. A few of the girls complained and asked for English subtitles, while I dug through my backpack for my notebook. It was a ritual of mine to doodle and write stories in class (I suppose that's why none of my marks were outstanding). I kissed the honour roll goodbye in the 8th grade.
So, the movie kind of lost my interest when the love story got introduced. Don't get me wrong, I love love stories, but there was something about this particular love story that just got on my nerves. It was so wishy washy and not very believable. Not to mention, I started hating the character Sarah Mann. I was soon vocalizing my protest, especially during the sex scene. I mean, COME ON! There's a fucking BATTLE going on outside, and Miss Emo Pants and Sir Wishy Washy were doing the dance of life in a fucking shed! Mean while, the muffin thrower was telling me to shut up, and teasing me about having a thing for soldiers, and I was an emotional wreck. I guess it had been a bad day, and the movie just didn't sit well with me. Muffin tosser back there wasn't helping matters. So when the film was over and my hatred for Sarah Mann was hot and fresh, I mumbled goodbye to my class and packed up my things. I wasted time by my best friend's locker, peering in the mirror stuck on the door, trying to catch a glimpse of my crush in the reflection. My heart stopped when suddenly he caught me looking at him. We stared at each other through the reflection, and I abruptly slammed the door shut. Unfortunately my friend's head was in the way. Oops. I spent extra time at my locker, closely examining the photos I had stuck inside. Handsome, smiling faces stared at me from the photo paper. A photo of an old friend and I made me smile. He was a handsome blonde, with big green eyes, smiling gorgeously from the backseat of my mother's car. I was sitting beside him, my long hair sticking out from under a Royal Canadian Air force cap. He was smiling handsomely while I bared my teeth at the camera. We had been on a road trip when that was taken. The photo below that one made me grin. It was a candid shot of my horse; a stall, solidly built appaloosa; with his head lowered and pressed against my body. His long head reached from the top of my head, down to my bellybutton. I was kissing his forehead and his eyes were closed. I had spent so much time admiring my own little photo gallery, that I lost track of time. When I glanced down at the main hallway, my stomach sank when I saw it was empty. I had missed the bus. Again.
I whipped the phone from my backpack, to dial my mum and tell her I would be late getting home. As I spoke to her, I wandered down towards the hockey rinks, were the vending machines were. I very rarely purchased food from the vending machines... I didn't trust them, after the incident where it ate my money after I tried to buy a package of sour candy. But the Twix bar behind the glass was looking mighty tempting. So I put down my backpack, and rummaged past the red ski resort lanyard in my jeans pocket for some change. I stared at the vending machine, at the number under the Twix bar. The other candies were marked with codes like E12 or whatever, but the code under the Twix bar was P17. I pressed the buttons on the key pad, and slid the Toonie into the coin slot. A low, grumbling sound suddenly broke the silence. My eyes widened in surprise. Had the damn machine consumed my money? But the Twix bar shook, and fell into the retrieval slot. I bent down, tossing my hair over my shoulder, and reached into the vending machine. The tips of my fingers grazed the foil candy wrapper, and when I grasped it in my hand, I felt a hard jerking sensation. I cried out a little as my body lurched forward. I tried to jerk my hand away, but it was stuck! I grunted in frustration, and just as I was about to plant a foot on the front of the machine, to give myself some leverage, the world spun and my vision starred.
"Whoa!" I squinted my eyes shut as my stomach rolled. I was feeling very nauseous... Suddenly, a chill ran over my skin, and a strange smell filled my nose. To my absolute utter surprise, I felt small, chilly raindrops plop onto my head. I grit my teeth, and tentatively opened one of my eyes. I gasped in shock and popped both eyes open. How could it be? How was it possible? I had just... teleported! I gasped in horror and looked around. I was in a field. A wet, muddy field. The grass was greyish green, short and churned up with mud and rocks. They sky seemed to be sitting low to the ground, and was a wet looking grey color. I swivelled my head every which way, looking for the familiar potted plants and fold up chairs of my high school. But as far as the eye could see, it was just... grass... "Hol-ay SHIT!" I cried, finally yanking my hand from the vending machine. "Where the FUCK am I?" I realised, with a start, that the countryside was looking very familiar. Like something I knew but had never seen.
And then it struck me. It struck me harder than a slap across the face with a frozen steak mitten! I had gone back in time! I had traveled back to 1917 Belgium!
You see, a sane person would have freaked out. They would have spent time around the vending machine, trying to find away to get back home. Maybe they would have tried to see if they had cell phone reception. But not me. I went away from the vending machine. I just picked a random direction and started hiking. And I didn't even try that Hansel and Gretel bread crumb trail stunt. I just went.
What I love most about being fit is the ability to run for over an hour on end without any breaks. I must be part wild pony, because running is my thing. I can go for ages! But running across that field was a different story. The ground was spongy and wet, and running in high heels is quite a task. My boots look essentially like a pair of black Durangos, only with a heel unsuitable for horseback riding. So after slipping across the mud and doing the old windmill thing with my arms a couple times, I just decided to walk. I walked for what felt like hours. Eventually, the chill of the French countryside turned my cheeks pink and made my nose runny. I tied my long, dark brown hair back in a pony tail, to keep it from whipping around my face in the wind. I was only wearing a skin tight, long sleeve tee-shirt over heavily ripped jeans, so as you can imagine, I was getting quite cold. I absently toyed with the pearl stud earrings I was wearing, trying to keep myself occupied. Eventually, I could see a long, white tent peeking over the hill in the distance. My spirits perked, and I took off at a jog. The golden good luck necklace my best friend gave me bounced annoyingly on my chest as I ran towards the tent. As I began climbing the hill, I could hear voices. Lots of men were yammering on, so I figured I had found my way to a hospital tent. That is of course if I had magically gone back in time and teleported to the Belgium countryside. But, sure enough, as I crested the hill I could see dozens of soldiers. I could tell by their Uniforms that they were Canadian, and that it was most definitely during the First World War. Sweet. But suddenly I froze. What the hell was I doing? How would they react if they saw me? I didn't exactly look like an early 1900's sixteen year old! Were jeans even invented by 1917? If they were, would they wear ripped skinny style ones? And what about my boots? I figured those were safe because they looked like cowboy boots... but my shirt! Surly that was inappropriate. Spandex didn't exist back in the day, and I'm sure white tee-shirts from Smart Set were more or less taboo. I won't even start on camo push up bras.
I quickly scrambled back where I came, where no one could see me. And I began to think, for the first time that day, actually. The dusty old gears finally started to turn... What the hell was I doing? I was thisclose to just dropping onto my ass in the mud. I began rethinking everything that happened. Surly I time traveled for one reason or another. I must have been chosen. Because I'm almost positive that other students had bought Twix bars and didn't find them self in 1917 European No man's land! I tapped my left pocket, the one with the Twix Bar in it, and decided to just go ahead and check out this Army Camp. We were fellow Canadians. What's the worst that could happen? So, with butterflies swarming my stomach, I jogged up the crest of the hill, and began my decent to the camp. My body buzzed with excitement as I began walking towards the hospital tent. It wasn't as windy on this side of the hill, so I pulled my long, mid-shoulder blade length hair out of its pony tail. My hair wisped around my face. At first I thought I may have been invisible, because no one acknowledged my presence. But then, as I paced cautiously towards the entrance of a tent, I felt some eyes on me.
You know that feeling, when you're wearing something odd or have your hair styled differently, and you just know that people are staring at you? Yeah, well, I had that x1000 as I crept through the army camp. Men in grubby field uniforms stopped dead in their tracks to just stare. And I don't really blame them or anything, with my incredible beauty and all (HA!). I was just about to poke my head into the hospital tent, when someone caught my eye. A man, not exactly "good looking" but relatively attractive. He had dark hair, and a face that looked like a cross between Ray Liotta and Benoit Guoin. And then I suddenly recognized him! I stopped dead in my tracks, my jaw became unhinged, and I just stared.
IT WAS PAUL GROSS! Or... Michael Dunne!
Was this possible? Had I not only traveled back in time but entered the fictional world of Paul Gross' screenplay? I couldn't believe it! I pinched myself (something I should have done an hour or so ago). When I didn't suddenly wake up, wrapped in my Victorian print sheets or with my head on a desk, I sort of panicked. Paul Gross/Michael Dunne walked into the hospital tent, ducking his head and pulling the canvas away. I decided to follow him, instead of standing dumbfounded out on a wet lawn with a bunch of Canadian troops. I followed him into the tent, and instantly the overwhelming metallic smell of blood and the scent of iodine invaded my nose. I made a bit of a face, and looked around. Lines of cots were set up, each hosting a young man wrapped in bandages. Nurses in long dresses walked around, carrying trays of bandages, or blankets, and a number of surgical tools. I peered at Pauley Dunne and watched as he approached a nurse standing at the back of the tent. I squinted my eyes, and suddenly my mouth shot open in horror. It was Sarah Mann! And suddenly it all became very clear. Why I had been chosen to get sucked into the motion picture version of Passchendaele. It was my job to kick Sarah Mann's butt. My heart pounded with the kind of exhilaration you get right before a fist fight, or when you notice that some bitch is starting a fight with you on the internet via YouTube comments. Suddenly Paul Gross was attractive and I hated Sarah Mann even more. But I pushed that aside and decided instead on starting a plan. As I stood there, like a complete idiot, plotting (I happen to be a natural born evil doer, and plotting is one of my specialties), something else caught my attention. I felt something brush against the soft, worn, light blue material of my favourite jeans. I looked down, only to see that I was standing next to a cot, with a young man laying in it. He was dressed in a white short sleeved tee-shirt, and had light brown hair, combed back. He had brushed his hand against my jeans, and looked up at me with tired blue eyes.
"Are you an angel?" He asked. See, usually, my first instinct would have been to burst into laughter. But at that moment, as I looked down at a young man who was probably only eighteen or nineteen, my heartstrings were suddenly pulled in ways I didn't think possible. If you were to picture an angel right now, I'm sure a skinny teenager with long, dark hair and an ivory complexion don't come to mind. The blue eyes might have worked, but I think the ripped jeans and leather boots threw off the power of my good old windows to the soul. I could only bring myself to smile at the young man. He had a white blanket draped over the lower half of his body, and I could see that he was missing a leg. It was a shame, really. He was such a handsome fellow. I knelt down next to him, and put my arms on the edge of the bed.
"What's your name?" I asked him, looking into his eyes.
"Timothy" he said, never taking his eyes off my face.
"Thank you for what you've done for your country, Timothy. I promise you it will pay off." I smiled and took the Twix bar from my pocket. I unwrapped the candy, and passed it to him. "You eat that" I said. "It tastes really good."
"Thank you" he said as I stuffed the wrapper back into my pocket.
"You take care" I murmured, squeezing his arm as I got to my feet. Sarah and Michael were leaving the tent! I followed swiftly, trying to ignore the brutal injuries on some of the men in the tent. I had never seen so much dismemberment in my life. Not even the movie Doom was that bad. From the other end of the tent, a man screamed in pain. Suddenly my quest had even more meaning. I know that Timothy was doped up on morphine, to keep the pain of his missing leg away (thus his mistaking me for an angel). But apparently the man at the other end of the tent was going through immense amounts of pain. I wasn't about to let Fuck Face get away with precious containers of pain killer!
Michael and Sarah were walking towards a bunch of canvas tents set up an acre or so away. I kept my distance as I followed, trying not to look conspicuous. Michael Dunne hugged Emo Fuck Face before she disappeared into her tent. Excellent...
Once Michael had returned to the hospital tent, to do hell knows what, I made my move. I jogged swiftly through the fading light towards Sarah Mann's tent. My heart pounded and suddenly a wild smile split across my face.
I'd only ever gotten into a couple of fist fights before. I beat up a total of two guys. The first was in sixth grade, and I made him bleed through the nose. The second one I beat up twice. First time in the school yard (I kicked his ass from pillar to post), and the second time I pummelled his face with a Granny Smith apple. But I'd also broken up fights before, and witnessed fight circles in the school yard. So between me and the James Bond movies I loved so much, I knew how it was done.
I whipped open the canvas flap of the tent, hoping in the back of my mind I wasn't catching her changing or anything. I would probably rather photograph Rosie O'Donnell in a bikini than see Sarah Mann naked. Actually... that doesn't really make sense. Scratch that from your memory while I try to clear that mental image out of my mind.
"Hello!" Cried Sarah in surprise. Suddenly my brows know in a frown. I didn't say anything. Instead, I gave her body a very quick inspection. She was only about 5'1, while I stood at an impressive 5'7 in my heeled boots. I was very slender and slight in my build, and she appeared to have more substance to her body... though she was short and didn't have a burst of adrenaline or flaming anger. So, I figured I could easily take her. Before she could even open her mouth to ask me who I was or why I was dressed like a Canadian Ski Bum/Cowboy/Air Force pilot from hell, I landed a nice good punch right on her kisser. She cried out in pain, her eyes widening as she began to ask a shaky: "What was that for?" I clocked her one more time before I began to explain.
"THAT is for stealing MORPHINE from my TROOPS!" I snapped aggressively, stomping on her toe with my heel. Her eyes widened in pure shock and her mouth formed into a perfect O before I swung another punch at her face. This time, I felt bones crack under my sore knuckles. "THEY need it more than YOU!" I snarled, gaining momentum in my punches. She could only weakly put up her arms, attempting to parry the blows away from her face. I ripped her arms away, the hatred that drove my attack pushing me to punch harder and faster. I socked her square in the nose with my fist, and felt it break. Sarah burst into tears as hot blood started pouring from the once cute, perfect little appendage. "Don't you DARE steal it EVER AGAIN!" I shouted, shoving her backwards. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" I watched as she fell onto her back, hands cupped over her gushing nose. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"
"Yes!" She sobbed, looking away. She looked so pathetic. I wanted to continue hitting, I wanted to kick, but since she was on her back, I decided to torture her further with words. "Those wounded and dying young men need those pain killers! You are just a worthless, pathetic, selfish whoreslut! You deserve to suffer for what you're doing!" She began nodding, crying hysterically with her hands still cupped over her nose.
Now, as badass as I am on a regular basis, I also have a soft spot. Usually, that soft spot is reserved for cute little fuzzy animals. Think: hamsters, bunnies, kittens, puppies, that sort of thing. But that soft spot also happens to cover people that are crying. I don't know why, but for some reason, I began feeling slightly bad for Sarah. After all, I was the cause of her pain. It was because of me that she was crying. Now don't get me wrong, I didn't regret what I did. I think she deserved to suffer. Women in movies are very rarely ever taught a lesson. I was frankly quite proud to be the one to kick some bitch's ass. But I realised that I had done enough damage. So, I strode over to her crumpled figure. She instantly shielded her face with her arms. I rolled my eyes, and grabbed the front of her dress. I hauled her onto her feet. She very slowly took her arms away. I glared into her eyes. My intense, smouldering blues staring into her watery greyish ones.
"Never inject morphine into your own body again." I spoke with a flat, low, poisonous tone. She nodded pathetically, snivelling as blood dripped from her nose. I locked my jaw, and slapped her across the face before striding towards the exit of her tent. Before I left, I heard her speak.
"Who are you?" She asked weakly. I turned, flipping my hair over my shoulder very dramatically before saying:
"I'm someone who genuinely cares about the men fighting for my freedom." I let the words sink in before I spun on my heel and left the tent. It was getting quite dark outside, and it was hard to see. I jogged lazily back towards the direction of the vending machine. I decided it was best if no one else saw me. Maybe if Sarah were to complain they'd think she was crazy and have her sorry ass sent home. I personally would have done that myself, but I knew there was a shortage of nurses, and she was relatively good at her job, so I figured it was best if she stayed. Maybe after the scare she would be compelled to do her job better, out of fear that I would appear again, but with iron knuckles and steel toed boots. I slowed from a jog to a walk, and as I moseyed over to the hill, I saw Paul Gross/Michael Dunne walking my way! I flipped my hair over my shoulder, and when we were close enough for me to see his facial expression, I noticed his mouth was slightly agape and he was frowning. Do ya like spandex, Mr. Dunne? Wink wink. As we passed, I winked. Though he tried to hide it, I saw a smile. He was going to ask me a question; I knew it because he was in charge and because I clearly didn't fit. I merely pressed my index finger to my puckered lips. The universal Shhh sign. I felt him looking back at me, in obvious bewilderment, as I disappeared into the twilight and jogged towards the vast, open field.
I thought I was alone. I was making my way back to my magical time traveling vending machine, the wind whipping my hair around to the point where I pulled it into a messy pony tail. But suddenly, I heard a squelching noise, and a man's quiet yell. I stopped in my tracks, and whipped around. Sure enough, Michael Dunne was on his ass in the mud.
"You're following me!" I cried, squinting at him in the low light.
"Sorry, but I couldn't resist!" He got to his feet, and scowled at the mud on his uniform.
"You shouldn't ask me questions!" I said. I was really starting to freak out. Would I have to beat up Paul Gross too? Jesus. He was one of those people where you just can't decide if he's handsome or not. He stood just a tad under 5'11- which, in my humble opinion, is the perfect height. He was probably as tall as my crush. I tore my thoughts out of the gutter, and concentrated on being angry at him.
"Are you a nurse? I haven't seen you before. And those are very strange clothes..." He commented in a rushed, inquisitive voice. I narrowed my eyes. I didn't want to screw around, so I figured I would just spill a part of the truth, then run away back to my vending machine.
"I beat up your girlfriend." I said. Paul stopped his rambling. His eyebrows shot up, and he stumbled over his words, his mouth forming a little O of surprise.
"Oh?" He frowned. "Now why would you do that?"
"Because" I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest. "She is stealing morphine from wounded and dying soldiers for her own personal use."
"H-how do you know this?" Michael cocked his head as he frowned in confusion.
"Uhhmmm..." I cocked my head too... and began to rotate my weight from foot to foot. "I know you love her very much, but what she's doing is very bad. She takes the morphine to get a high, so she feels good." I set my jaw.
"How do you know this?" He repeated. Suddenly I struggled to remember the movie. At this point in the film did Michael Dunne know about Sarah's addiction? I frowned angrily. WHY can't I pay attention in class? "How do you know?" He repeated, in a soft voice. "Who are you?"
I bolted.
Again, the wild pony instinct. My long legs worked double time as I darted over the slippery field. I didn't know if Michael was following me, and I didn't bother looking over my shoulder. It was getting darker and darker, and I didn't want to slip. I could see the vending machine in the distance! Aha! I did look over my shoulder, as I slowed. Michael Dunne was standing, just watching me. I'm sure I confused the hell out of him, and I felt really bad. But, after all, this was just a movie... I typed C08 into the vending machine keypad, for Canada 2008. I roared in frustration as the red writing on the machine asked me for a dollar fifty. I dug in my pocket, while looking over my shoulder at Michael, who was slowly walking in my direction. I fished the change out of my pocket, and plunked it into the coin slot. I watched as a Hershey's bar fell into the retrieval spot. Right before I stuck my hand in, I turned to Michael and yelled:
"Good bye, Michael!" I then thrust my hand into the vending machine, and smiled in satisfaction when my vision starred and the world spun... I opened my eyes to the student gathering area, bathed in fluorescent lighting. I smiled ecstatically and retrieved the Hershey's bar. My backpack was right where I left it, in all its tattered camouflage glory. I swung it over my shoulder, and draped my leather jacket over my arm, and walked towards the front of the school to wait for my mother.
The light streaming in through the windows in the main hallway made me think that time hadn't passed while I went on my adventure in Paul Gross' screenplay. As I stood in the mudroom, eating the Hershey's bar and peering out the window, looking for my mother's vehicle, I started thinking about my adventure. Overall, I thought it was a very rewarding experience. As I watched my mom's car roll up to the front of the school, I pocketed the Hershey's wrapper along with the Twix wrapper. It was an exciting day.
FIN
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