If the gravestone could speak (Part two)
With a swish of its weathered tail, the cat jumped off the bed and shot him a stern look, eventually stalking out of the room in a huff.
“Stupid cat,” he muttered, head heavy after such little sleep.
A loud pinging sounded from the laptop sat on his desk; only one person could be video calling him this early in the morning, Peter. Right on cue, the boys raven black hair and wide smile came into view as Alex opened his screen.
“Alright mate?” Peter asked, full of enthusiasm and energy, “you look awful”.
“I’m just tired,” Alex replied with a shrug.
Peter had been Alex’s best friend since their first day at school together, when Peter’s sister had locked them both in the changing room lockers. Even thinking about it now, brought a smile to their faces, reminiscing about whispering to each other through the narrow slits. They were still wary of Jessica though, likely to end up as the but of one of her cruel jokes if they weren’t careful. She was the golden child at home, the cool kid in school, while Peter was just plain old Peter, a nerd. His glasses were steaming up as he talked on the video chat, constantly forcing him to take them off.
“You better liven up before school starts mate; it’s the first day of the new year”.
Alex was about fire back a sarcastic response when a memory from last night returned, a memory steeped in darkness.
“You’ll never guess what I saw last night?” the words exploding out of his mouth in a rush.
“Huh?” replied Peter, confused.
“I went downstairs during the nig...” but Alex’s sentence was cut short mid flow.
A woman stormed into Peter’s room, and by the look she gave him, wasn’t best pleased at all. Fluttering furiously, Mrs Stormball lifted up a pair of red lingerie with yellow roses and something that might have once resembled a white T-shirt.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to put your coloured underwear in with the white laundry Peter?”.
Looking abashed, Peter lifted his arms up in protest, “mum, they’re not even my underwear! “What if there had been a girl in here?”
His mother simply smiled, “don’t be ridiculous Peter, the only girls in your room are the ones on the wall”.
She was nearing forty years of age, but didn’t look a day over twenty five, with long blonde hair that was neatly combed, and deep blue eyes. Always dressed in the latest fashion trends, often provocative, she lit up any room she entered. Like Alex’s father, the Stormball family also worked within the building trade, but on a far larger scale. They were incredibly wealthy, owning nearly a third of the properties for sale in Hellraite and the surrounding towns. The company that Alex’s father worked for was owned by them, and along with others, helped grow their annual income to a respectful one million dollars. Most people who’d met her said there wasn’t a contract she couldn’t conclude, and no property was too difficult for her to sell.
Today, she wore her daughters clothes, a tight fitting pink shirt with the caption “Go Lions”, and a pair of short pink shorts. Those were the colours of the girls school football team.
“Hello Alex”, she said casually, catching a glimpse of his shocked face on the computer screen.
Blushing furiously, he fumbled for a response, and any thoughts about last night went sailing out of his head.
“Hel... hello, Mrs Stormba... Stormball”, he stuttered, “nice to... to see you”.
When she whirled around and left the room, Alex couldn’t help but say to his friend, “your mum is hot”.
“Don’t talk about my mother like that,” he snapped back through gritted teeth, a hint of embarrassment in his words.
Alex struggled to keep the smile from his lips, but he didn’t mention Peter’s mother again. “I’ll see you at the bus stop in ten minutes,” he said, “Oh, and don’t forget the red underwear”. Bursting out laughing at the outraged face of his friend, Alex shut the laptop screen and started to get dressed for school.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons. Any unsourced images and writing are my own.