Disclaimer: Not making any money from this...
03
It was with a heavy heart that Laura left the school grounds, long before the other pupils would be released from their lessons. She'd just skipped French for crying out loud! It shouldn't have been the end of the world, but now... She felt cold despite the warmth of the hazy afternoon, feet dragging, scuffing her shoes as she walked. The smell of the hot asphalt of the pavement was sickening, the blazer tied around her waist kept coming undone, but she'd no bag to put it in. Fresh dirt under her fingernails felt gritty like ash, the smog of a busy town clinging to her soft skin.
She walked on autopilot, the route home taking her past all the places she knew, that she'd spent most of her life around. She didn't see any of it, didn't notice the car that had to screech to a halt to avoid killing her, as she crossed a side-street between the butchers and the laundrette without looking. The driver swore at Laura horrifically, shaking his fist. Laura didn't flinch, just looked at him with haunted eyes, and then carried on.
She turned into the cul-de-sac on the modern red brick development, wondering if they'd still let her sit her GCSEs? Could the school stop her from taking them? What if she left school with no qualifications? Her parents, they would be so disappointed in her. What was she supposed to do with her life?
Home was, to Laura, an unadventurous detached new-build, red brick with white PVC windows and door. The lawn was her father's pride and joy; cut in stripes with precision like some premiership football pitch. Not that Laura was allowed to play football on the lawn... The flowerbeds were weed and blossom-free, bare black soil with the exception of a few straggly, woody roses, with droopy petals in pink and yellow. The garage was huge, tagged on the side of the building almost as an afterthought, filled with clutter even as the drive was swamped with cars.
Laura stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, eyes clouding over with betrayed tears. Nothing moved, there was no sound, as she stood there just looking at the cars. The silver Peugeot was her Irish mother's little run- around. It shouldn't have been here anyway; she was supposed to be at work. The red Ferrari parked next to it was not Laura's father's, the redhead could have screamed aloud to see it parked there. She'd promised, damn it! Her mother had promised she'd called it off with that vile man!
Laura' s house key was quickly in her warm fingers, as she strode angrily up the tarmac drive. The key was her weapon, the paintwork on the supercar no match for the venom with which she attacked it, dragging the sharp metal point from tail to nose along the driver's side. Red paint flaked off in tiny slivers, turning black and charred as it touched the teenager's hand. Laura didn't notice, didn't even look back to admire her vandalism, as she put the key to its proper use and let herself in.
Hardwood floors and broad-leaved pot plants gleamed in tidy perfection in the hallway. The shoe rack by the door was where she was meant to leave her muddy footwear, but Laura wasn't in the mood. No one was about; the door to the living room stood open and the TV was stuck on a news channel. Her shoes left brown prints on the cream carpet as she entered. Laura was her parents' only child, her picture proudly above the fireplace in the front room. At least in the picture she looked like she still had something to smile about...
"...The US in turmoil today after another supposed mutant went on the rampage in the Salem region of upstate New York." Briefly Laura was distracted from her own problems by the amateur camera footage of a huge man, dressed in outrageous bright red armour, throwing a pick-up truck at a bank building. Nothing seemed to faze the mutant; bullets from local police didn't hurt him. The newscaster continued her commentary. "Identified by local sources as Cain Marco, but calling himself Juggernaut, he proceeded to rob the bank, only finally arrested when a freak gust of wind seemed to tug off his helmet, at which point he stopped dead in his tracks. The White House has no explanation for what seems to be..."
Laughter from behind the closed kitchen door interrupted the broadcast, followed by a husky male voice, and a flirtatious reply in a familiar Irish lilt. Laura felt a sharp sob cut through her gut, and she sprinted upstairs, desperate for the security of her own room. She slammed her bedroom door loudly; knowing it would reverberate through the building, let her mother know her betrayal had been discovered all over again...
At the back of the house, her room was a classic second bedroom. Thick fluffy blue carpet was strewn with teenage possessions; Laura had to kick a rollerblade across her zodiac rug to get into the sanctuary. She had no idea where its mate was, had never been a tidy person. The walls were painted a buttercup yellow, but hidden behind ream upon ream of posters and magazine clippings. Most boasted pictures of assorted young men, maybe footballers, musicians or film stars. All were suitably dark-eyed and attractive, lop-sided grins and troubled pouts well represented, every one of them looked like trouble.
Her stereo was on top of her desk; she swiped scattered novels and pens away to get at it. The cheesy pop CD inside she cranked up too loud, the cheery lyrics contrasting with her mood, not quite drowning out the laughter from below. Emotionally exhausted, the teenager collapsed dramatically on her belly on her bed, crying amongst her teddies and a fluffy blue throw. Sobs chased through her small frame rapidly, catching in her throat. She was so betrayed, so alone, in her tears she almost missed the front door opening again unexpectedly.
Suddenly the front door slammed shut, and Laura lifted her head. She knew something was very wrong; her father wasn't due home until much later. Her mother seemed equally caught unawares, screamed in surprise as her husband caught her in the arms of another man in the marital home. Her father started shouting, and even though she did not want to, Laura could hear everything. He dared his wife to explain herself, his broken-heartedness obvious in his strangled voice. Raised voices, arguing, her mother's lover trying to leave, anger from her parents, each directing the blame at the other. Her name was mentioned, the argument taking a violent swerve.
"You callous, ignorant woman! You don't love me anymore, that's one thing, but what about our daughter? Have you thought what it might do to Laura to find out about this?" For a moment, blistering silence, followed by cold, hard words. "You bitch! She knows, doesn't she? You made my baby girl hide this from me!"
"Daddy..." Laura sobbed, tears running hot down her face. The palms of her hands prickled. What had she done? This was her fault, if she hadn't got suspended, her dad wouldn't have come home early... In her belly dragon's fire itself began to consume her, eating her from the inside out.
"You weren't here for her to hide it from you!" Laura's mother screamed, picking up a vase, and throwing it at the wall by her husband in a sheer rage that he might challenge her so. It smashed, making Laura jump as she pulled herself into a sitting position, legs pulled tight to her as she rocked back and forth on the bed. Her head throbbed with anger, hatred, upset, and most of all betrayal.
"She's been truanting, fighting, drinking! The school rang me; they've suspended her today! The Head rang me at work, he asked me there and then if there was anything going on at home to explain her behaviour! Of course, I didn't know what was going on here..."
"Are you saying I'm not a fit mother?" Laura's mother shrieked like a banshee. "Look at me damn it! Are you saying I'm not good enough? That all this is my fault?"
"Mama..." Laura wailed, shaking her head, tears evaporating as soon as they touched her broiling skin. Nobody heard her, nobody came. The covers on the bed charred and blackened around her, heat sweeping the room in a visible wave of disrupted air. The shiny laminate skins on her posters suddenly bubbled and charred, the pictures twisted and deformed, flaking from the walls in blackened chunks. The CD player stopped, warped and broken by the force of the heat. The smell of melting plastic challenged that of the smouldering, smoking carpet to make Laura cough and splutter. She couldn't move, couldn't see, and couldn't breathe.
Spontaneous flames swept the room door aside in an explosion of power. Red, gold and orange, the fire Laura created surged through the house like a demon. To her, it was like being the centre of a star, fire flew all around her, burning, destroying. Beautiful, deadly, hotter than hell, it begged and played and flirted around her, a living beast she had created. But, as though in slow motion, Laura sat, calm now and empty, unharmed in the midst of the maelstrom.
The sound of shattering glass like a wave as the fire reached the front door. In the kitchen the arguing stopped. Screams of outright terror, screams of the dying greeted the wave of fire and flame. Then, after a while, all was quiet...
03
It was with a heavy heart that Laura left the school grounds, long before the other pupils would be released from their lessons. She'd just skipped French for crying out loud! It shouldn't have been the end of the world, but now... She felt cold despite the warmth of the hazy afternoon, feet dragging, scuffing her shoes as she walked. The smell of the hot asphalt of the pavement was sickening, the blazer tied around her waist kept coming undone, but she'd no bag to put it in. Fresh dirt under her fingernails felt gritty like ash, the smog of a busy town clinging to her soft skin.
She walked on autopilot, the route home taking her past all the places she knew, that she'd spent most of her life around. She didn't see any of it, didn't notice the car that had to screech to a halt to avoid killing her, as she crossed a side-street between the butchers and the laundrette without looking. The driver swore at Laura horrifically, shaking his fist. Laura didn't flinch, just looked at him with haunted eyes, and then carried on.
She turned into the cul-de-sac on the modern red brick development, wondering if they'd still let her sit her GCSEs? Could the school stop her from taking them? What if she left school with no qualifications? Her parents, they would be so disappointed in her. What was she supposed to do with her life?
Home was, to Laura, an unadventurous detached new-build, red brick with white PVC windows and door. The lawn was her father's pride and joy; cut in stripes with precision like some premiership football pitch. Not that Laura was allowed to play football on the lawn... The flowerbeds were weed and blossom-free, bare black soil with the exception of a few straggly, woody roses, with droopy petals in pink and yellow. The garage was huge, tagged on the side of the building almost as an afterthought, filled with clutter even as the drive was swamped with cars.
Laura stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, eyes clouding over with betrayed tears. Nothing moved, there was no sound, as she stood there just looking at the cars. The silver Peugeot was her Irish mother's little run- around. It shouldn't have been here anyway; she was supposed to be at work. The red Ferrari parked next to it was not Laura's father's, the redhead could have screamed aloud to see it parked there. She'd promised, damn it! Her mother had promised she'd called it off with that vile man!
Laura' s house key was quickly in her warm fingers, as she strode angrily up the tarmac drive. The key was her weapon, the paintwork on the supercar no match for the venom with which she attacked it, dragging the sharp metal point from tail to nose along the driver's side. Red paint flaked off in tiny slivers, turning black and charred as it touched the teenager's hand. Laura didn't notice, didn't even look back to admire her vandalism, as she put the key to its proper use and let herself in.
Hardwood floors and broad-leaved pot plants gleamed in tidy perfection in the hallway. The shoe rack by the door was where she was meant to leave her muddy footwear, but Laura wasn't in the mood. No one was about; the door to the living room stood open and the TV was stuck on a news channel. Her shoes left brown prints on the cream carpet as she entered. Laura was her parents' only child, her picture proudly above the fireplace in the front room. At least in the picture she looked like she still had something to smile about...
"...The US in turmoil today after another supposed mutant went on the rampage in the Salem region of upstate New York." Briefly Laura was distracted from her own problems by the amateur camera footage of a huge man, dressed in outrageous bright red armour, throwing a pick-up truck at a bank building. Nothing seemed to faze the mutant; bullets from local police didn't hurt him. The newscaster continued her commentary. "Identified by local sources as Cain Marco, but calling himself Juggernaut, he proceeded to rob the bank, only finally arrested when a freak gust of wind seemed to tug off his helmet, at which point he stopped dead in his tracks. The White House has no explanation for what seems to be..."
Laughter from behind the closed kitchen door interrupted the broadcast, followed by a husky male voice, and a flirtatious reply in a familiar Irish lilt. Laura felt a sharp sob cut through her gut, and she sprinted upstairs, desperate for the security of her own room. She slammed her bedroom door loudly; knowing it would reverberate through the building, let her mother know her betrayal had been discovered all over again...
At the back of the house, her room was a classic second bedroom. Thick fluffy blue carpet was strewn with teenage possessions; Laura had to kick a rollerblade across her zodiac rug to get into the sanctuary. She had no idea where its mate was, had never been a tidy person. The walls were painted a buttercup yellow, but hidden behind ream upon ream of posters and magazine clippings. Most boasted pictures of assorted young men, maybe footballers, musicians or film stars. All were suitably dark-eyed and attractive, lop-sided grins and troubled pouts well represented, every one of them looked like trouble.
Her stereo was on top of her desk; she swiped scattered novels and pens away to get at it. The cheesy pop CD inside she cranked up too loud, the cheery lyrics contrasting with her mood, not quite drowning out the laughter from below. Emotionally exhausted, the teenager collapsed dramatically on her belly on her bed, crying amongst her teddies and a fluffy blue throw. Sobs chased through her small frame rapidly, catching in her throat. She was so betrayed, so alone, in her tears she almost missed the front door opening again unexpectedly.
Suddenly the front door slammed shut, and Laura lifted her head. She knew something was very wrong; her father wasn't due home until much later. Her mother seemed equally caught unawares, screamed in surprise as her husband caught her in the arms of another man in the marital home. Her father started shouting, and even though she did not want to, Laura could hear everything. He dared his wife to explain herself, his broken-heartedness obvious in his strangled voice. Raised voices, arguing, her mother's lover trying to leave, anger from her parents, each directing the blame at the other. Her name was mentioned, the argument taking a violent swerve.
"You callous, ignorant woman! You don't love me anymore, that's one thing, but what about our daughter? Have you thought what it might do to Laura to find out about this?" For a moment, blistering silence, followed by cold, hard words. "You bitch! She knows, doesn't she? You made my baby girl hide this from me!"
"Daddy..." Laura sobbed, tears running hot down her face. The palms of her hands prickled. What had she done? This was her fault, if she hadn't got suspended, her dad wouldn't have come home early... In her belly dragon's fire itself began to consume her, eating her from the inside out.
"You weren't here for her to hide it from you!" Laura's mother screamed, picking up a vase, and throwing it at the wall by her husband in a sheer rage that he might challenge her so. It smashed, making Laura jump as she pulled herself into a sitting position, legs pulled tight to her as she rocked back and forth on the bed. Her head throbbed with anger, hatred, upset, and most of all betrayal.
"She's been truanting, fighting, drinking! The school rang me; they've suspended her today! The Head rang me at work, he asked me there and then if there was anything going on at home to explain her behaviour! Of course, I didn't know what was going on here..."
"Are you saying I'm not a fit mother?" Laura's mother shrieked like a banshee. "Look at me damn it! Are you saying I'm not good enough? That all this is my fault?"
"Mama..." Laura wailed, shaking her head, tears evaporating as soon as they touched her broiling skin. Nobody heard her, nobody came. The covers on the bed charred and blackened around her, heat sweeping the room in a visible wave of disrupted air. The shiny laminate skins on her posters suddenly bubbled and charred, the pictures twisted and deformed, flaking from the walls in blackened chunks. The CD player stopped, warped and broken by the force of the heat. The smell of melting plastic challenged that of the smouldering, smoking carpet to make Laura cough and splutter. She couldn't move, couldn't see, and couldn't breathe.
Spontaneous flames swept the room door aside in an explosion of power. Red, gold and orange, the fire Laura created surged through the house like a demon. To her, it was like being the centre of a star, fire flew all around her, burning, destroying. Beautiful, deadly, hotter than hell, it begged and played and flirted around her, a living beast she had created. But, as though in slow motion, Laura sat, calm now and empty, unharmed in the midst of the maelstrom.
The sound of shattering glass like a wave as the fire reached the front door. In the kitchen the arguing stopped. Screams of outright terror, screams of the dying greeted the wave of fire and flame. Then, after a while, all was quiet...