by Phill McGuinness

    "Hey Glen, thank God that’s over, I’m starvin’," said John walking out of Chemistry.
    "I know, I didn’t think lunch would ever come," replied Glen.

    The oval was about a hundred metres long with trees bordering one side along the fence. Behind the fence is the freeway. Across the other side of the oval is the teachers carpark. Trees run along the top of the oval, from the freeway fence to the carpark, creating a so called border to the no go zone of council property. The smokers sit in the corner where the "no go zone" tree line meets the fence to the freeway, to hide from the teachers walking around. Glen, John and Travis stood away from the group talking. Glen reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
    "Can I’ve a light Trav?"
    "Are you coming tomorrow night, Glen?" asked John.
    "Yeah mate." Glen croaked through a cloud of smoke, "I just have to ask my mum."

    "Mum, is it alright if I go to John’s place tonight?"
    "Yeah, what’s happening?" she questioned through a cloud of smoke,
    "Not much, just a few of us going around for a drink."
    "S’pose so."
    I can’t wait till tomorrow night. A chill sped his spine.
    "Mum, is the heater on in here?"
    "Yeah Glen, why?"
    "Don’t worry about it."

    He sat cross-legged, on his bed, in his room alone with his back against the wall. Long brown hair shadowed his features in the dim light. His electric blue eyes glinted as the square foil in his hand caught the light. He carefully opened each fold of the tiny package with his fingernails. He smiled and slowly shook his head as a very small square of paper was revealed, the Victorian State Government logo glinting off the dull white paper. A cheeky grin played his mouth as his lips opened to accept the drug. The square poised delicately on his fingertip as he gently placed it upon his tongue to sit. Until the coating dissolved.

    Three figures walked down the darkened street. The only light emanated from a dingy yellow street lamp.
    "Tonight is going to be grouse." Travis stated to no one in particular.
    "I know, I haven’t gotten shit-faced in … " Sarah scratched her head, "last week."
    Travis pushed open the rickety iron gate with a creak. The group passed through and walked up to the front door, which was ajar. Glen let others enter.
    He opened the front door and creaked down the hallway, and into the lounge room. Slumping into the nearest chair.
    Forty, drinking teenagers partied on around Glen, who was oblivious to the noise, sitting in his chair.
 

    The television was on, but the sound was drowned by the music from the backyard. Tiny ripples of energy surged from the beat, seeping into the walls and pulsing across the floor. The beat entered his body via his soles. The rhythm tapped into his veins invading the complex network, being flushed in and out of his brain.
    He fought the urge.
    The urge to dance.
    He closed his eyes and looked.
    Red cobwebs pulsed and grew to the quickening beat of his drum. The tiny lines ever expanding.
    Threatening to explode.
    Glen forced his eyes open and found himself alone.
    The room was rid of all except shadows.
    He glanced across to the square light pouring from the corner of the room. The hazy sound fell softly to the ground, spreading, sliding beneath the music.
    He shut his eyes and the vision became clear. Two square illuminations, projected upon each eyelid. The spreading mist circling and enclosing his body sparked meaning into the images.
    BANG.
    The gunshot snapped his attention. Crimson filled his void, as the victim fell backwards away from grasp and help.
    He began shaking.
    A sharp pain spread across his cheek.
    "Hey man, you’re trippin’ " said Travis before roaring into deep laughter.
    Glen uncurled from his tight ball, and looked up into Travis’s eyes. They bulged into golf balls, before contracting into peas. His lips curled into an amused grin as the beginning of laughter stirred from within. Glen gripped his ribs and rolled around hysterically, stopping every few seconds to watch Travis.
    Glen turned away and started to stare at the wall.
    The wall started bending, rocking, surging like the ocean. Waves crashed onto pictures, demolishing them in it’s fury. Shadows moving around the room, passing in and out of light, barely distinguishable. His eyes gradually shifted towards the ceiling, slowing down as a feeling of dread passed through him. Glen eyes focused hazily on the ceiling. A ballooning mass bulged from it, directly above his face. A shadow crept up and leaned towards him. The ceiling pointed down and began to grow into a huge stalactite, it’s contents threatening to break the skin of paint that held it back.
    A gush of liquid splashed across his face. Pain stabbed through his eyes and pierced his brain. The scorching slime spread down his shirt. He tried to scream but nothing came out; instead a hideous rattle escaped his wet lips. A vile painful liquid had passed in, scorching his tongue.
    Glen stood bolt upright and ran for the door, wailing as he went. Before landing flat on his face, into the ground.

    Travis walked into the house; he looked back at Glen shaking his head. He walked into the kitchen and greeted everyone. Travis reached into his jacket pocket and removed a brown paper bag. Reaching for a glass above his head, he pulled the bottle of Jimmy out, filled up his glass and sculled it.
    One bottle of Beam, and half an hour later, Travis wobbled out of the kitchen. He spotted Glen sitting on a chair, staring at the ceiling and wondered what he was doing. Staggering over to Glen, Travis leaned at an odd angle and cocked his head to look at the roof, finding nothing of great interest. The sudden movement stirred the alcohol in his gut, sending it on it’s journey out of his body. A rumble passed up his throat and vomit roared into mid-air, finally landing on Glen’s face and clothes. Glen’s body rocked, a hideous gurgle passed his vomit saturated lips. But Travis didn’t hear this as he had passed out on the floor, still vomiting uncontrollably.

    "Fuck you, you stupid mole!" Sarah screeched at a blonde who had spilt beer over her jacket. Travis who had recently recovered from the floor, staggered over to see what the problem was. Just as the blonde’s boyfriend arrived.
    "What’s the problem Sarah?" Travis asked in a slur.
    "This stupid bitch, spilt all this shit on my jacket!" Sarah replied with wrath, while pointing excitedly at the blonde. The blonde apologised but only succeeded in getting Sarah even angrier.
    The blonde’s boofhead boyfriend tried to calm Sarah down, but accidentally pushed her. A straight right crashed into his face. Travis followed it up with a left hook to the jaw, shattering it completely, and sending him flying. His foot clipped a body, sprawled across the grass. Glen groaned. The boyfriend fell flat on his face and unconscious to the wailing of the blonde running to his aid.
    Travis felt a sharp pain pierce the skin of his back, passing in between his ribs and punctured his lung.
    "That’s for Keith, dog," a sinister voice hissed into Travis’s ear. He slumped to his knees as a Doctor Martin sole flew up and demolished his nose into a pulpy red mess. Spots swam. Travis fell backwards trapping the blade beneath.

    Glen groaned and rose after someone tripped over his prostrate body. There was a commotion behind him, but Glen didn’t notice as he headed up the steep driveway, and out in the darkened street. Shapes and movement assaulted his consciousness as the wind rustled through the noisy trees. A dark park opened to his left. Quiet whisperings from the leaves invited him inside, urging him to enter. The thick black curtain closed behind his sunken figure as he slunk inside his twisted paradise.

    Thump. The newspaper rolled away after landing on the back of Glen’s head. He rubbed his eyes and groggily sat up. His eyes roamed the garden, blinking in an attempt to distinguish his surroundings. Someone’s front yard. He looked down and his gaze met the headline, "FRIDAY NIGHT TRAGEDY." A queasy sensation passed into his gut as he unrolled the paper, revealing a photo. John’s house.

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