old: With Mylo & Ellis

 “Well, God knows what he wants from us,” Ellis mumbles from behind me. “If you were to ask me – and I should certainly think you ought to, for I am renowned as an acute judge of character – I would ascertain that his countenance undoubtedly holds much to be desired.”

I fight to hide my smile at her  tone, ducking my head in the false act of watching where I step; she’s been grumbling and moaning for a good part of the afternoon about Johnson, ever since we stopped for lunch at the Mekoah River, and has managed to keep up her ‘posh voice’ for almost as long.

Not a minute passes before she starts up again, her voice slightly breathy from exertion, but indignant as ever. “Did you see the way he looked at Cap? Like she’s a bloody oasis and he’s in the middle of some godforsaken desert. I’m telling you, the way he acts, one would be forgiven for thinking that he’s some sort of-of, of sex-crazed animal!”

I can’t hold back the snort at her description; he looked at me once, and in no such manner.

“Look, Ellis,” Mylo begins from behind me, a smile evident in his tone. “If he’s really so” – he pauses as he steps over a cluster of jagged rocks barring his way while trying to paraphrase her blatant jealousy – “so repellent, that you manage to complain about him for just short of two hours” – Ellis lets out an irritated noise but Mylo doesn’t stop – “then surely you can do something about it.”

“I have half a mind to do exactly that! Of all the imbecilic-“

“Okay, great!” he cuts her off with mock enthusiasm. “You do that.”

“I will.”

“That’s really great.”

A silence follows his words, to my surprise. Oh, thank God, I laugh to myself. She’s finally quiet.

Our company trudges along in a comfortable silence broken only by the snaps and rustles of the vegetation we disturb; the countryside is so beautiful at this time of year and I know that all of us, even Ellis, can appreciate that.

“Cap?” I hear Mylo murmur from behind me, his steady deep voice blending harmoniously with the quiet.

“Hmm?” I say, turning my head back to glance at his face for a second; there’s a light scraping of dried dirt on his right cheek, the left side bathed in sunlight. His dark hair flops around his face in a sort of fluffy halo that reminds me of a puppy, this comparison echoed in his brown deep-set eyes. He catches my gaze and grins, his teeth strikingly white against what remains of the black camo-paint on his lips.

Turning back to look in the direction I’m walking in, I take a short step to my right so we can walk side by side on the narrow dirt path. Mylo falls in step with me without hesitation, leaving Ellis a good ten feet or so behind us.

“Should we stop there?” he asks, gesturing ahead with a bob of his head. I follow his gaze to see a boulder surrounded with overgrown grass near what seems to be the top of the hill. I nod without taking my eyes off it, scanning the surroundings for any safety hazards.

“Seems as good a place as any,” I say to him distractedly, trying to remember exactly where the others said they would meet us.

Half of me’s dreading meeting up with Johnson’s party; no doubt he’ll commit some unforgivable crime that’ll leave Ellis floundering again. And, despite my initial reserves, I really enjoy travelling with just Ellis and Mylo. They’re easy to get along with and we work so well together, and it’s been really nice to travel in such a small group.

“Are you gonna signal the others from the top?” I ask.

Mylo shakes his head, the shaggy mop on his head flying around his face.  “Ellis will. I’ll have to show her the right symbols on the radio equipment, but…” He shrugs, turning to smile at me cheekily. “I figured I’d give her a try, see if she’s as blunt when speaking to Johnson as she is about him.”

I laugh quietly as Mylo turns back to grin at Ellis, who gives him a confused look. “What?” she calls suspiciously, eyeing him with a caution so apprehensive I can’t help but laugh harder.

She frowns, and makes to catch up with us, her rucksack shifting slightly on her shoulders as she bounds over the clumps of grass. “What?” she pines. “You’re hiding something.”

I shake my head as she falls into step beside Mylo, who gives her a conspicuous wink. “Nothing, Ellis. It’s nothing.”

“It is something,” she grumbles, still scrutinising Mylo’s amused face. “Wait… Is this about Johnson?”

“No!” I cry through giggles as he bursts into cackles at Ellis’ expense.

Her cheeks colour slightly but she smiles despite herself. “Don’t talk about him, he’s far too dull.”

“B-but… You-..." Mylo struggles to comprehend what she’s just said. I shake my head, at a loss for words.

***

“You have to press the red one!”

“I am pressing the red one!”

“No, not that one, this one; the bright red one!”

“Why the hell are there two red ones?!”

I can hear Ellis and Mylo arguing over the radio equipment as they’ve been doing for about twenty minutes now, their innocent signals lesson verging on becoming a screamfest.

She’s struggling to get the communicator to switch on, and he’s stressing over the fact that she’s struggling to switch it on, causing her to stress out that her teacher is stressed out, which means she struggles even more.

Looking around to make sure our packs are where we left them, I get up from where I was seated on the boulder and make my way up the tiny steep slope to the crest of South Mekoah’s Seat where Mylo’s pacing with his hands in his hair and Ellis is scowling at the metal contraption on the ground.

He sees me coming and makes a face. “Ellis broke the communicator,” he whines petulantly.

“I-what?!” she exclaims angrily, her deep-red hair whipping in the air as she turns to glare at him. “Mylo’s the one broke it. H-He kicked it, for God’s sake.”

Crouching down, I examine the equipment. It’s really just a box full of intertwining wires, its top and front covered in dials, buttons and sockets for a headset. The antenna’s a little crooked from when we dropped it while packing up camp a few nights ago, and rust is creeping along the bottom rims.

“Only because you caused it to go into lock mode! What did you press the shutdown button for?”

“I pressed the red button, you told me to press the red button!”

“Not that red one!”

“How was I to know there were two red buttons?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, by looking at it?!”

Dreading the headache their bickering could cause me, I tune them out and instead focus on getting the communicator to work, leaving them to their arguing.

Twisting the biggest dial in the centre of the lid, I unlock it and, carefully setting it down face up on the grass, peer in.

(December 28th 2012: Photo Prompt. Write a poem or story inspired by the scenario in this photograph: http://oi48.tinypic.com/2ahbmo2.jpg

'Cap isn't used to traveling with Mylo & Ellis, but she likes it.')

old: Memoir

Memoir

My first memory of being scared is from when I was four or five years old, I think.
I was in bed, aware of a thirst that was clawing up my throat and leaving sawdust in its wake. The duvet felt stuffy and suffocating, my legs cocooned and claustrophobia started taking its hold.
My younger sister whispered my name across the metre of carpet that separated our beds. I ignored her, too uncomfortable to care.
“What is it?” she insisted.
“I want water.”
I heard shuffling, blankets being pushed away, a little body sitting up. “But you can’t have any,” she murmured, voicing my thoughts. We weren’t allowed to leave our beds.
“But I’m really thirsty,” I complained to her, mimicking her movements and sitting up too.
“Mum will get angry if you go downstairs.” All I could see of her was the gleam of her eyes in the silhouette she cast over the wall.
“I know. She already got angry with me today,” I told her.
There was a slight creak outside our closed bedroom door. My eyes widened, and I leapt for my pillow as my sister did for hers, both of us holding our breath and feigning sleep.
But the thirst was still there.
After what felt like an hour, I sat up again and squinted down at the shadow on the other bed. “I’m gonna go,” I whispered.
She ignored me, still pretending.
I gently placed my bare feet on the carpet, and stood up, looking out for any signs that someone outside the room had noticed.
The first few steps were hard, but once I’d opened the bedroom door and crept across the landing, I was sure I could get away with it. Mum must have fallen asleep.
A bit more relaxed, I gripped the banister and went down the stairs, careful to step at the edges of the ones I knew creaked. I was in the kitchen before I knew it.
Reaching up, I searched for the plastic cup that was mine, but it wasn’t on the drying rack beside the sink where it usually was. I started to panic; how was I to drink without my cup?
“Sister?”
My gaze whipped to the kitchen entrance, terrified that I was caught. It was an irrational fear, as not only was it not my mother’s voice, but there was only one person in the world who called me that.
“Dina?” I whispered angrily. “What are you doing down here?”
She looked at me, her eyes wide, her curly hair in the two high bunches Mum had made that morning; she was short for a four year old and I was hyperaware of this as her eyes followed me. Her teddy was clutched tightly in one hand, its snout grazing the floor.
“Dina, go upstairs!” I hissed, knowing that if both of us were caught, I'd get blamed.
She shook her head vehemently. “I was scared. Why aren’t you drinking?”
“I can’t find my glass.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not on the table.”
Her eyes landed on the drying rack and sure enough, I was right. “Mine is.”
I ignored her, watching as she walked over to me. “You can use mine,” she whispered, standing on her tip-toes and trying to reach the cup. She was too short but I wasn't, so I got it for her.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, and smiled at me.
“Here you g-”
“What are you girls doing!?” The angry voice was so sudden that the cup slipped from Dina’s fingers and clattered to the floor, sounding like a gunshot atter our whispers. We both looked up to see Mum, looking livid.
“I- We were-”
“I was thirsty!”
“Yeah?” Mum sounded furious; she flicked the switch to turn on the lights in the kitchen. I saw her standing In the doorway, hands on hips, her night suit scrunching up at the shoulders.
She stormed towards me, her hand reaching out and grabbing my wrist. “I’ll teach you to be thirsty.”
Dina had started crying, and I could hear her whimpers intensify as Mum’s grip around our wrists tightened painfully.
She yanked us out of the kitchen, leaving the light on, and dragged us to the living room, where she snapped at us to wait for her.
As soon as she left the room I glanced at Dina, whose crying got louder with each passing second. “Shut up, Dina, it’s all your fault! What did you have to come down for? Now we’re gonna get hit so hard, all thanks to you!”
She cried harder, and looked up at me through her tears. “I won’t get in trouble, will I?”
One look at her red face, wet and scared, smothered my anger instantly. “No. No, I won’t let you. I’ll tell her it was my fault, you can go to back to bed, okay?”
She nodded but didn’t stop crying.
“Now stop that, or you will get in trouble,” I murmured to her. She tried to, but she’d caught the hiccups by now.
A light clatter came from the kitchen, and the light was switched off. Mum came back in the room, and I saw a wooden cooking spoon in her hands. The sharp ice of fear jolted through me.
Without warning, Mum grabbed Dina’s hair and pulled. Dina’s sob turned into scream as her hair was pulled so hard her feet almost left the ground.
“Mum, Mum! No, stop it!” My voice was shrill as I ran to her and started pulling on her arm. “It was me, I made her come down, Mum, please!”
Behind me, I heard the dull thump of the wooden spoon on flesh, and Dina cried out again. My voice climbed an octave as I tugged at her with all my might. “Stop it, Mum, stop it!”
She glared down at me, but let go of my sister, who fell to the ground with a muffled sob.
A sudden pain flared in my arm and I heard more than saw the cooking spoon strike me. I shrieked a little, my head snapping up.
“I’m so sorry, Mum-" thump "-I’m so sorry, please-” thump "-I won’t do it again, I’m sorry!” I sobbed. Her hand found its way to my hair, and tightened. I could feel the roots being pulled away from my scalp as she dragged me up so I was on my very tip-toes.
“I’ll teach you what happens when you don’t do as I say,” she spat at me, and threw me so hard I stumbled into the nearby sofa.
I cried into my hands, trying to stop the hot pain flaring in my scalp. I saw Mum grab Dina's arm through the gap in my fingers, I watched silently as she twisted and twisted, and it was all I could do to scrunch my eyes shut as a sickening crunch cut off Dina’s scream.

('The first time I ever told a page a secret'.)