Saturday, October 31, 2015

Pro-prologue

Sarah Mary Osborne, named after two of the most famous witches of all time, adjusted the straps on her miracle bra and laughed.

"That's --those're ridiculous," said her friend Samantha, from the edge of Sarah's cluttered, four post, king size bed. "You could split those with me and we'd still both have back problems in a few years."

"Ah yes, but tonight! Tonight I'm hoping to have a different kind of back problem." Sarah said, and made a pouty-kissy face in her dresser mirror. "We won our home coming game, I aced my Spanish test, and Carl's parents are out of town at a conference for a weekend."

"What about his sister?"

"She's out with her girlfriend, he said."

"You are going to get laid then, eh?"

"Yup, it's perfect, too! Full moon and a full lunar eclipse."

Samantha nodded. She was quiet for a while, as Sarah rouged her lips and blackened her eyes, whitened her cheeks. After two false starts, quietly,  Samantha stood up, stood behind Sarah and placed her hands on Sarah's hips. Samantha said, "Maybe you are the chosen one, like my momma said. Maybe it was you."

"What? No."

"You touched the cup too, though. Maybe those tea leaves were yours."

"What? No, come on, Samantha," said Sarah, but there was a quiver of hope in her voice. She said, "Look, you're going on a date tonight, too. It was your cup your mom read from. I was just there."

Samantha said, "Uh huh" squeezed Sarah's hips, nipped at her neck and flopped back onto the bed, "Ouch!" She shouted, then. "Damn it!" And threw a iPod at the small of Sarah's back.

"Ouch! You!" Sarah flung herself around, mock angry "I oughta. . ." She pounced on Samantha and snared her hands in her hair.


The problem with teenagers such as Sarah and Samantha is that they are so rarely .  . . "Teenage appropriate." This isn't a sexy sex scene, it's two girls, close friends, making out before they go and try to get pregnant with unsuspecting young men. They're not 13, they're 15 and 16 respectively and they live with their mothers, who have also been friends since they were toddlers, as were their mothers. 
Their mothers are now 32 and 33, respectively. Sarah's grandmother is only forty-eight years old. Sarah's great grandmother, who lives in Spain, is sixty-three. Sarah's great-great grandmother is dead. Samantha doesn't have any grand parents and neither of them have fathers active in their lives, but they have each other, and their mothers, and each other's mothers.  
So much for show don't tell. I'll work on this in the actual draft. We're just plonking keys at the moment, aren't we? We are. 
Me and the ghosts, on devil's night --all saint's eve. Yesterday it was a full moon.


In the mirror, Sarah stared at the fresh hickey on her neck, her short, blonde hair and grey eyes weren't going to hide the teeth marks. Sarah pursed her chicken lips and wiggled around inside her inferiority complex (about the size of her boobs.)

Samantha left Sarah's house with a gash down her left thigh and a gigantic grin.

"Carl isn't going to --oh whatever, I'll tell him the truth." She sighed. "Guys like that sort of thing."
She nodded to herself and finished touching herself up and drove the half an hour into town, into the heart of the shambling sub division behind her high school. All the way to Carl's house. She didn't bother with the radio.

Hello's were cut short and full of sudden reproach. Dinner was sushi and snuck whiskey in his hot green tea. Then,