Me

I’m a great package.

Oh yeah.

Wrapped in brown cellophane.

Feet flat like slugs.

A real turn on.

 

Beasts                                                                                               

When people see me and Ma I know what they think. How can a beauty like her make a beast like me. I don’t blame them. I’m ugly. The guy people look twice at to gawk at my long chin. It juts out like them chillies they serve at Mexicano restaurants. That’s what happens when your father’s The Flash. You get stuck with random genes.  

Not Ma’s beautiful ones.

Nah.

I got a nose that belongs to Pinocchio. Black eyes like them olives Ma likes. I was made with raging hormones and alcohol in a bar. I’m thinking a dark corner. Music, beer, strangers bumping.

Pumping.  

Ready in a minute.

Point is, it ain’t Ma’s fault my features are sharp, jagged like them villains you see in cartoons.

It’s his.   

Whoever he is.

There must’ve been something about him that Ma liked. Even for a few minutes. 

Before he disappeared.

Obviously not his looks.

I couldn’t give a shit if he had personality or charisma.

It’s good looks that’s important. Not humour, not character. It’s the body, the physical package. And how you use it.

Coz in this world beauties get anything they want.

And beasts?

We get shit.

 

Lesson #1

Ma’s face is scrunched up like a bulldog.

Her forehead wet with fear.

“Phillip! Do not overtake the car! Do you hear me! Slow down!”

The L plate in the back shakes.

Like my insides.

Ma holds the dashboard, bones stretch her skin.

“Slow down, Phillip!”

Blind spot.

Check.

Sorry, Ma.

“If you overtake this car, Phillip, we’re having two movie nights this week!” Her fingers a big V in the air.

I hit the brakes.

Time for professional lessons.

 

My mind

Sixteen sucks girls fart and bleed they’re hot like Ma but not all there looks mean shit but the world says no not another damn movie night must get out must find a way to ditch Ma Hollywood and popcorn no more find a job Ma says I can’t remember when but he’s gone and here I am

My mind’s a cell for words that zoom at 100 kms an hour.

 

ID

The name’s Phillip. I look like one, sharp nose and all. It’s an ugly name that should be locked up in Buckingham Palace reserved for the royals. Where it belongs.

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