La la

I'm going through my old files on my computer and have found all my year eight English work. It makes me laugh; the work themselves and also that it reminds me how in year eight Holi and I used to write so much poetry in class, it was what we wrote on the notes we passed which I find really funny.

Anyways here is one which I'm not bothered editing, excuse the bad grammar, it's in all my 13 year old glory.

Kendal is dead. I watched her too; crying, scratching at my floor boards, staring at me pleading with her eyes. Her eyes had way too much life left in them and were enough to make me stick another fork into her back. I did. I was tired once I was done and went to bed leaving her dead body marked by a lake of red ink on my floor. Staining my wood where the scratch marks were.
I entered my kitchen in the morning greeted by Kendal’s eyes following my movements like the Mona Lisa. I was hungry and too lazy to search the pantry so I grabbed some cutlery and a sharp knife from the draw which wasn’t as far. She tasted horrible like the smell of the off cold meet my mom would have kept in her fridge. I couldn’t help thinking of Debra. Kendal was mine from Debra; a present for my birthday. I would have hoped anything from Debra tasted better than this and maybe so if I had something better to feed the dog other than the shit I would find around. A few bites of Kendal did nothing to satisfy my craving for Debra so I wrapped her up in glad wrap.
When night came I draped a plaid picnic rug over myself and with the dog in my arms I ventured into the front yard, throwing Kendal into the green bin. The rug was tarnished. It had never been covered in scrumptious food like it was meant to be but still stained. Debra must have used it before she handed it to me. Who made those marks, whose juice was in the plastic cup which spilt? I wheeled the bin onto the verge. Where did those stains really come from? Was she not a virgin like she said she was? I rolled that night in bed. I never rolled in bed unless I was with Debra but that was a different kind of rolling. She would throw me, play with me, use me as hers. I was hers.
After a ragged night’s measly sleep I awoke by the garbage truck’s loud ways. Peaking through my bedroom curtains I watched Kendal fall from the bin into the pile of scraps, “Goodbye Kendal”.
I heard the phone ring. After two rings of it I cut the cord, disregarding the caller. It was the best thing I could have done because not only was I silencing the racket but an hour later Debra showed up at my door. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have opened the door but as obsessive as I am, I smelt her perfume through the gap of the door and the floor. She always smelt of roses and sandalwood. I’m not able to pick apart a scent but she told me one day that the roses and sandalwood was what made her adore the scent.
Debra looked amazing. She was wearing navy blue pants which began at her navel, a red turtle neck top which gave me a glimpse of her slim midriff and leopard skin platforms. Debra never got over the nineties. Matched with her intense make-up she looked like she had the kick-ass attitude and style of D'arcy Wretzky.
“I rang you forever Ethan.” This meant she wanted me and her voice only makes me want her more.
“Well you know how popular I am. The phone at my place is like grand central station. I must’ve been on another call to one of my many friends.” I tried to joke but she just pushed it aside.
“Ethan, let me in. My manager, Mr. Major-Jerk-Off, fired me. He’s got shit all reasons and I need some legal help.”
“You’re welcome to enter, but be sure to step over the dead rats.” Debra slightly laughed not realizing that I was serious. I politely stepped aside so she could pass through the door way. She led the way because she knew my apartment like her own and I let her because it gave me a full ten steps to view her ass. We got to the living room and she asked why there was a pool of blood on the floor.
“Kendal got her period.” I replied covering my actions with a joke which I liked to think was witty. Debra didn’t budge.
“Hmm” she looked at me suspiciously “where is Kendal?”
“I usually let her roam the streets. Don’t you worry she’ll be home for dinner.”
“I used to love how she didn’t care that we had food for her in our hands when we went out to feed her, just that we were there was enough to make her piss all over the pavement.” We both laughed. Debra pushed aside a pile of papers on the sofa and sat down. “I’m no lawyer. How am I meant to help you win a case against a guy who likes to masturbate a lot?”
“Your dad was though.” I’m confused by this.
“How do you know that? My parents died. I was an orphan at age 4.”
“Who cares? It’s nice to think he was. Just please help me.” I could never not help such a fine piece of nineties trash.
“fine.” She wasn’t expecting this.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah sure. But only if you move in again.” I decided to take advantage of the situation.
“Only if you can stand listening to a whole heap of Spice Girls.” She made me laugh. Debra was classic nineties trash and once again she’d be my nineties trash.